So life goes on but I am changed. I no longer expect to see Murphy, I no longer accidentally fill 5 dinner bowls. function fine in terms of stuff that has to be done. I love my remaining dogs. But the joy has emptied out of everything. I draw animals for people. Drawing for myself no longer has any meaning. I have no interest in it at all. I’ve had the normal issue of sad things happen in my life; emotional losses, struggles, one or two significant episodes of illness which knocked me over one way or another….like everyone gets. Always I wanted to get back up and carry on. This is the first time I truly didn’t want to get back up. The intrusive memories of the 3rd of October have stopped being so vivid or so intrusive, but in their absence is a sense of life being a pointless pursuit devoid of meaning. For the first time in my life I couldn’t wait to take my Christmas tree down. I am probably depressed. It feels appropriate not pathological. I have 4 little lives who entirely depend on me. I feel the responsibility keenly. I would never press the self destruct button, but that damned woman has fucked my life up. This too will pass, eventually.