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The Girl, The Woman and Her Black Dog
A short story by Deamer

She was a girl. She was a woman. Yet she was beginning to forget what it felt like to be a girl and she was beginning to question what value there was in being a woman.
Life went so slowly through her twenties. So many changes passed by her, through her. It seemed like she laughed, loved, and cried every day. So many opportunities and possibilities undressed before her, exposing the infinity of their raw nakedness. It was all so exciting-at least it seemed like it was exciting, when she remembered it now. Her soul was filled with a passion for the possibilities of life. She was immersed in the decadence of all the freedom of choice. What something cost never mattered. If what was in her pocket wasn't enough, she would soon have whatever sheckles she needed. Careless dreams were certain to live forever. Rich friendships were certain to always be there. Everyone meant well, some were just ignorant on how to believe what she believed.
Then came the thirties where the pain and pleasure of 'true' love grabbed her, thrilled her and completed her; until it dirtied her, burdened her and then abandoned her. One day she woke up with an entirely different feeling. Was it yesterday, was it last week? Was it a month ago or was it a year ago? She couldn't exactly recall. The drive that had gradually increased her income was now tarnished under the weight of the fact that despite the success of her professional accomplishments, she had never felt so much financial stress.
Where did the lack of need go? How did all the debt creep into her life?
Where did the excitement and the mystery of the opposite sex go? She still felt the attraction and the desire for more relationships and sexual exploration, but the flutters of youthful infatuation somehow drowned in a sea of unfulfilled promises. The development of her child and the discovery that her mother can now be her friend, were the building blocks of a foundation of a future with a deeper meaning. But the burdens of a black dog inside her and the complications of the language of life robbed her of the ability to appreciate this. She just felt her youth was hijacked and she was wronged by every one else's failures. She was unable to recognize all of her own role in the difficulties she now faced. She just felt isolated, alone and progressively unable to cope with the burdens. Could she un-love the man who filled her with her daughter? Could she love another? Would another man that she was capable of loving ever appear again? And if he did, would she find the time and the energy to recognize him. If she could see him, could she look beyond his differences and just love him? And if she could love him, could she look beyond his imperfections. Could she slip him through the net of priority that surrounded her daughter.
As much as her mind and her body began to show the signs of mortality, she still saw herself as young. When challenged by others, she still felt the strength and courage of ignorant youth. A cockiness created by our youthful imagination. An imagination unburdened by reality. A rich memory, a visualization of her vulnerability, or anything good or bad towards her child, could still force drips from the corners of her eyes. But when alone with cabinets filled with pills, alcohol and fattening foods, the cockiness and strength of youth is quickly eaten by the persuasion of instant relief. Problems can be pushed aside for a moment, but soon they reappear in an uglier form.
The second half of our thirties can seem even more hopeless to those close to us. For they know the visions you have of yourself, do not match your reality. Funny how in our thirties we all see ourselves as becoming the person we thought in our twenties that we would become. Or probably more accurately, we think of ourselves as always trying to be that person and that as soon as such and such happens, we will really become more like that accepting, loving and generous person. When in the reality, the burdens and complications of having children and 'keeping up' professionally, has turned most of us, most of the time, into being demeaning, judgmental, and chasers of the sale rack and free lunch. All to often, the greatest attempt at giving is the joining and forming of charitable groups in which the majority of our time is spent socializing. Just as our blissful ignorance of our twenties can lead us away from the quality disciplined habits of our schooling, our battle for maturity in our thirties, now armed with an array of unplanned habits, often lead us to say and do the opposite thing from what will in fact take us the direction we want to go. And unfortunately, all to often, these misdirected choices and words, bring the most harm to those we care most about.

So what came of this troubled woman of this story? No, a Prince Charming did not rescue her. No, she did not continue down the path of demise. What happened didn't happen quickly or easily. What happened is she eventually got tired of excuses. She got tired of feeling angry at everyone. She got tired of the pain of dependency and the depth of the holes created from inaction. She wanted control of her life and she decided it was time to put a leash on her black dog and take him for a walk. First she accepted her limitations and her mortality. She faced her challenges by documenting her daily issues and her daily successes. She learned the greatest source for controlling her demons was to take her eye off the black dog inside her and concentrate on what she can do for herself and for others. Diet and exercise became foundations to build on. Placing herself in a place of comfort that did not include medicine or alcohol abuse, became a priority. As her self-destructive habits began to change into self-building habits, she found that her black dog actually had a smile on his face. Though he was still dangerous, she found that learning to control him had actually turned him into a friend. She found she could think of him as a part of the more complete person she was becoming-the more interesting person she had become.
As she turned her eye off of herself and onto others, a funny thing happened. She suddenly found that others were no longer such losers. Suddenly, she found all kinds of people were doing nice things for her. Was everyone else acting so different? Or by turning her eyes off her own personal problems and weaknesses, was she actually finally seeing all the generosity of those around her?
It will take her another decade of life before she will realize that the time of her late thirties when she felt so alone and forsaken, was actually a time when she received the most generosity of her entire adult life. She just didn't have the tools to recognize it and appreciate it. Being content with her womanhood also brought her a new kind of joy. The joy of sacrifice especially when it comes to the benefit of her daughter.
Slowly life turned into something more livable. Priorities became friends as these building blocks kept away the burdens of uncertainty and indecision. She learned to simplify life and deal with her burdens in a structured manner and then put them back on the shelf-out of reach. There they would safely stay without haunting her at night. Yes there were still days when she felt low. But she found that these days could still be days of blessing. She would take a sick day in which she would nurse herself back to a good state of mind by making love, watching movies and/or writing poetry. She could still be a girl as she embraced being a woman, and she could smile and smell the roses as she walked the dog.

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