Harsh Realizations of Real Life.
Phone rings, it's my mother. I can always immediately sense the underlined panic in her voice, the way her method of speaking dances around the true reason she calls. The typical questions, the typical answers, until my patience is worn and I address the issue directly.
"What happened?"
Sister suffered from another severe panic attack, called in total disarray at 3 in the morning for the second time this week. Her worry is contagious, eating into me like a parasite, feasting on my composure, growing in strength. Doctor has given another medication, don't they know everything can't be fixed with a pill? For god's sake I've been through this first hand.
Mother's tone changes, pleads for me to be able to connect with sister, show her that things don't stay in that dark state. My mind goes blank trying to remember the days of panic in my childhood. I was too young, I was too scared, I don't remember anything. The only thing I can understand is that the solitude I felt as a child is the same solitude my sister is feeling currently. A solitude that I could never help penetrate, for I experienced it myself, and nothing from the outside can fix it. A slow process of maturation is the only true cure. Acceptance of the dark side of the world, while recognizing there is a bright side worth living for. Mother is annoyed, but patient, she understands that she can't understand.
But this is a double hitter, my "second" mother has been diagnosed with Parkinson's. This takes me by surprise and I can't stop the tears. I haven't cried in a long time.
Now I have to prepare for an experiment in Texas for my research. I feel totally devoid of emotion, but I have to churn through the motions of living anyway.
"What happened?"
Sister suffered from another severe panic attack, called in total disarray at 3 in the morning for the second time this week. Her worry is contagious, eating into me like a parasite, feasting on my composure, growing in strength. Doctor has given another medication, don't they know everything can't be fixed with a pill? For god's sake I've been through this first hand.
Mother's tone changes, pleads for me to be able to connect with sister, show her that things don't stay in that dark state. My mind goes blank trying to remember the days of panic in my childhood. I was too young, I was too scared, I don't remember anything. The only thing I can understand is that the solitude I felt as a child is the same solitude my sister is feeling currently. A solitude that I could never help penetrate, for I experienced it myself, and nothing from the outside can fix it. A slow process of maturation is the only true cure. Acceptance of the dark side of the world, while recognizing there is a bright side worth living for. Mother is annoyed, but patient, she understands that she can't understand.
But this is a double hitter, my "second" mother has been diagnosed with Parkinson's. This takes me by surprise and I can't stop the tears. I haven't cried in a long time.
Now I have to prepare for an experiment in Texas for my research. I feel totally devoid of emotion, but I have to churn through the motions of living anyway.