it's been some time

I have felt like such a colossal fuckup today. I woke up from the same old nightmare feeling like I wanted a lobotomy, and the whole day has spun on that axis. I keep returning to this breakdown feeling: nobody else has these problems, nobody else is hung up on these lines--even the people I'm having nightmares about don't still think about this. I've always been this way, and it's about me, my flaws, not anything or anyone else. This is about my persistent failures: the lacking, the spill.

Even getting compliments about my performance at work didn't help. It made me feel shitty. I cried on my commute, then got home to my hatching.

It's a bad picture of me, and that's fine: I don't care too much what I look like anymore. Butterflies don't make any real grief better. You don't get your day turned around because some beautiful little thing you hauled out of a parking lot and fed hatched. That's for children, and I'm so old right now. I know about butterflies: I can raise them from egg, give them what they need, and let them go. I can't let anything else go; the symbolism is meaningless.When I released this boy, he booked it just like he knew what he was running away from.

Sometimes you just do the best you've got, because that's all you have, and there isn't any other choice.