One the techniques I was offered to attempt to short circuit my PTSD obsessed brain was to try to replace thoughts of Writer with focus on other happier memories.
My post yesterday, a poem about my childhood cat, I Miss Coming Home To You could have been been written about Writer if I had changed the last two words of the last line “My childhood cat, Molly.” and instead wrote “My childhood love, Writer.”
That got me thinking of similarities, and differences, between my relationship with my cat and that man.
I’ve had many cats through my life. Each was different. None of those relationships compares to depth I felt with Molly. When I was little she tolerated me dressing her up on doll clothes and pushing her in a buggy. She slept wrapped around my head, purring in my ear, every night. Through my abuse, she comforted me, literally soaking wet many nights with my tears. When I would go to summer camp, she missed me.. continuing to keep guard over my room. As a teen, she was confidant, hearing all my secrets and longings.
During high school, we had to put her down. The family gathered around the exam table. She looked up at each of us in turn. Then looked back to me and struggled to crawl over to me. I have tears in my eyes even now recalling that last hug goodbye.
I think of her often. A photo of me in my footie pajamas, struggling to hold her sits in a frame in my kitchen. I loved her. I know she loved me.
How is this similar to me and Writer? Our love spanned many years. I felt as loved (for a time). I shared secrets no one had ever heard before, knowing I would not be judged. My tears were dried. Both demonstrated longing for me when we were apart. I will love both forever. If a cat can be a soul mate, she was mine, as Writer was as a man. I have “had” other men, but none has been, nor probably ever will again, be as much a part of me as he.
That is where it ends. When I remember Molly, I have no bad memories, no recollection of pain. I know it is over and will never be again. She lived a very long life, and nature took her away from me. With Writer, my memory is filled with fresh, raw, dripping pain that he placed in my heart. He is still here and “if only” we could be together. But that was built on lies and deceptions. Molly, as a cat, could never lie to me.
So, today I’m trying to replace Writer with Molly whenever he invades my mind. I am still sad we are apart, it was good memories, it is over.