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two weeks. fourteen daze without the cat who I used to tether me to this earth with the responsibility of having her. now, no subterfuge. and her presence? even though she especially of the we were stuck in a tiny no-view studio plus apartment with having to process ... {the writer breaks down and sobs] ... so much. The guilt comes mostly with the mindset of the writer: the writer tried to go on so many walks to avoid the mind-numbing brain boiling press of processing all of this alone and with skin peeled off vulnerability.
her belief was (I love how I''m distancing myself from it in 3rd person) that cats could understand. cats could feel - and that her own cat was prickly sensitive hyper-vigilant. the writer knew intimately that she was a broken insane fucked up mess. she was challenged by the cat who she took to need some calm, grounded, strategic safe stability vibes. It was something
she just could not provide. she was mourning her sanity. mourning her future. mourning her safety. she recalls in the early days when she was upside down and in credit card debt and almost every expense was for drugs or the cat. the essentials. yet, she can''t let go of that beast that showed up twice/thrice/even-b4. so much she felt came from that first relationship with the sister and mother she thought. no matter what was said around it - like edith - she felt that she was plummeted with "why don''t you go away" in the middle of being a doll/device-to-comfort. Edith was there to fix me. I projected on her like a mofo of course. I was there to fix my birth family. she was there to fix her birth family. She was overall loved. The writer worries that her toxic spew of horrid emotional ... I mean y''all I cried EVERY DAY multiple times like the world was ending for months and now I thank god for the drugs keeping that at bay as I drift my life away... wondering if I''ll ever feel love.
The thing I''ve not even written in the ink/paper journal is that I was feeling that I had a wall up for my feelings about Edith and this was in the weeks before her death - it was a challenge to myself to allow love and feel love. I recognized that she triggered so much of my feelings of being worthy. and staring the black mirror in the face.
it feels like every structure is breaking and I''m calcifying and full of lonely and the only things I can figure out when I ask myself for the thousand millionth time what I want is freedom/power to choose and wonderful interesting lovely people with whom to talk.... and my right front tooth is always sore now when I bite and always will have its chip that keeps falling out. I think about death a lot of course - why wouldn''t I? I even feel as though I''m dying. I used to always say that to Edith - that we were linked.
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