I don’t want a new dog.

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Let’s all cry a little inside for Hachiko first.

You’re the person whose dog dies and you refuse to get a new one. You’re the one that is like, “I had a dog! My dog was great! I don’t want a new dog!”

I laughed when my friend said this to me, but the joke stayed in my mind. It was funny because it’s true and I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or not.

I’ve realized that I am someone who has a hard time moving on. I’m not sure why I am so fixated on the past. My present is wonderful and my future still looks bright, but nothing is as appealing as the idea of going back to my happiness from the past. And while there’s nothing wrong with taking a stroll down memory lane, I always forget that I no longer live there anymore.

It’s unhealthy to live in the past and you can’t wrap your arms around a memory, but I find myself doing it subconsciously, much to my own frustration. I am constantly reminding myself to appreciate the “now” and to be patient with myself when I can’t. It doesn’t really work.

I am angry at myself. When you focus on your losses, you don’t see your gains. When you stop appreciating all the good and beautiful things in your life, your life no longer is good and beautiful. It just all means nothing.

I think about every single person who is important to me. They are irreplaceable – there is no one out there like them. Everyone gets a special piece of me and the day I lose them is the day I lose that piece. As I’m sure it is the way for all of you, I’d like to keep all my pieces intact.

I used to think I was different from people who gave away pieces of themselves easily and freely – people who have a new best friend every year or the people who jump from relationship to relationship. Now I wonder why I judged people like that and why I thought I was better than them.

I’m not better than anyone and no one is better than me. We’re all trying our best to be happy, that’s all there is to it. The biggest difference is that I have this naive fantasy that everything will always stay the same if I stay in the same spot. I am oblivious to the fact that it means nothing if I choose to never leave, other people will.

At this point in time, I wish I wasn’t “different”. I wish I could pick up my baggage and move on efficiently, quickly onto bigger and better things like other people can. I wish I could fully appreciate all the good people and things that are happening around me right now, instead of just telling myself that I should be. Because every time I tell myself I should feel a certain way, I realize that I don’t and a terrible cognitive dissonance ensues. When I tell myself, You should be happy and thankful, I know that I’m not.

But I want to be.

Sincerely, Loewe

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4 thoughts on “I don’t want a new dog.

  1. I often re-visit the past and ask why? Why something happened the way it did and why things played out the way it did. In a way I feel like it’s my own way of moving on… rightfully so the tattoo I have on my back says “you must understand your past before knowing your future”.

    Moving on from something doesn’t mean you are losing a piece of yourself, you are simply creating more pieces to give. You don’t have to be happy nor should you tell yourself you should be if you’re not. Wanting things to stay the same way and letting yourself believe that if you don’t change nothing will is normal. It’s far and few that can just pick up their bags and walk away.

    Final note, you are amazing to be able to share your thoughts, I wish I could be like you and share that piece of myself!

    1. Thanks Sandy. Thinking that you are making more pieces of yourself to give away is a very positive way of thinking, I never saw it that way before. I always believed there was a set number of pieces.

  2. You are really mourning a deep loss of your dog, it’s hard to understand from the outside because your dog seemed feral to me, but still, it was YOUR dog and that’s special. As a spectator, I see many ownerless dogs running around and am pretty quick to point them out – THAT ONE’S CUTE AND DOESN’T BITE AND FOLLOWS YOU AROUND EASILY, pick that one!

    Yet you’re right in that it cheapens the memory of your previous dog to try to fill the void so soon. People who move on too quickly make me suspicious. Did you truly love your dog? Or would you have loved any warm body that kept you company? (In which case it’s not even about the dog but your own loneliness tsk tsk) Even if your old dog was feral, he was still yours and meant something really special. I think it’s meaningful that you mourn the loss of him in your own way.

To Loewe:

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