Hospital Tales
So, mom is back in the hospital and not doing great. I stayed with Dad last night and drove behind him to the hospital. He's not technically supposed to be driving yet, but I couldn't stop him without I don't know, taking on a role I'm not yet ready to take on. I'm the baby, ya know? I don't know how to be anything else. I always knew this time would come and that it would be earlier in my life than it is in a lot of people's since I was born so late and so unexpectedly. (Yeah, lots of therapy time devoted to that). But I still wasn't ready for it. I don't guess anyone ever is. But then any time I spend contemplating how it is all affecting me, I feel guilty about. Like I have to make everything about me. And my other siblings seem to be doing ok. Why is it throwing my life into complete chaos? I'm not even the sibling that is here the most. I feel like I 've been living in denial for the last, oh, all my life, and here I am being yanked into facing things I want to hide from. But I can't hide anymore. And every Tuesday at 11:00 I brush back the cobwebs in the deepest recesses of my heart and start digging even deeper. And it hurts like hell. My mom had her foot amputated and they left a gaping wound so that they could use a wound vac to help it heal. I mean a gaping wound. Every other day they have to clean it out. Since the wound is still open, the nerves are exposed, and the nerves in the foot are extremely sensitive, so it is excruciating pain with every swab. That's what this round of depression feels like. All these wounds left unhealed and gaping for years and years, some externally inflicted, some arising from me, and I've had to peel back the sloppy dressing and clean them out so they can finally heal. But good godddddamn, it is awful.
I need a cigarette.
I need a cigarette.