When I was young, I was so quiet that people would forget I existed. It was a lonesome world, but so safe. There was only me and my thoughts. My eyes on everyone else. My ears listened, and I answered within myself. Noone knew my world, what I was thinking. Nor what I felt. I was so shy I would blush if someone even looked at me. Attention was something I didn't know how to handle. I couldn't even understand why I would have it; why someone would want to look at me. Or hear me. Noone had access to me - except for my dog. My dog got to see me. Got to know me. Got to hear me. I allowed only my dog to love me. Now, facing the feeling that I soon need to throw away my dear Doni's stuff, since it will be a month from his passing, I am faced with the reality that what worked as my safety wall when I was young, has served as my furry disguise several years later still. Because without him I'm faced with the truth that I once and for all need dare let human beings get close and love me. And that's the scariest thing I've ever had to face.
I know I'm not alone with this fear. And I know animals are a great part of our lives. But they, and the unconditional love they embody, can also be a great disguise for us to hide behind and find safety in. I need to get out there now.
For my Doni.
Love,
C
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