I keep trying to explain to others that I'm okay even though I'm suffering. Why do I need them to know this? Is it true? I think it's true. I think it's the heart of the matter: I'm okay, because I know I'm okay. In grief, that's the one time I know I'm okay because I'm feeling things, deep, painful things, and I'm not losing my mind over it. I can't argue with myself about it. I know I'm sad because loss and grief are sad, and there's no analytical thought process that's going to slide me out of that feeling of loss, or the feeling of love with nowhere to go. And since I believe in life after "death," that love does go places: to the true heart of the being I've lost. So I am loving, and I am grieving the loss of their physical presence, and that's okay. Good, even. I am comforted by my own grief, I think. It means the love was real, and is still real. Grief is almost evidence of life after death, at least emotionally. Because you can't love something that no longer exists.

So why do I feel the need to explain this to people? Maybe because I believe they are uncomfortable with other people's suffering. It's probably true—it's usually true. It's true for me, even though I try my best to be supportive and genuinely helpful/comforting. I guess I don't want people thinking I'm having a breakdown when I'm just experiencing normal grief. I want people to be more comfortable with other people's grief. I think if everyone could be more accepting of everyone's emotions, no matter what they are, the world would be a better place. But I get it—when you're flying high you don't want someone's depression bringing you down. Idk though because when I'm feeling good other people'd grief don't generally get me down, it just makes me present. I am more mindful of how I talk to them. Masking? Maybe. Manipulating? Only positively. Is it manipulation if you help them feel better in a way that doesn't deny their loss or feelings? Is it manipulation if you just offer a soft place to land?

I don't know. And that's okay.

I would like to be coddled a bit, though. Is that so wrong? I would like my own soft places to land—a soft life, for a little while. I am grieving, yes, but I am also balancing on that fine point between hope, faith, and delusion. I want to believe Rusty will get better. There is a part of me already grieving him, though, and I can't tell if that is instinct or programming. Is my mind trying to protect me by preparing me for the loss by "seeing it coming" or is it actual instinct? Is it programming or is it gut? I don't know. I know what I want to believe: it's old programming, protective programming, old programming that believed everyone has their own death date and when an animal is sick you should just prepare for the worst.

But no. The timing doesn't make sense. I think this is my storm before the calm—I've been focusing so much on manifesting and being in my power, and now this is the ultimate "loss" of power—watching someone you love be sick and maybe dying. All my old beliefs had a lot to do with passivity and forgiveness and accepting lack of control and all that jazz...and it was good for that time and still true and valid and helpful. There *is* a lot you can't control, because even if we're manifesting this whole reality we're not so skilled at it that we can just snap our fingers and get what we want. And sometimes, I think, we *do* experience random shit to respond to. I think that's part of the point. Video games are fun because they're an adventure, not because you have complete control over everything. So you get a mushroom coming at you and you have a choice: jump on it, shell it, jump over it, run away. Etc. You get to choose.

So we got some undesirable news about Rusty's body. He's not feeling great. I don't like those things, and I don't want those things. And if Rusty must show me the side of him that is real to me, I choose a Rusty who is in exceptional health. Rusty who is thriving and happy and enjoying his life. 

So be it.