which_chick (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
which_chick) wrote2019-02-09 06:39 am
which_chick) wrote2019-02-09 06:39 am
Entry tags:
Doin' it wrong.
On facebook, I have an acquaintance (not so much a friend) whose horse died tragically this past fall by way of escaping from his field and being hit by a tri-axle dump truck. Like, that's a real thing that really happened to the horse. (Let he without ever an escapee cast the first stone, there.)
Since her horse died, the owner, who is all of nineteen or whatever, keeps posting pictures and remembrances of her dead horse. They sound reasonably heartfelt, if regrettably spelled and punctuated.
Most recent entry: Going threw pictures... to find this, last ever ride on my golden boy, never in a million years did I think just 2 days after this picture was taken I would have had to tell him until we meet again :( miss him so much #Horse'sRegisteredName #Horse'sNickname
She does about one a month, maybe two. And they make me so angry. Partly they make me angry because I don't LIKE her (I conditioned competitive trail with her in 2010, her riding a pony I broke. Her horsemanship, for a young teenager, was pathetic. Her compassion for the animal she was riding was lacking. She improved visibly over the year I rode with her, but... still.) but mostly they make me angry because she's doing it wrong.
Look, I'm a Groan Up. I know that different people grieve differently. Her public remembrances probably work for her. That's how she does. It's her process and I totally grant her the room to do her thing, there. I don't post snarky comments or be snide or anything.
But... I don't do that stuff. I worry that people think I didn't love my horse because I'm not out there throwing my grief around in public. (This is not public.)
Putting the babby horse down didn't go over so easy, either. I cried from Tuesday straight on through till Friday. Eyes are dry this morning, though. On the plus side, I've lost five pounds. (Food tastes like ashes and I don't want any. I eat thrice a day for the safety of others but not with any enthusiasm or enjoyment.)
Babby horse didn't even get a facebook mention because I don't want to have to deal with condolences from people who are trying to make me feel better. "Thank you." "I'm sorry too." "I appreciate your thoughts." Yeah, that shit is a bridge too far. I can't be arsed about being polite and acknowledging people's sympathy for my poor dead blind baby horse issue when I'm this angry.
And then there's the "until we meet again" thing, which she keeps including in these posts. I'mangry jealous that she can be so soppy and useless as to believe that there's some sort of afterlife where all your beloved animals are well and whole and come running towards you for an eternal lovefest. I wish I could believe that. But I am not made that way. The Rainbow Bridge thing, for me, is totally and a hundred percent pretend and I can't even believe in it a little bit.
Instead what I get is "You're so practical. How can you be so practical?"
Okay, so I rend my garments and gnash my teeth and wail to the four winds and cry until my nose is running clear snot down onto my upper lip and my eyes hurt. Do I feel better? No, not really. (How I know is I've been doing that, at least the wailing and crying part. My garments are pretty much already rent, my teeth are not stable enough in my jaw for gnashing. Gotta be sensible, over here.) I have a headache. My eyes and nose hurt. I look a mess. And I still have a dead baby horse.
Reality doesn't go away because it's inconvenient or because it hurts or because it makes you really really sad or because you wish it didn't have to be that way. Reality just is, plain and simple, without giving two fucks for how you feel about it.
Since her horse died, the owner, who is all of nineteen or whatever, keeps posting pictures and remembrances of her dead horse. They sound reasonably heartfelt, if regrettably spelled and punctuated.
Most recent entry: Going threw pictures... to find this, last ever ride on my golden boy, never in a million years did I think just 2 days after this picture was taken I would have had to tell him until we meet again :( miss him so much #Horse'sRegisteredName #Horse'sNickname
She does about one a month, maybe two. And they make me so angry. Partly they make me angry because I don't LIKE her (I conditioned competitive trail with her in 2010, her riding a pony I broke. Her horsemanship, for a young teenager, was pathetic. Her compassion for the animal she was riding was lacking. She improved visibly over the year I rode with her, but... still.) but mostly they make me angry because she's doing it wrong.
Look, I'm a Groan Up. I know that different people grieve differently. Her public remembrances probably work for her. That's how she does. It's her process and I totally grant her the room to do her thing, there. I don't post snarky comments or be snide or anything.
But... I don't do that stuff. I worry that people think I didn't love my horse because I'm not out there throwing my grief around in public. (This is not public.)
Putting the babby horse down didn't go over so easy, either. I cried from Tuesday straight on through till Friday. Eyes are dry this morning, though. On the plus side, I've lost five pounds. (Food tastes like ashes and I don't want any. I eat thrice a day for the safety of others but not with any enthusiasm or enjoyment.)
Babby horse didn't even get a facebook mention because I don't want to have to deal with condolences from people who are trying to make me feel better. "Thank you." "I'm sorry too." "I appreciate your thoughts." Yeah, that shit is a bridge too far. I can't be arsed about being polite and acknowledging people's sympathy for my poor dead blind baby horse issue when I'm this angry.
And then there's the "until we meet again" thing, which she keeps including in these posts. I'm
Instead what I get is "You're so practical. How can you be so practical?"
Okay, so I rend my garments and gnash my teeth and wail to the four winds and cry until my nose is running clear snot down onto my upper lip and my eyes hurt. Do I feel better? No, not really. (How I know is I've been doing that, at least the wailing and crying part. My garments are pretty much already rent, my teeth are not stable enough in my jaw for gnashing. Gotta be sensible, over here.) I have a headache. My eyes and nose hurt. I look a mess. And I still have a dead baby horse.
Reality doesn't go away because it's inconvenient or because it hurts or because it makes you really really sad or because you wish it didn't have to be that way. Reality just is, plain and simple, without giving two fucks for how you feel about it.
no subject
Sometimes you just have to sit with the raw, ugly hole in your life instead of worrying about whether you're healing on schedule, and whether you're performing grief properly.
It's obvious you loved your horse, and you did right by him. What happened was awful and unfair, and I hope you are given the space you need to grieve.