My Donkey

I have a donkey.
It came with me at birth.

When I was a child, I played with my donkey, let's call him Shane. We could not be separated. I'd grown to think of Shane as much a part of myself as, well, myself. When we played, we played with everything we had inside of us - 100%. Our whole existence was a oneness with raw experience.
As I grew older, I learned about cold and hunger and desire first-hand and learned that I could make Shane work for me in fulfilling my wishes, like a recalcitrant djinn, it wasn't as simple as rubbing one out. Shane could do physical labor almost effortlessly and Shane didn't complain. While I was still not yet grown, I would continue to play with Shane when time allowed, but usually I left Shane to the drudgery while I focused on the joys.

As a man, I find that I struggle to find the joys in play, the rest from relaxation, and the comfort of a comfortable surround. Instead, I find myself looking for Shane.
When did I lose my best friend?
When did I lose my other half?

And then the {I don't have the words to express the immensity of the tragedy of this next part} reality hits that I'm Shane, and I've lost myself.

I could look for Shane, but I have no idea how to look for me.