How I Lost and Found My Mind, a short story, Part: 1

It all started the day my dog died… his name was Dionysus, my mom named him. She’s a big philosophy geek, he gets mentioned in text a lot.

I didn’t mind the name so much when I found out who the guy was in Greek mythology. I thought it suited Dino well; he was a born party animal! I mean, he made a lot of noise, ate far more  than his fill, and went after just about every schnauzer, terrier, poodle... Let’s just say he got more action with those dogs than I did with my upright, smooth skinned counterparts. And he only got to explore the world on walks in the neighborhood or in his sneakier fence tunneling operations.

Shit, I was supposed to talk about something…

Oh right!

Depression. And I mean DEPRESSION.  Capital-D. Who could have guessed that would do it? Dino’s passing. Better question, who would’ve said I was anything BUT depressed before the fact?

I’ve faced deaths in the family, love interests turned mortal enemies, friends betraying friends, hell two of our family’s faithful companions had been put to sleep before we even adopted Dionysus.

I’ve cried in remorse, fucking terribly, balls to the wall baller-session after my Grandma passed away (my dad’s mom).  Drunk, and putting a cherry on top at an open-bar for my friend Sandy’s graduation (No one was carding, I indulged); literally pouring down the shame.

I was thinking about the day before my grandma left for Europe; again. Once again, her and my grandpa made the annual visit. She had made that trip so many times, I thought nothing of it. It was just another few thousand frequent-flyer miles and a carry-on full of California staples to share with our eager relatives across the deep blue. I never saw her alive again.

I started crying after toasting my last swig to her. I thought a lot of how my Grandfather might have felt, watching his wife fade away, helpless, but being there for her. I know he was strong, or tried to be. You can’t blame anyone in that position for freaking out , but I like to hope he said some loving reassurances to keep calm. Never giving up hope, trying to get to the hospital in time. I tried to imagine the last smile she may have given him before letting go, just to say “it’s okay. They have Bingo in heaven. I love you”. I hope. I also never drank heavily again. Thanks Grandma.

I’ve been down in the dumps, yes. No denying that. And you wouldn’t believe me even if I swore otherwise. You might say I was depressed since the day of my grandmother’s passing.

Not really in a dangerous way though (my therapist claims otherwise these days). It was this dull aching that never subsided. It didn’t freeze me in time so that I couldn’t see the future anymore. But I guess I wasn’t “okay enough” with the idea of a no-grandma-filled future. I had trouble accepting it. But a switch flipped; like any prideful alcoholic, I claimed myself to be a functioning bag of self-loathing. I picked myself up by withered handle, found a little thing called Mary Jane, and shit, life, went on; down some pesky river in Egypt.

Writer’s note: I hope to post an update to this story once a week. With a full time job and school to commit to, it will be difficult I am sure of that, but I will endure to the end. May you all enjoy and have a wonderful New Year! 🙂

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