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lost my shit just now. found a toy underneath the trunk I'm selling - the polar bear toy - the one Andrew bought her for Christmas. it wasn't a favorite, but it was cute, and I'm a mess. I want to move through the grief quickly, yet without grief I don't have her. a year ago today, I was basking in good friendship, a secure marriage, a promising career shift....
EEEEEERRRRRCCCCKKKKKKK
[CRASH]
find out that I'm alone and I'm anti social and forgo commas and it's all so heavy. I worry hourly that I'll lose my job but hope that god/fate won't be that cruel. Giving up is hard. Death is scarier than I give it credit for and when I ponder that escape, it's always not one I relish. It's interesting to give oneself the option.
Even though I fucking was irate that I had to take care of edith when I couldn't take care of my little finger - something so important and innocent thrust in the maul of a tyrant in victim mode. It sucked. Yet, I had accustomed myself to her - thinking into all the scenarios that I could get her free of my depression and this tiny apartment - and the dead end was me.
how do you write sobbing - that kind of sobbing when you're alone and your heart is breaking but you know that suck it up buttercup will be the order of the day because no one cares about your cat. No one cares about your stupid fuck up that fucked you. No one cares a single bit except as titillation in a gossip rag. Watch that woman break.
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