I dunno if this is a shit post since I've never posted in this sub before. 
Basically, yesterday evening I found an injured bird in my yard. He was still breathing (just enough to consider him alive) but he wasn't moving. I called this place near where I live where they take in injured birds and help rehabilitate them and return them to the wild.
Until that phone call, I was on the fence of optimism, but while I was describing him to the sanctuary place he opened his eyes and I was so hopeful then that maybe he could be saved and would live. So I brought him to the sanctuary, and my first question when arriving was if he was still breathing (the car ride was longer than anticipated). They said he was but he was in bad shape. I got a file number associated to him to call back today (the day after) to see what happened. 
I called this afternoon and they told me he didn't make it. They gave him oxygen and painkillers (something of that nature I'm sure) but despite that he didn't make it. 
So why am I writing this here? Well, I can't stop crying. I'm honestly not a bird person in the pet sense but I love to sit in my yard and watch these little finches and sparrows playfully flying in and out of this one little tree near my porch. The bird that I found was a Grackle, somewhat common in North America. He basically looks like a smaller and prettier version of a crow. 
I really hoped he would make it and I got so overly attached to this little guy. I'm so sure this is because of my bpd and how deep my emotions run. It just sucks. 
Sometimes it's great to feel all kinds of emotions so much more profoundly than some average joe person, but in this case I wish I didn't feel this much. 
