GOT DAMNIT!

So I'm excited that I've said the hell with J.R. and I go home from work, and I'm in the best mood ever. I go home and I decide to give my baby Elijah some cold water.

Elijah is the happiest bird ever. He sits in my mother's room, and looks at his reflection in the mirror, sings to himself and walks back in fourth.

He sings when he hears the water running.

He sings when he hears plastic bags rumbling.

He sings when he hears Sade on the radio.

He sings when you bring him cold, fresh water. He's always so happy, and rushes right over to it as soon as you bring it.

When I have a bad day, all I need to cheer me up is to take Elijah some water and he makes me smile.

When I went to give him some water last night, I saw him down on the ground. I looked in his dish to see whether or not he had food, because I hate it when he eats off of the ground.

Only tonight, Elijah was on his side.

Elijah was dead.

I ran into the living room hysterical, and weeping to my mother that Elijah was dead. She came in and looked at him and told me it would be alright. I cried all last night.

When my father got home, he said he "felt sorry for his little buddy". That talking to me like a 3 year old last night fucked me up even more, and I cried harder.

I got my little baby when I was 15 or 16, and I miss him already so much.

I'm such a fucking punk.

I had a nightmare last night about a dirty bathroom in Beyonce's house (don't ask) and woke up, relieved that it was only a dream. But then I remembered my bird was dead. I felt bad again.

When I got up this morning I asked Daddy if he had buried Elijah. He said yes. I asked if he was sure he was dead.

How stupid is that?

I have to stop writing now. I'm getting teary eyed.

I'm such a punk.