I’ll tell ya, when depression hits me, it hits me like a ton o’ bricks. And I’ve got outside factors helping depression kick my ass.
A couple weeks ago, I had a pretty huge falling out with a family member and friend and some incredibly disrespectful words were said to me. The kind that there’s no going back from. I’ve been having a hard time dealing with that – fluxuating between rage/anger and hurt feelings.
Add to that a pretty significant weight gain in the past week.
Add to that a phone call from my dad last night. Not a good one.
When I was in college, my dad’s cat had kittens and I took one of them – a little orange and white tabby with hazel eyes – and named him Beannie. Beannie was a messed up little kitty: both his paws turned inwards and he looked like a little boxer. Despite that, he got around really well and was a beautiful cat with a really nice disposition. Unfortunately, I developed allergies to cats (and dust, and a some skin products and herbs) when I was in my early 20s, and I had to give Beannie back to my parents. Ever since then, I pop an allergy pill and visit my pal when I go home. Beannie is about 15 years old now.
Last night, my dad called and said Beannie has stopped cleaning himself and eating within the past two days. I went home and got him today and took him to the vet. Everything looked fine: his weight, his temp…until they opened his mouth. He has a very large tumor underneath his tounge, and that’s pushing his toungue back a bit and he’s not really able to chew or clean.
The doctor said that they can remove the tumor, but it’s malignant, and in 90% of the cases, once the tumor is removed…it comes back within 1-3 months and is much more agressive. She also said that at 15 years old, that the recover for a mouth surgery is long and painful for a cat. She said that I should start thinking about putting him down.
I was bawling like a baby in the vet office and she sent me home with some baby-food consistency food and told me to buy beef and chicken baby food for him. When I got home, I put some in a bowl and he gobbled it up – probably thankful to be able to get something down. She said she’d call me Monday with bloodwork results and talk about what the options are.
I know that death is part of life, but this sucks SO BAD. He’s such a good cat, and to think he might be in pain, or hungry, or suffering in some way just kills me. And I’ve never had to put a pet down before. I’m not very good in these types of situations, but I want to be there when he goes, so he’ll leave surrounded with love.
Fuck. I’m crying again.
And of course, with all this, I feel lonely and just want Bob to comfort me. But I keep forgetting there is no Bob in my life anymore, so I just have to sit here and cry it out myself.
I’m sad as shit right now. Sometimes life gives you a whole crapload to handle at once.