pray for Chaos

Over the last several months I have developed this insane bond with my parent's dog, Chaos.  He's a 10 month old mastiff mix.  I love him so much and I miss him when we are apart.  I hate going more than a day without seeing him and think about him constantly.  It's like he's my dog that lives somewhere else.

My heart is broken into a million pieces right now because we have no clue what's wrong with him.  His back legs are weak and he gets tired easily.  I keep praying that it is something that can be easily fixed because I will die on the inside if it's not.  Animals are my world.  I love them more than most people.  With them, it's a true unconditional love... there are no stipulations with them.  They don't judge you or discard you like you don't matter like people will.

I don't know if I'm making sense... I'm just missing his hugs and giant wet kisses.

This is why facebook says my maiden name right now...

My husband and I had a huge fight a few nights ago.  I mean, HUGE.  I did not want to share a bed with him, let alone a last name.

There was no doubt in my mind that I wanted to get a divorce.  I hated him.  I hated everything about him.  I wanted to punch him so hard in the face that his teeth flew out.

Before this blowout occurred, I was driving home and I was in a pretty good mood.  Well, that changed as I called him from our driveway (I drove our truck and was unsure of my parking job and needed him to guide me, it was dark out) and there was NO porch light on and he didn't answer.  I called him twice.  So, I said fuck it, grabbed the heavy ass grocery bags I had and attempted to unlock the fucking door in the dark.  As I cussed my way through this process my phone rings... FUCK THAT MOTHERFUCKER, was what I thought in my head and possibly out loud.  The dogs started barking as I was struggling to find my key in the dark and my husband opened the door.  Drunk.  I could see it in his face.  His face morphs when he drinks.  I hate his face when he drinks.  He no longer looks like the handsome man I said "I do" to 2 years ago.  He unlocks the door and I walk in without greeting him and walk toward the kitchen to put shit away.

I yell at him about his phone and it being dark out.  My mood?  from zero to insanely angry in a few minutes?  You bet your sweet ass.  I'm bipolar.  Not an excuse, a fact.  Not only am I bipolar, I have a fucking insane amount of shit going on in my head that I try to keep to myself as to not stress anyone else out.

Well, keeping the shit in, sucks.  So therefore I explode pretty easily.  I'm worried about my dad.  I'm worried about my mom.  I'm worried about both of my grandmothers.  I'm worried about my two aunts that I keep in touch with on my dad's side.  I'm worried about my own health.  I'm worried about my husband.  I'm a huge, fat ball of worry.

On top of all this, I've had shitty flashbacks and have NOT been wanting to sleep because of the nightmares.  I'm tired.  I'm scared.  and now, I'm instantly angry.  Do you think my husband EVER asks why I'm really upset?  No.  He just rages back at me and defends his drinking.

Now, I know I married an alcoholic. I know this, I'm not a fucking idiot.  But I'm tired of fighting about this shit.  I'm tired of hearing his defense of his drinking.  I'm fucking tired.  TIRED. I try to do everything in my power to be a better person for him, I really do.  I know it's a long journey, but I am at least trying to walk the path of being a better human being for the sake of my husband.  He's cut down on drinking sure, but he still drinks to the point of passing out in his desk chair, slurring his words, walking like an old man because he's attempting to keep his balance... I don't like it.  Especially since I'm mostly sober.  I drink rarely these days.  I drink maybe a beer or a mixed drink once a month if even that.

We fight.  Yell.  I cry.  I can't handle everything.  I'm broken.  I stay away from him and crochet in the living room.  He asks me to go into the bedroom with him, I can't be around him.  A while later, I go into the room and he's in bed.  I start up our fight again because I need something.  I need him to comfort me and I'm not sure how to ask.  I think, as I'm starting to cry, "why the fuck isn't he comforting me?" and I look at those hollow, empty, drunk eyes and I fucking hate him.

I leave the room.  I sit on the couch and cry fucking hard.  As I'm sitting there, stewing in my pain/anger, NOTHING from him.  I'm pissed.  I'm thinking of who I can stay with because I can't stay here.  I can't let my parents know we are fighting to this point because I don't want my dad to worry about me. I don't want them to hate or even dislike him.

