Exactly one month ago my dog of 13.5 years was put down. Exactly one month ago part of my world, my entire childhood growing up, just ceased to exist. I still cry about it.

Death is a strange feeling. Something that was so alive one moment is gone the next. I don't think you can miss someone to their full extent right after. It's when I started to want to pet him or out of habit turn over to where he would sleep I'd start to burst into tears. Up until recently I've told no one in-person about his death outside of my family. The two I have are the 6 and 8 year olds I babysit and all they know is that I had a dog that died. Is that what he really has become? A dog that died? People never care if you had a pet, they don't care about the name or anything. They stop caring. I didn't want pity either. No one needed to tell it me it was for the best, I already knew that, and it wasn't going to bring him back. I didn't want my sick dog back, I wanted my healthy dog back. I think when someone is sick, there's a part of you that's in denial thinking they maybe just may get better. Or perhaps it was me as that little girl that literally went around telling people he was going to live forever. Perhaps I somewhat believed myself.

On another separate depressing note, people suck. I'm beginning to think I'm just not good with being close to other people. They're starting to remind me why I hate telling my parents things. Honestly, it's insulting. Why bother saying anything if you're never going to be taken seriously anyway. And then it's like "Well you never said anything before!" blah blah, just hate it. I'm just not cut out for it. Not much of a team player I guess?