It's Sunday
I dread the weekends. People around here like to set things on fire. I try not to talk about it because, I suppose my thinking is that if I ignore it, then it'll stop. But, now I have a stomach ache and I'm full of anxiety ~ I feel like I'm living in a trench. I can't relax. My sister and mother can't relax. I feel like I'm zoning out and going crazy and I keep begging God for some kind of MERCIFUL end, but none comes. Just more of the same. My fear is that I'll be flushed out of my house again, still unwell, and have to stay in a hotel ( and I don't want to feel sick in a hotel room. ) , but the truth is, it hits that deeper thing in me ~ tired of being rousted out of a safe place. For almost 20 years. Like a gypsy. Carrying my things around from place to place in plastic bags like a homeless person. Never being able to relax for more than a day or two at a time. Having to be aware and alert, having to take care of some battle fatigued member of the family, or them having to do the same for you. And now, my mother is downstairs in the living room, weeping, because she's tired, and so am I.