May 9

 Athenas back left leg is limp. Lifeless. Just. Gone. Her right one is only vaguely there, still trying to walk a bit at times. But. No strength. Folded.

We have got her up a few times today, to drink, pee, poo. She has got accustomed to being carted around in a sling, her front legs still working.

She still looks up. Wants to know what you're eating. She is, as she ever has been, still Athena. Still interested. Still awake.

And tomorrow at 11am I take her to put her to sleep.

Her legs are gone. Not just an overdid it. They are gone.

I do not know or understand how they suddenly went from fine to not fine in 15 minutes. But it has happened.

And they show no signs of reversing.

Today I made the stupidly hard and fucked up and awful decision to put her to sleep tomorrow. I have crucified myself over it. Today ? Tomorrow ? Monday ? Next week ?

Tomorrow. There is no hope. She will not recover. And I will have to snuff out her good life, her beautiful soul, full of curiousity and confidence and joy. I will have to do that. Remove something wonderful from the universe that doesn't deserve removing. Me. My choice. My action. Me. To remove wonder. I am monstrous. But I will do it. And carry that burn.

I have cried. And hurt. And cried. And hurt. I do not understand. I do not understand life. Or what I am supposed to do. Or what the point of anything is.

It is not just Athena. She is the most awful undeserving horrible thing on a pile of other horrible things.

I will do my last thing for Athena tomorrow.

14 years. She has been my baby girl. The better part of me. So much better than me.

And like everything, it ends. She is at peace at the moment. Resting in her bed.

I wish I could ask her what she wants.

I cannot. Just like Ares. I cannot ask him.

She still, inexplicably, is in reasonable spirits. But she cannot move. She cannot get up. We have to pick her up to do so.

I would trade my life out for hers right now. No problem. Do it.

I can't do that either.

Echoes of Ares. His ghost still follows me around.

So I have to do what I do tomorrow.

And then.

I do not want to live.

At all.

Even slightly. Not one teeny tiny iota. There is nothing. But darkness.

My responsibilities are done. My joys are done. My everything is done.

I have told Hazel that once Athena has gone, she can go home. There is no need for her to stay.

She has said that she will stay.

I told her she can go home. It's fine.

I have finished my work. Squared it away. Told Andy it is up to date. Done. Explanations documented. And that I am fine.

I am drawing a line under it all. Done.

It is all done.

I do not know what the time after tomorrow will look like. If there is an end. I will take it. I am not for going on. Or saving against my will. There is no point in "saving" me. To what end ? I have no further things to say. Or share. Or do. Or enjoy.

I am sad and empty. I can distract myself temporarily. But the weight comes back, always.

I understand nothing. Life, as we structure it. Live it out. Makes no sense to me. A game of avoiding ever oncoming suffering. To what end ? For another day in misery ?

I have taken a reasonable stab at what "you're supposed to do". Get a job. Support yourself. Get things. Buy stuff. Have experiences. Be an adult.

None of it makes sense. In the face of suffering. And death. And injustice. The greedy. The corrupt. The idiots burning the world to make a few more bucks.

It's insane. Insane to want more of that.

I dare say I will not have the courage to end myself. Because if nothing else, I am a failure at that too.

My heart is gone. Finally. Nothing there. But sad memories and ashes. I cannot understand anyone with some positive spin on it all. Perhaps in their world that makes sense. In mine, it does not. I cannot relate.

How long can you live without a heart ?

And why would you ?

The house tomorrow will be silent. A deafening silence. For the first time in two decades the house will just be me. Even in the best of circumstances. That would be a pause for consideration.

It is not the best of circumstances.

The house is going to devour me.

I am going to devour myself.

The darkness will finally eat me alive.

All things end. A beginning. A middle. And an end. Not if. But when.

This. Is the end.

Fuck my life. I am not grateful for it. I am resentful at ever being forced into the world. I do not want existence. If I had a choice of a do-over, all over again, I would take oblivion over life. No.

Let there be an end. Existence is pain. I want no more of it.

One more day.

11am.

Then I am done.