I walk into the bedroom turn on the light and poke my husband as hard as I can and tell him to get me my suitcase.  He hops out of bed and starts "looking" without asking me any questions.  He says he can't find it and gets back into bed.  I'm being dramatic, I know this, but I'm trying to get him to fucking ask me what's wrong, why I want to leave, why I'm crying so hard.  Anything.  He doesn't.  I tell him I want someone who will fight for us.  Someone who will comfort me when I need it.  He does none of this.

I'm in so much pain and so fucking angry, I can't see straight.  My mind is racing and all I can think about is this rage I feel toward him.  I hate him for not attempting to care for me.  I hate his guts with every inch of my angry soul.  I want to die.  I just want to fall asleep and die.  That's really all I want.

I want this quite often, but I really wanted it that night.

The next morning, I wake up after waking up every 30 minutes to an hour as I "slept" on the couch.  I'm still pissed.  I still hate him.  I still want a divorce.  I shower.  I get out and see his stupid face (yes, that was my thought as I got ready) and I hate him even more.  He asks me how it was sleeping and I don't even hear his words.  I angrily look at him and say, "what?" and he repeats himself and I mutter, "fine."

We start fighting again.  Finally I can't wait for him to ask me what's really wrong, so I tell him.  I tell him that he doesn't have to live in my fucking head.  I tell him about the horrible things my cousin did to me that I can't erase from my fucking head no matter how hard I try and that I can't sleep because of the fucking nightmares.  I'm having a really bad PTSD week.  I yell that I am worried that my dad may die any day now.  I'm worried about my sick grandmum.  I'm worried about my fucking mom! I'm worried about her so much it hurts me.  I hate how fucking sick I am making myself over worrying about all this shit that I CANT turn off.  I have no control over any of it.  I am at a loss.  I feel like I am drowning.  I can't fucking breathe.  I can't.  I can't tell anyone this because I don't want anyone else to stress.  I'm worried about all this weird shit that's going on with my body that I can't even recall right now.  It's weird and random and as I find each weird thing, I think "that's weird, that can't be normal." and I fucking move on and try to forget about it.  I have too much to worry about now to worry about myself.

Not to mention I have this odd premonition that I don't have much time left.  I really am worried but I don't want to know.  I really don't.  What if it's true?  What if I'm not being overdramatic? What if my mind is telling me to make everything as right as it can be with God and everyone else?

I remind him as we are fighting that I begged him for comfort the previous night and he denied me.  I can't handle it.   I still don't love him.  That emotion got buried as my hatred ignited.  He tries to comfort me, but it's too late.  I don't want his comfort any more.  I shouldn't have to beg for it in the first place.  I shouldn't have to cry and start arguments with him in order to get him to ask me what's wrong.

We've been together over six years.  I'd like to think that he pays enough attention to me to know when something is wrong, I mean our dog knows for fuck's sake, why can't a he?

I spend the day away from him and my mum keeps trying to find out what's wrong or what happened during our fight.  She knows because my eyes are so puffy from crying that I can barely see out of them.  I don't tell her anything.  She just knows that I hate my husband and that is all.

Well, after he picks me up from my parents house, I still don't like him.  I still want a divorce.  He tells me he will stop drinking.  I'm not asking for this because I don't want him resenting me as he goes through withdrawals. I know it won't work.  Alcoholics can't stop drinking.  They can't.  It's in their brains that they crave it.  I don't want him to turn into Fun Bobby from Friends after he stops drinking.  I want him to just know some fucking limits.  Stop before his eyes turn hollow and he has to walk like an old man for balance.

I tell him that when this fails, he can't just leave me.  He needs to allow me time to get on my feet so that I can continue my journey without him, because pretty much, if he's not going to be there for me when I need him, I may as well be alone.

I'm still iffy about how I feel toward him.  I love him. I know I do because he's the only person I've ever wanted to be with forever.  He's the only person I miss when we are apart.  He's the only person that I try desperately to get to love my God because I need him to be with me in the afterlife.

My anger however, is still denying that love.  My pain is making me keep him at bay because I need to be able to make a clean break when this all fails.  I need to be able to turn my love off and when you love someone as deeply as I love him, it's hard to do.  It may seem like it's off now, but it's not.  It's just scarred and battleworn and not really up for doing it's job right now.

My heart is still broken as I write this out.  I don't know what to do.  You can't listen to a broken heart, because it goes into survival mode and in survival mode, you want to get away from the one who broke it.  My mind  tells me that I need to listen to my broken heart, but something beyond all of this tells me to heal quickly and love him more than I've ever loved him before.

