v u l v a l i c i o u s
My mood lately is self-sabotage and crying while reading porny fanfics. It's making a list and crossing one thing off and imagining there's more, then not doing it. And it's that feeling of avoiding, hiding, anything but that, anywhere but here. Immobile, though.
Of course none of those are moods. Inaction. I don't know.
I want to fix this. But how? It's possible that I've never felt quite this mentally incapable of handling myself. I'm still doing ok, comparatively. It's not as though I've started making a suicide plan or physically self-harming or even crying every day at work.
But last night I thought my dog had gotten hold of a chicken bone, and I shoved my finger in her mouth to make sure it was gone, and when I was done I started crying and told her she wasn't allowed to die, because if she did I wouldn't have a reason. I didn't even finish the thought, because she's a dog. She doesn't understand.
It's her, that little fur ball, who keeps me waking up. I have to feed her, at least, and pet her. She deserves more than that, too.
And there's also my mom, because if something happened to me it would kill her. Except now she's dying, like the kind of dying where if she doesn't get on a transplant list she's got a year or two left. And realistically, she's just not a good candidate for a transplant.
So. Am I even relevant? Do I matter? I have to be ok for this little dog and my mom, and when they're gone, I know that's not it, but it feels like it.
Anyway, it's one more day of not doing the most basic chores or leaving the house. One more day buried under the weight of some nameless nothing that sits on my chest and tells me to go back to bed, sit back down, turn off my brain.
I missed the daylight again and I'll be up for hours still.