Death healed my broken heart

I am 29 and I recently found out I haven’t finished high school. A few weeks ago, I had one of my recurring dreams. I have three recurring dreams: I drive a car and don’t know how to drive, my ex is cheating on me repeatedly, and all of a sudden, I get notified that I didn’t finish school and my life was a lie.

I had a wonderful literature teacher, probably the only person I truly look up to. She wasn’t an ordinary teacher—she boosted my love for art and fed me the best of cinema, even though, at the time, I didn’t fully understand what I was seeing. She watched “The Graduate” and “Casablanca” with us, encouraged us to read Erich Fromm’s books, and said the best suits are made by Armani. She loved Marlon Brando, Fellini, and teaching. She genuinely wanted to make a difference and truly teach us something. Her classes are the ones that stay with me to this day. I rewatch and reread everything she recommended, and I can’t believe how fortunate I was to have met her.

This time, she appears in my vision. I am in the classroom; it's the end of the year, and I am being told that I didn’t attend the classes, so I didn’t graduate. I feel deep shame, surrounded by my classmates, which only amplifies the feeling. And there she is, my literature teacher, who suddenly becomes my therapist and priest, ready to listen and offer redemption. She asked, “Why do you keep coming back here if you already passed?”

So, apparently, I did pass, and my subconscious was going back to redo something.

For the past two years, I’ve experienced a lot of change and trauma. I have been diagnosed with depression, experienced burnout, and heartbreak. My desires and aspirations have changed; I have changed fundamentally. I cut myself off from all my friends, lost interest in most things that used to bring me joy, and I couldn’t figure out what to do next.

As my mother said, “Classically, you can’t finish anything you start.”

There were many “new beginnings” in my life with a promise that I had figured it out. But who was I giving these promises to? From the outside, it looked as if I had lost my mind—I shaved my hair off, got sucked into spirituality, and moved to the mountains to live in solitude. Watching “The Graduate” when I was seventeen, honestly, I didn’t get it. How could I? All I had ever known was living in a golden cage.

I have this scene from “The Graduate” flashing in my memory, the last scene when Dustin Hoffman enters the bus and a sense of reality hits him—what now?

Years ago, I gave up writing and started painting. Now, I could barely force myself to draw.

I hated work and couldn’t force myself to rebrand, remold; I couldn’t pretend anymore. I was a mess. Antidepressants helped me to function, but they had so many side effects I couldn’t commit to any more drastic changes in my life. I needed to stabilize myself and take it easy. Since nothing was happening and I was completely alone, I decided to fulfill my dream of having dog number two.

A classic sign of a mental meltdown after getting a buzzcut.

I had this undying urge to have a second dog, and I knew I needed to do it. I started my search, and as soon as I saw the black and white furball, I knew I found my guy. He was even named as I wanted to name him—Julian. Having a puppy gave me new responsibilities and a new outlook on life. I started slowly rebuilding myself and grew to a decision to fully dedicate myself to “self,” becoming an internet exhibitionist.

Writing came easy, even though I still feared that I had lost any talent I used to have. I started with simple words, a stream of consciousness. Words turned into sentences, sentences into stories. It became a habit for me to sit and write whenever I felt like I needed to get something out. Slowly, I started becoming happy again. Recording, on the other hand, is a different experience, which is common for all creators. Setting aside technicalities, I didn’t feel this organic enthusiasm. When I first started filming this video/writing essay, it was three months ago. The title and theme were different, but nevertheless, it was my “virgin” video.

First times are the worst. I was trying to figure out the concept, and it just wasn’t clicking. Like nothing was for me over the last few months. I kept thinking in my head:

“What do I love?”

Those months were of constant push and pull in my mind, a war between trying different concepts, feeling happy, but then feeling lost again. Embracing solitude mixed with fearing utter loneliness. It's a process that requires you to be in tune with your emotions and intuition, but also knowing when to let go. As I decided to give it a try and film my first video, I felt lethargic, unmotivated. I wasn’t sure who to blame—myself or the antidepressant pills. I filmed, but there was no feeling there. Wasted recordings, wasted ideas, and the feeling of running out of time. In the meantime, Jules got the flu, and I was taking care of him. He was very weak and wasn’t getting better.