Time will tell.

my happy switch is broken.

As a creature of habit, I've created this awful habit of never allowing myself to"let it all out" but rather, I tend to shove most of it down until my emotions are so full that they erupt like the largest volcano could possibly imagine.  

I hate myself for it because it hurts.  Not just me, but everyone around.

I keep saying that I'm tired of wearing a mask and I am, but it's almost as though the mask I wear has become a part of me.  It's like a security blanket that I keep with me to shield me from myself.

I wish that I could effortlessly be happy.  I wish that I could erase a lifetime of memories.  I wish so hard that I was someone else. But I'm not.  I'm me and it fucking sucks to be so most of the time because even all the amazing things about my life can't seem to reach that place in my mind to turn on the happy switch.  Sometimes I'm afraid it's been disabled and will never work.

There are things that make me feel happy for a moment or two, but they soon become buried under all the shit that's made me so fucking sad for so fucking long.

I should have never gotten married.  I wish that I would have never fallen in love.  My emptiness makes me a terrible wife.  My depression makes me a terrible person.

One family's trash is another family's treasure

I know I've never been a fan favorite in my family.  I'm moody, outspoken and I'm tattooed.  This mainly applies for my paternal side of my family.  My maternal side of my family doesn't mind my tattoos because most of them have some.  They also think I'm quite funny.

That being said, although I knew that speaking out against my cousin molesting me would cause some breaks in the foundation of my family, I never thought that they would completely alienate me.  I never thought that I would feel like an outsider.  I never even imagined myself completely breaking away.

It had to be done.  I hurt silently for over 25 years.  I could no longer repress my tears.  I could no longer wear the mask that hid my shame.  I'm not sorry that I lost my family because in my eyes, they aren't my family any longer.  A family wouldn't choose to associate with someone who could hurt a member so badly.  A family wouldn't make me feel like I was nothing.

I try not to make myself the victim, but sometimes I can't help but remember that I am a victim.  A victim of incest.

I wish that I could change what happened to me from the age of 4 to 12.  I wish that I wouldn't have these random flashbacks that make my heart want to crumble up and die.  No matter how hard I try, I can't wash all images from my memory.  The things that were done to me as a child make me want to vomit.  I get infuriated every time I hear of another child suffering as I did.  My heart has this huge scar that will never heal.  It will always be tender and I will never be able to get a replacement.

I thought that I would have support.  I thought that I would be given love.  I thought that I was a link in the familial chain that was crucial and people would want me around.  I never ever thought that I would be tossed aside like garbage that ruined that gleaming facade.

The day that my family allowed me to be treated like an unwanted untouchable, was the day that everybody died.  I still have a couple of great aunts, one cousin and my grandmum that survived the holocaust of my heart but everybody else is buried.  I had to mourn the loss of an entire family at once.  It sucked and sometimes I'm still not over their deaths, but you can't always control who will love you and who will treat you like you are nothing.

I want those who are "family" to be those who love me.  Blood means nothing.  I've had an infusion and my blood is no longer theirs.

No, this is all my paternal family that I am talking about.  I don't want there to be any confusion of who is dead to me and who is still alive and kicking.

Although I have lost my family, my heart still cries when someone is actually hurting.  I feel bad and I want to fix things.  I'm not sure why since no one cared/s about my well-being.

My therapist told me that I never have to forgive.  Forgiveness has to be earned and not one fucking person has even attempted to earn that by treating me like I'm an actual human being.

I've gone way off course of what I intended this blog to be about, so I will say now what I originally wanted to.  My "uncle" is having issues with his heart again and although he responded to me with, "what do you want me to do about it?" in a crass tone when I told him about my cousin molesting me (when I was coming clean to everyone about why I didn't want to be around my cousin).  I still feel bad.  That is my dad's brother, my grandmum's son and at one point, I considered him my uncle and someone I loved.

Although he hurt me, I don't think he deserves to suffer.  I will pray for him.  I will pray for his family.  I will even shed tears for him because I am not the monster that everyone makes me feel like.

One family may have been lost, but when I married my husband I gained another.  It's a lot smaller than the one I had before, but they never make me feel unwelcome and they never make me feel like I am nothing.  I also have my friends that have become important family members to me, including a best friend who is my sister.  My parents and I have also become so much closer in the last 2 years (I know it's hard for some to imagine us being closer, but we are).  All is not lost in heartache.  There is a light at the end of the tunnel.

