Why does it hurt this much? They aren't even named.
Previous - this entry written on April 12, 2006 at 7:12 am - Next

There were six baby mice originally. We found their nest, tried carefully without touching them to transplant them into a nearby box where their mother could find them easily and where we could then move nest, mother and all, elsewhere.

The mother never came back for them.

Six little mice; we fed them on watered-down kitten formula at the recommendation of various mouse rescue sites and the people at petco. Eyedropper, damp q-tips for cleanup, held them in our hands.

One mouse died last night. He was where I've been keeping them while feeding them - in my cleavage, tucked inside a sports bra, so they are warm and contained in one location. He just... died.

Another mouse, one who was possibly from an earlier litter, whose eyes were already open and who was very wild, escaped while Caleb was holding him during the next round of feedings. Disappeared into the couch.

Now two more are... not well. Twitching, stumbling, their skin hanging loose and fur matted, dark. They won't eat. The last two seem... well, sort of ok. One of them ate quite a bit, all happy, as they ALL were a day ago. The other one was being picky, but more in a drowsy way than a sick way. But still.

I knew from the beginning that they were wild mice, that we had poor odds of keeping them alive. I guess I'd just started to hope we'd beaten the odds, once they all started eating, all seemed happy to be held.

And then one died. He snuggled up against me, and just... died.

And it looks like two more are going to follow suit.

You know, the last thing I tried to take care of was a sickly kitten, back in Grr Household.

It died too.


...hell, who am I kidding? I can't even take care of myself. Why did I think I could take care of something, or someone, else? I fail. Sooner or later, I fuck up, I'm not paying attention, something goes wrong and I can't fix it.

I should stop trying. It only ends up hurting them, and hurting me. Maybe they'd still be alive, if we hadn't tried to move them in the first place. Maybe they'd still be alive, if I hadn't been holding them. Maybe Kadin would be more normal, better off, if he hadn't met me. Maybe he would have found someone to share his life with, a nice, healthy, sane relationship, if I hadn't interfered. Maybe Torian would be happier without me around at all, no more building her hopes up and ending up letting her down. Maybe Radu would have stayed with Rachel. Maybe he would have managed to get back together with Mia. Maybe he'd have found someone else. Maybe Caleb would be married to a woman who can actually be more than a drain on his resources and time. Maybe...

...yeah, it's all 'maybe'... but right now, still feeling the stab of pain and worry that hit me watching the tiny, trembling little balls of fur in my hand, 'maybe' seems like 'most likely'.

Everyone I touch, I hurt. Everyone I care for, I damage. Every time I try to help, I just make things worse.

Maybe I should just... stop.

I'm going to take way more vicodin than the doctor ordered, have a stiff drink or three, and curl up in bed hoping I can fall asleep. Even the nightmares I've been wandering in and out of when I sleep lately can't be worse than this feeling.

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