My tea’s gone cold, I’m wondering why
I got out of bed at all
The morning rain clouds up my window
And I can’t see at all
And even if I could, it’d all be gray
But your picture on my wall
It reminds me that it’s not so bad
It’s not so bad

As I sit here, mid afternoon, January 5th, I’ve found myself spacing out in thought. I saw a video on instagram last night of a lovely young woman named Lennon Stella doing a cover of this song, originally sang by Dido. Lennon’s voice was like the perfect sad tone to pair with these lyrics, lyrics I’ve had stuck in my head since last night, lyrics that made me struggle to fall asleep.

January 5th of last year was much different than it is today. I woke up with my best pal in the world, we hung out for the day before I headed to work. I closed the bar at Rosebud, and found myself thinking about being alone, as I knew Presley’s time was running out. I wrote about how sometimes being alone isn’t feeling like you don’t have somebody, but like nobody has you. I still feel that way a year later, like I don’t have someone I can go to and say “hey I’m not okay”.

Now, as I sit here, I think about how Presley’s picture being on my wall, literally, makes me feel like it’s not so bad, like it’s been worse. It makes me wish I had one more moment with her, to thank her, for the hope she brought when she was here, and the hope she continues to give me today.

Sometimes I get a bit in my head when writing about her, I tell myself I’m being repetitive, that I need to let go and move on. In a lot of ways, she’s why I’m still here today, even though she’s not, so it’s hard to let go of something that kept you from giving up. I’m sure some day I’ll have to let go, but I’m not sure today is that day.

On the hardest of days, I keep going, not because I want to, but because I genuinely believe she would have wanted me to, that it’s not time for our paths to cross again quite yet. On the hardest of days are when I wish our paths could cross again, because I could really use that safe feeling she gave.

Anyways this isn’t supposed to be a blog of what I’m feeling, it’s supposed to be about my gratitude to her, for what she did when she was here, and what she continues to do even though she’s not.

If I could, I’d thank her for loving me extra on the days that I didn’t love myself, and there were plenty of those. I’d thank her for teaching me the true meaning of unconditional love. I think about of people believe unconditional love is just really strong love, and while it is strong love, just being strong isn’t enough. Unconditional love means no matter what, you’ll always love that person or thing. She didn’t love me because I provided her shelter, food, toys, everything a dog could want, because dogs don’t think in that complexity. She loved me, just because I was me, because I merely existed, was enough for her to love me, and that’s something you can’t explain the effect it’ll have on your life.

I never thought about the fact that she loved me unconditionally or what that really meant until she was gone. The cliche “you don’t know what you have until it’s gone” rings true here. It’s not that I didn’t appreciate Presley and her companionship while she was here, but I didn’t fully appreciate what that bond was, and the moment her heart stopped beating I felt it. I’ve felt it every day since.

I’ve lost relatives before, and important people to me, but it never felt like this. This was a moment I physically felt, I knew life was going to be different moving forward. I wasn’t sure how, but I knew things would never be the same.

I’d also thank her for providing amusement and enjoyment, since she passed I’ve felt like I no longer need to receive amusement or enjoyment. Like I’d be completely fine without it because no amount of good is worth how bad that day felt.

Between the break up and just a few months later Presley passing, I’ve rejected pretty much any opportunity of amusement or enjoyment, out of fear, out of the fear that I’ll inevitably love again, and hurt will follow that love, as it does. I decided to focus on work, nothing else, trying to be the best at what I do. Well life had other plans. The day after Presley died was the beginning of my downfall, which I am responsible for. I immediately started working as much as I could, picking up shifts, and even a consulting gig, any time I wasn’t at work, I was out to eat trying to study other restaurants, what they did well, what they did poorly. And if I wasn’t working or eating, I was reading books about work, blogs about work, movies, podcasts, you name it I was focused on work from the time I woke up til the time I went to sleep. Slowly but surely I began to break down, began to have more anxiety, more panic attacks, more intense panic attacks.

Life, my body, my mind, all forced me to stop completely in early July. July and August were the worst of it, not leaving my room a lot of days, not showering, not taking care of myself at all. Afraid to even step foot outside, stuck in a pit of despair. Not trying to better myself, or heal, just existing, getting worse as time went on.

I’ve made some progress since then, had some okay days. It’s funny I still find myself with one goal: get back to work. I’m not sure that’s the best use of my motivation, but I’ll leave you with this:

Presley and her death are the reason I find so much beauty in love, it’s also the reason I’ve been afraid to love since. As I better myself mentally, I’ve realized that despite being the worst thing I’ve gone through, it’s opened the door for me to be a better man, a better person. I now know to look for true love, and when I find it, to harness it, to care for it, to fuel it, and most importantly, to appreciate it. True love is rare, it’s beautiful, it’s painful, but it’s worth it, so if I’m fortunate enough to experience it again, I won’t wait til it’s too late to show gratitude for what I have.

So much of what I’ve learned over the last 6 years is all thanks to Presley, it was love at first sight, and if I had to do it over, I wouldn’t change a fucking thing.

And I want to thank you
For giving me the best day of my life
Oh, just to be with you
Is having the best day of my life

Maybe every day is the best day of my life, because I carry her ashes in a necklace everywhere I go.

Where the skies are gold not gray,

J.