But it was just the flu, so I shouldn’t worry, right? At the vet’s examination, Julian got some injections. As I packed him into his travel bag, the vet asked how long I was staying in the countryside. I told him that as soon as I got on my feet, I was moving to Amsterdam. Traveling with Julian wasn’t going to be a problem since he was a tiny guy. We could even ride a bike together. We had a brief conversation and parted ways.

That night, Jules couldn’t breathe. I was alone in the house in the middle of the mountains, and I was terrified. I was counting his breaths and calming myself down, thinking, “It’s just the flu; his lungs probably got infected.” At 4 a.m., I called the vet, sending him a video of Julian’s breathing pattern. The doctor said we needed to visit him first thing in the morning, maybe switch antibiotics. I left Julian at the clinic, worried, tired, but remaining optimistic. “It’s just the flu.”

Jules practically died in my arms. I was told to leave him at the clinic. I got home. As they started examining him, he lost consciousness and never woke up. He was a year-old puppy. The doctor was shocked himself at how bad Jules’ condition was. Apparently, his condition was very rare; he did have the flu, but it quickly developed into pneumonia. It was caused by a virus immune to antibiotics, which developed into sepsis that spread throughout his entire organism. I can confidently say, that was the worst day of my life. When I heard the vet say, “I’m so sorry, I don’t know what happened, but we couldn’t do anything,”

I was wondering, “What is he talking about? Julian has the flu.” He kept talking, and it just hit me:

“Are you saying Julian is gone?”

It felt like a joke, a bad dream. Suddenly, the events of the past few days turned into horrifying memories. The house was filled with the smell of death. As I hung up the phone, my body took over, and I fell to the floor screaming. The scream that came out of my throat was a completely unknown sound of complete despair. “My Julian, my baby boy Julian.”

I couldn’t comprehend how it was possible that he was not here. He was laying in his bed an hour ago. How could someone be here one minute and then just be gone?

No words can explain how you feel when you lose a pet or a child. He was my baby and my soulmate. He never left my side; he was always happy, kind, luminous. He loved to cuddle and give me kisses. He also loved spring and rolling over in the grass. But even more, he loved winter and digging holes in the snow.

Julian’s presence pulled me out of a time of darkness. Julian was also the only living being that loved me truly, fully, and unconditionally. Moreover, he taught me how to love because I gave myself fully to him the moment I saw him. I cherished every step he took in his growing period; everything that was common for me was new and fascinating to him. I thought we were going to grow old together, but we only had a year.

I buried him the same day in my garden. I will never forget the weight of his dead body as I cuddled him for the last time before laying him in the ground. I wanted to find for him a big enough box so we could be buried together. I wanted to give him a proper farewell, collected flowers from the meadow, brought his favorite toys and treats, wrote a letter.

Once my little ceremony was over, the most terrifying part was yet ahead of me: silence.

I was terrified of going to sleep. When I sat up from the couch, all of a sudden, I felt that I hadn’t eaten anything that day, and my entire body was tingling. Probably adrenaline was coming down. All I could do was stare at the wall. Nothing really mattered—I thought I might leave the world behind and move to India. I mean, how much more isolation can you get? I was already living in the woods in the middle of nowhere. I wanted to change my name, identity, remove my memory. I couldn’t comprehend how to live on carrying so much pain. How do I live on without Julian? The sleeping pills knocked me out.

I woke up, still having my older companion by my side, although she is a much more independent being and mostly sleeps at all times. She looks like the dragon-dog from “The NeverEnding Story.” I believe she is living a second life in her dreams. She has the personality of a cat. We took a walk in the morning, and somehow it was possible for me to still keep breathing.

Grief has its stages. That day, I went into the angry phase. I wanted to get to the bottom of what happened to Julian, step by step. But more importantly, I wanted to know where he is right now. The moment the box with his body was buried in the ground, I knew he was no longer there. Even when I held his body for the last time, it was already empty. It was just a body, not Julian.

