I know I only wanted to write one of these a day, but there was no one left in the chat, and I need to talk to someone badly.

My tarantula is dying.

The consequence of having some pets with short life spans is just that – you only get to keep them a little amount of time. But with my OCD I feel like I'm missing out on everything. I can't go in that room, I have tried so hard. I can't even go in the house. It's 30 degrees outside, so I can't exactly bring him outside to see him, and on top of that, I'm at work for another three hours.

I don't know if it's the cold because our heater broke (but we've been using portable heaters), hunger because we need to get him some more crickets, thirst because it evaporates pretty quickly, or just plain old age because I've had him over five years (so it's a her). Edward Wigglesworth IV was my first pet out of high school. The pet I snuck into my dorm room and a month or so later had kicked out. We kept him at Sir's apartment. I lovingly threw him crickets each day and loved watching him take them out. I saved his first molt in a guacamole jar.

I can't even be with him, and that's the part that hurts the most. I want to help him. I want to make him comfortable. I want to keep him warm and happy and loved, and I can't even fecking SEE HIM.

Because I can't leave work (I work alone and there is no relief), I can't even go home, "man up" as my husband so loves to say, and see him in his last hours. He's on his side. My baby is on his side, only twitching if there's a breeze. I should be there to say goodbye and I CAN'T.

I CAN NOT LIVE THIS WAY ANYMORE. I WANT OUT SO BADLY. I WANT MY BABIES BACK. I WANT MY LIFE BACK. I WANT TO BE WITH ED.