I just hope these people don't mistake my kindness for forgiveness in keeping them in my prayers.

Adventures in food

(alert!:this is a repost for those who've already read)

  I haven't been wanting to cook in my kitchen lately since the ants moved into the wall between my kitchen and master bedroom bathroom.  However, after constantly cleaning my kitchen and keeping up with natural remedies to get rid of ants, they aren't as bothersome as normal.  I just have to make sure there are never any dirty dishes and I have to clean the microwave pretty much daily.  I guess it's not really a bad thing, a lot of people constantly clean their kitchen and don't let dishes pile up. 

  Today's blog is actually about cooking.  I love cooking.  I love baking.  I essentially love making things for people to enjoy, that includes food.

   I'm going to share a "recipe" (I use the word recipe pretty loosely since I cook by mood) that is healthy and a not so healthy recipe.

  As summer looms over most people (or in the case of those of us in the desert, it hits us like a rock),I've come up with a recipe for a yummy summer drink.

Black and Blueberry Freeze
about 1 cup of blackberries
16 oz of concentrated blueberry green tea (I'll explain)
1 cup of ice
Sugar to taste if desired

This recipe can be easily modified to suit your taste.  I took my blackberries and blended them while my water was boiling.  I then took 2 blueberry green tea bags and let my them steep for about 4 minutes since my water wasn't boiling hot.  I then added sugar (I love my tea super sweet, but if you don't you can skip this step.) After sugar, I added a few ice cubes and stirred.  I then added my tea to  my blender and added the rest of the ice and blended until all the ice was crushed.  I tasted to make sure the flavor was to my liking and here you can add a little more sugar if needed or ice if you want more of a smoothie type drink.  I just wanted something cold.  This will make a full pitcher and you can share with friends or place it in the fridge and drink throughout the day (evening, whatever floats your boat.)

Now for the not so healthy recipe:

Stroganoff  Casserole

1-2lbs ground beef

3 cups cooked rice

1 can cream of mushroom soup

your favorite seasonings

shredded cheese

I used minute rice and as that was setting (I also want to add that I season the water as it boils with garlic salt) I cooked my beef with chopped onion and chopped bell pepper.  I also used garlic powder and a bit of smoked paprika for seasoning.  I didn't want to use anything salty because of the cream of mushroom, this is only a bit of guideline for this recipe and I suggest seasoning for your tastes.  After the ground beef was cooked, I drained the grease and then added the cream of mushroom.  This was a concentrated can that you add water to, I only added about 2/3 of the suggested amount though to keep it a bit thick.  When that was finished cooking, I got my casserole dish and layered rice then a bit of cheese then my beef mix on top and then another layer of cheese.  My oven was preheated to 350F and I popped the casserole in for about 15 minutes, however that may differ on your area/stove (I've found that my stove cooks things pretty quickly per other recipes I've made).  Just check and make sure all the cheese is melted.  

The taste reminded me a bit of beef stroganoff, hence the name of the recipe.  I recommend experimenting a bit, that's pretty much how I cook everything.  I rarely measure things so I have plenty of screw ups along with lots of happy accidents.  I cook the way I crochet, I just go with it.

faux smiles make me sad

I was perusing a few pages on Facebook, one of them being my little cousin (I haven't seen her in a few years) and it made me pretty effing sad to see her page.  She may be happy, but it seems as though she doesn't know how to smile.  The smile never really reaches her eyes and the actual smile looks forced and strained.
   This made me think about the art of a smile.  I never smile and show my teeth in a pic, the reason being that I hate the way I look in pictures with my teeth showing.  Yet my smile still reaches my eyes.
   You decide, am I just being an assholes or does her smile look strained?

... Everyone else can fuck off.