Why did he die?

I browsed the internet, prayed to Angels, listened to Sadhguru. And suddenly, a thought quietly went through my mind:

“He is not yours.”

Those magical words were like a gentle hug that took a weight off my shoulders. I realized the pain I feel, although valid, is selfish. Because the only person in pain is me. And I have a choice in how I perceive death. It’s sad and devastating but also inevitable. “We are born to die”.

We don’t have control over when someone is born or when it’s someone’s time to go (in most cases, I don’t mention here a suicide or euthanasia). I choose to believe that nothing is random, and even someone dying is bigger than us. That is the moment where we humans, as powerful as we are, need to bow down. I was Julian’s caretaker, his mom, but ultimately he had the world and mission of his own, and that mission was complete. Besides, there is no loss because I feel his presence all the time. If the roles were reversed and I was the one to go, I would never want him to be in pain. I would want him to be taken care of, feel loved, and love his new family. I am grateful to have had the privilege of getting to know Jules and see him grow every day, even if the experience was so brief.

The day Julian died, fully healed my broken heart. In a way, a part of me died with him, the old part that needed healing, and Jules brought it comfort. I realized that no asshole is worthy of my tears; the only creature worthy of them was Julian. Death put my entire life into perspective—nothing I ever did or have has any meaning. Nothing that I wanted, nothing that I wanted to be—it’s silly. And that feeling remains.

Other than the question that was wandering and missing in my mind over the past few weeks: “What do I love?” Slowly, I returned to life and the unpleasant groundedness of it. I need to think of my future, I need to pay the bills, I need to get back to work. Not knowing anything, beaten to the ground—death gives a sense of humbleness. Thank God I have been on medication because it definitely helped me cope with loss and grief. Regardless of my acceptance of death, I felt even more lost. I couldn’t understand anymore where life was leading me. At one point, I thought I might completely devote myself to spirituality and become a monk.

Clearly, that didn’t happen.

Creatively, I felt blocked and confused. The lingering question “What do I love?” was burning a hole in my brain. Because I didn’t know anymore. Literally, things that I love have nothing to do with making a career or anything that I have ever expected for myself. All I know and feel in my bones is that I can’t force myself to adjust. I want to talk about things that matter to me and truly matter. And I know how privileged I am to say that because not everybody can. Frankly, I struggle to see any point in life for as long as I can remember.

The medical term is “suicidal thoughts.” I’d say it's realism. And I know it’s even more privileged of me to say that—I am white, attractive, young, almost spoiled. But I don’t see the point of living if I don’t do something that matters. And if that means I will die alone in the mountains like a witch surrounded by dogs and cats, that’s fine.

I am tired of pretending; I am tired of fighting. And all of this struggle brought me to the source.

Because isn’t that why all of us should create?

From the feeling of love? Hate? Happiness? Just feeling something?

Back to my dream. When my teacher asked, “Why am I back in high school?” I confessed. It was a surreal short confession that contained everything: I told her how sorry I am that I am a failure and a disappointment. How ashamed I was of the things I am not proud of. All the mistakes, blown chances. She looked at me with a motherly glance, non-judgmental, full of love. She said, “It’s okay”—and simple as that, I was free.

So, dear listener or reader, if there is one thing I can promise it’s this—I will only post what is real to me. And I don’t care how it looks; frankly, there isn’t much I care about anymore. I can also assure you I might not post regularly; in fact, I might disappear one day (either I’m dead or I took a hiatus and wanted to disappear, maybe off to write a series about dungeons, fairies, and dragons). If you feel amused, touched, understood, provoked—great, that’s my intention. I do not share my thoughts, even the most embarrassing ones, for the sake of vanity. I believe that good art is honest art, and it’s a language for us to communicate, to make us feel more human and less alone. If it does so for even just one person, I am very grateful and consider my mission accomplished. I have no idea what it means, where it will take me. Just let me follow.