Everything feels wrong.
e v e r y t h i n g.
It feels wrong to eat and wrong not to.
It feels wrong to plan to run and wrong not to.
It feels wrong to write and wrong not to.
My urges for self care or urges for survival are met with “what would K** say” and I immediately want to do the right thing but am met with a wall of paralysis and downpour of guilt.
I don’t want her to be sad in Heaven that I can’t keep going. That I can’t do the things she taught me to do.
Everything feels fucked up without you here.