   A few days ago, a good friend of mine asked me about writing and if it helps me.  As I was messaging with her back and forth, I had to recognize that yes, yes it does help me to write.  However, I haven't been writing as much as I should or would like.
   I have a lot to say about a lot of things, but I push much of it down.  I keep it locked away.  Why?  Because I'm worried about hurting people's feelings.  I refuse to hurt others while hurting myself.
   One thing that has been on my mind is that I found out that one of my cousins is hanging out with that disgusting bastard.  The thing that hurts is that she knows how much I have been affected by what he did to me as a child.  In fact, I worked hard to make sure she was never left alone with him if I were present.  I did this because I never wanted her to suffer the way I did.  Now that I am estranged from the majority of my family, I hear that she is spending time with him.  That's fine, she is an adult.  She can take care of herself.  I am no longer anyone's protector.  I can only protect myself.
   It hurts.  I feel betrayed.  What can I do?  I don't spend time with anyone in my family anymore other than my grandmum and two great aunts.  I never wanted people to choose sides.  However, by choosing to keep him in their lives, they have essentially chosen sides.  I cannot associate with people who think it's okay to be around someone who did such horrid things to me.  If anyone actually knew the shit that bastard did to me, I wonder if they would really be okay with him.  Everyone just knows that he molested me.  They don't know the extent of it.  Most of it it is pushed so far back in my brain for my own protection, but some of it, some of it won't leave my memory.
   I constantly have dreams about telling everyone how I feel about them, but yet, I'm polite if I see them.  I don't want to be polite.  I want to hurt them as they have hurt me.  I want them to feel the pain of loss, the pain that I felt and still feel to this very day.
   It may sound harsh, but most people are pretty much dead to me.  I've already mourned the loss of my family and I'm learning to live life with a much smaller family than before.  Those who are there for me, are there for me and I will always be there for them.  Everyone else can fuck off.

Who Takes Care of the Non-Mothers?

   Some days I am fine with the fact that I will never be a mother.  Other days, it makes me sad that my parents will never be grandparents.
   Today is one of the days that I feel shitty about not being a mom.  I was thinking that I am 31 and when I was born my grandmas were in their early to mid forties.  My mom is fifty.  She should have been a grandmum by now. Unfortunately, she has a daughter who has a broken reproductive system.  The most shitty part is that my parents would be amazing grandparents.
   The thing is, I'm kind of relieved that I'm not going to be a mom because I think I would be a terrible mother.  I would like to be a good mom, but in all reality, I know that I can't be.  I wouldn't be.  I just don't have the energy to be there for someone as often as they would need.  Some days I don't even have the energy for the bare necessities.  Those are the days that I am thankful for the way life is.
   I mean, I have furry babies, but they can't take care of me when I'm on my deathbed.  I'm alienated from my family on my dad's side.  I'm not going to have anyone to take care of me when I'm old.  I mean, that's why most people have children right?   To have someone for them later in life.  I will have CW, but how can I expect him to take care of me when he'll be old too?  I just get so scared at what the future will be.
   I can't say shit to anyone about how I really feel because  seriously, what could they say?  There's nothing that can be said to make anything seem right about this situation.
   My stepson hates me.  I don't blame him.  I suck.  I said some crappy stuff about five years ago that I can't forgive myself for and I'm sure he won't forgive me either.  I get all weird hen he's around because my husband acts weird when he's around and I'm not sure if it's because of my vibe or what the fuck.  So of course, he won't be there for me when I'm an old asshole.  I wouldn't be there for me if I were him.  I mean he doesn't even think of me for mother's day or my birthday or Christmas, so why would I think he'd want to take care of me when I'm dying?
   Fucking sucks.  Days like this I curse the broken uterus and everything else in the world.  I hate it all.

I'm going to miss you, Don.

  I was a senior in high school when my mom and dad brought Don Vito home.  I remember the day very clearly.  I was home while my mom and dad were out shopping and my mom walked into the house and told me they got a puppy and my dad was outside with him.  I walked into the front yard and saw my dad laying on the grass and playing with him.  He was so freaking cute with his floppy ears and giant paws.  Little did we know then that he'd be a short, stocky little thing!
  I have many fond memories of Don.  He would sit with me while I studied, he would attack my ponytail when I laid on the floor... he would dance for my mom and the cats loved him.
   He became a grumpy old man in the last few years but he would still melt your heart when he'd look at you with those precious brown eyes as you pet him.
   He reminded me a lot of a puppy once again in his last few months... He was such a loving soul.  I'm going to miss him so much.  I knew the day was coming that we would lose him but his death still stung .  Losing a furry baby always breaks my heart. R.I.P. Don Vito.  You will be greatly missed.

no sleep makes Jessie a dull girl...

