ripped to shreds

My dogs ripped up one of my journals today. It may seem really stupid of me, but I think I cried for 2 hours straight, went back to work, and then came home and cried for another hour.

It's really interesting the journal they seemed to "pick" to completely destroy. I had all my journals in a box down in the basement. I thought I had put them high enough for the little devils to not sink their teeth into. Apparently, I was wrong. When I went to let them outside earlier this afternoon, I noticed a bunch of papers strewn about on the basement floor. When I noticed that it was one of my journals, I SCREAMED bloody murder and dismissed the dogs to go outside. I didn't touch the dogs or hit them or even yell at them. I was so hurt I couldn't even look at them. I know they are innocent and really don't know any better. I mean how could they tell the difference between the hymnbook that was sitting right next to it or my journal? Who knows why they chose my journal to destroy?

As I knelt down on my hands and knees collecting the little bits that was left of my journal and noticing my handwriting on the pages, I cried uncontrollably. It felt too symbolic. It felt as though part of my life (several years were covered in that journal in GREAT detail) was torn to shreds and here I was trying to put it back together. This specific journal was not just any old journal, it was the time in my life where I struggled the most. It also included how I met Travis and when we got married. At some point I just had to stop. I went upstairs and just shut the basement door. It hurt too much to even look at the damage.

I know what you're all thinking: It's just a journal. Get over it. But for some reason, I am having a really hard time letting go. My journal is SO personal. I write things in there that no one has ever known or will ever know until I am dead. I use my journals to see how I've grown, and how I have overcome certain trials and I tell my success stories as well as my struggles. I can't help but feel like all of that was worthless now.

I know I should just leave the past in the past where it "belongs" and move on. But my past experiences have greatly shaped who I am today. You all know I have been really struggling with my self-esteem lately and today it took another huge hit. I feel like I've regressed, become worse and only more unbearable to live with.

That journal was really important to me. I had many keepsakes within those pages; special, sacred memories.

I can't help but feel like I am standing on the edge of a raging river. I have built dams over the years to slow down that river and make it more tolerable and hopefully easier to cross one day. But seeing my personal life strewn across my basement floor... the lowest place in our house... made the dams in the river break, and it is raging stronger than ever now. All the memories came back flooding into me within seconds and I felt sick to my stomach with guilt, sadness and despair.

You may think I am being overly dramatic right now and that's okay if you don't understand what this feels like. I have always been diligent in keeping a journal and I have over ten journals, so this had great sentimental value to me and years of work and time spent writing in the journal took only seconds to destroy. The dogs ripped up one, and chewed on 3 others - although the pages of those are unscathed....fortunately.

Can I get mad at my dogs? No. It's completely my fault. I am responsible for not putting my journals in a safer place where this couldn't happen. It's my fault that I let the little terrorists run rampant in my basement with no restrictions. I have only myself to blame. It's my fault that I let my dogs rip up part of my life and literally drag it through their own pee. But it still hurts. Bad.