all of my life I've felt wrong. every movement I make and thought I have make me feel like I'm a train with my back cart off the rails sliding precariously next to me, all it would take is a stray tree to to send the entirety of me flying. the exception to this is in the presence of death.
whenever a pet Is dying in my house no matter who usually takes care of the animals the responsibility now falls to me. I can't tell whether this is a choice I've made or something that's simply fallen to me but it's always what happens. I've lifted their heads so they don't choke in their own vomit, I've carried them when their back legs gave out, I've wiped the blood from their nose.
only despite being consumed by fear and grief I feel... right in a way that I've never felt any other time. I feel like I'm fulfilling my purpose and it terrifies me. Why can I only feel human when the smell of death permeates the air? I hate it, I hate the confusion in their eyes, I hate watching them grieve their independence, I hate feeling how grateful they are in those last few moments that I never left their side, I hate knowing I'll never see them again, that all that grief and pain exists only in my mind now and most of all I hate that it's the only time I feel like I'm okay.
when taking care of the dying I lose the capability to take care of myself, I only do the bare to minimum to stay alive because what right do I have to try and claim more than survival when they're losing even that? in a way it's meditative, I don't have to think about what I want because it doesn't matter. I can just analyze and react, simple, easy, objective. dissociation is how I've survived, I know it's not healthy but addiction never is.
Even now my mind Is drifting, the emotions I've pulled up are much too raw, or perhaps they're rotting either way they make me sick so my brain responds to protect me. I'm sent back to the familiar padded room of my mind no sharp edges no intensity just fluff. You can't be scared if you can't feel anything.