  I can't sleep so I decided to watch Sunday's episode of Girls that I missed.  I can't remember what episode it was but after watching it, I'm trying to be more aware of myself.  The reason why is because in the episode one of the characters said something about writers always being self-absorbed and making everything about them... and that's exactly how Hannah is and I don't want to be like her because she sucks and has narcissistic personality disorder to such a extent that it pisses me off.  I asked my husband if it was true about what the chick said about writers, if I'm like that and he said I am like that.

  I have to admit, it stung when he said that.  I can't be angry or too upset though, because I asked. And really you shouldn't ask questions you don't want to hear the answer to.  So I've been trying to be more aware and kill off my natural desire to tell a relatable story of my own when someone tells me something.
  It's kind of hard to do when instinct makes me want to tell people stories so that they know they aren't alone, but if people don't like that... I will work on a change.  It still doesn't take away the sting of being told you're self absorbed but it puts me on a path of being a more likable person...

   I'm still in a bad place after that dream I had and I think that's partially why I'm afraid of going to sleep tonight.  I hate that I fear sleep because it takes me places in my mind that I thought I had closed off... my cousin is my Freddy Krueger. I hate him. I hate him with every fiber of my being.  I try not to waste my energy on hatred but fuck, I'm so mentally screwed because of him that I'm completely broken and unfixable.  I've spent the last 4 years working on pushing him and his memories so far down and getting to a place that feels somewhat happy just to have one tiny dream make all my work crumble away.

the ghost of my past...

  I just woke up from the worst dream ever. It bothers me so much that after all these years I am still plagued with nightmares over what happened to me as a child.  I've actually been doing very well well and haven't had a nightmare in such a long time... but this had to be the worst.  It didn't make any sense and I couldn't escape my cousin even after his death (he was dead in my dream, not in reality).  He was a ghost, haunting my every move. He was everywhere.  It was awful.
   My heart is aching so much because I have this flood of memories and emotions washing over me. This is why I can't be around most of my extended family...  they still invited him to functions and even had functions involving him and his family after I took the leap and told them about what he did to me.  They only heard what happened... they didn't have to hear the disgusting details that I am stuck knowing alone.  I'm so ashamed and disgusted about what happene to me as a child that I could never bring myself to say most of it out loud.  I wish that my silence would make it go away... but it doesn't.  It just stays buried in me and only surfaces in my memory.
   I need a fucking hug right now and I need someone's shoulder to cry on.  I need someone who won't get angry or upset about the whole situation and will just let me cry and comfort me without prejudice or make me feel bad for showing emotion.
   Ugh. I hate this.I hate crying and giving him any power over me.

depression, you asshole.

   Sometimes, when I'm depressed I can write for days.  Other times, I can't focus on anything, let alone writing.  This current round of depression has been one where I can't concentrate for shit.  It takes me days to finish a crochet project that should take me hours and I have trouble finding inspiration.
   I have some good days though.  I have days when I'm happy for the most part of the day but then when it comes to night, I can't turn off my brain and the sadness comes back.  I absolutely hate when I'm like this and wish to be normal.  I would love to be normal and have a brain that doesn't make me super paranoid, depressed, anxious, obsessive, distracted and a whole mess of other negative things.  I would even trade my creativity for normalcy.  I wouldn't mind being considered "boring" or "plain" if it means that I don't constantly cry.
   When I'm like this, I tend to hide my feelings and put on a facade for the rest of the world.  I even hide how I feel from my husband because when I don't I'm a complete and total asshole.  I start to let my paranoia and hallucinations get to me and then I accuse him of cheating on me and I just hate myself for being so mean.
   How can I not feel the way I do?  If I were him, I'd cheat on me.  I suck.  I honestly don't know how anyone could love me.  I'm horrible and I hate me.
   I wish I could be anyone else but me sometimes.
   I'm going to continue to try to smile because they say it's contagious and I hope that it's true and that my body will catch it and I will smile for real.  My smile will be genuine and not this fake thing that allows only part of me to smile but not from deep within my soul.
 
   On a non-depression topic... my parents got a new puppy and I'm totally in love with him and he makes my heart smile.  I'm waiting for that smile to reach the rest of me.  I love him so much and I miss him when I'm not with him, it's the way I feel about my furry babies.  I miss them when I'm not with them and when I see them, they make me feel whole.  They fill places in my heart that I didn't even know were empty.