I haven’t written in days. And that is a total lie. I haven’t written a daily post in days. Truth. So much truth, and maybe I should have. Maybe that would have made two days ago easier since that day sucked. I don’t know what day that was… Thursday? It’s the weekend already, almost two weeks since “The Day”. Just like the stroke last year is “The Thing” inside my head, the day I got the call from my brother is “The Day”.
I need to take time just to write. Not to people explaining the situation, or updating about mom, or asking about if the rent payment was made, or what I need to do for Social Security, or begging people for money to help me move because with all my debt I’m not financially well-off enough to be able to make it out to mom on my own.
I have all of these fears and worries and memories that I haven’t given them the time they need and so today the only thing I want to do is stay in bed. John wants me to wash something for mom and all I can think of is how I don’t want to because the only thing I’ve really asked him to do since this whole thing started was put gas in the car and he couldn’t do that for me. He went to one, single, gas station and I guess they only took cash, so he didn’t do it because all he had was his card. Lets ignore the fact there is a gas station one stop light away from mom’s apartment, or two directly across from the hospital. Let’s ignore the fact that he’s driven the car around and gotten his tongue pierced since he’s been out here, or the fact that I feel like I’m literally his live-in maid at the moment because he can’t be bothered to throw away his half-eaten cup of fruit into the trash can which is literally right above where he left it on the counter.
I remember the day after I got to Vegas how they said mom could have flavored water droplets in the water we used for her sponge swabs so I went to the Target down the street. Well… first I went to the gas station, which is how I found out they don’t have flavored water droplets. So that didn’t work. On to another store, just like it could have been on to another gas station for John. If it doesn’t work the first time then you find another way.
So I went to Target. I needed to get other things like food anyway since we didn’t know how long we would be in ICU. And I remember standing in the aisle looking at the display and almost breaking down into a mess on the floor because I didn’t now what flavor mom would want. What type of daughter am I that I don’t even know what flavor water my mom would want? Here she is maybe dying, literally, and I couldn’t figure out what to get her.
There’s the night she was in pain, begging me to make it stop, and the feelings of powerlessness, helplessness of not being able to do anything on my own. The realization of I don’t know what. That this is real. That it’s not a dream, that mom really is sick and that my degree does nothing to help me help her.
There’s the worry that the move out here isn’t the right thing. Maybe I’m just making things worse.
I don’t have a job at the moment. I don’t have a relationship because “I’ve made it obvious I can’t have a relationship without sex,” so Zane and I are over. He said he’s tired of trying. There’s the worry of getting back to Orlando to pack my stuff and how Zane is going to be there and I’m going to have to sleep in the apartment and be around him when I don’t want to be. I don’t want him to touch me because just the thought of him hurts my core right now.
And how messed up is that? I wasn’t happy in the relationship. I didn’t feel loved so why does it hurt to think that it’s over? Why does it bother me that he wants me to stay and how he’s upset that I’m leaving because we were supposed to build a home together? We were eventually going to break up anyway because I didn’t want to go to California. Why does it have to hurt to have things end now for a legitimate reason? Why do I have to feel guilty?
I feel like I’ll never see my car again and that I’ll keep making payments on something that I’ll never use. That even if I do eventually get it back from Zane he’ll have taken people out in it, done who knows what in it. It won’t be mine anymore. Maybe I should just sell it and use the money I get to pay off my car loan as much as I can.
Because I don’t work at the school any longer I won’t be able to finish my second degree. Not that I was all that invested in it, but I was looking forward to having two and feeling smart and other selfish vain shit.
John and I fought last night because I was late getting to the hospital. During the morning while we switched shifts sitting with mom he said I was too high strung, that I needed to do something for myself to relax and chill out. So I had dinner with our older brother. He cooked steaks and had shrimp and offered me to come over so I wasn’t alone and could be with family. So I went. And it was awesome and everything that I needed it to be. We talked about mom’s lungs and getting power of attorney and how I was going to move and all sorts of things that we needed to talk about. I ended up being late and John said how he was annoyed with me.
Go fuck yourself.
I’ve done laundry and dishes and cooked and paid all of mom’s bills and hacked all of her accounts so things could get paid on time, and called to get late fees waived. I’m looking into moving the apartment to a first floor since mom won’t be able to handle the stairs very well. I have quit my job, I ended a relationship, quit school, I’m going to lose more of what little I have as far as worldly possessions go, I’m losing my network of friends in Orlando. My whole life has literally shifted in the course of a week and when I’m told to “relax” I’m given shit for actually doing it.
Go burn in a fire with hot sauce in your eye balls you ungrateful dick of a brother.
It’s not like I went to a club and got smashed, or hooked up with a random guy, or went gambling. I was talking to family, our brother, who needs information to help me take care of everything that needs to be taken care of, and you’re going to be upset with me for being 30 minutes late?
Why don’t you try taking care of yourself? Why don’t you try doing something to help?
And I guess all of his frustration with me stems from the fact that I went to Full Sail and mom helped me with that, but she wouldn’t help him when he asked. He’s mad that Jason and I originally thought he would be the best person to take care of mom since he used to be a nursing assistant and how “we don’t care about his plans or what he wants to do” even though every time someone asks him “What are you doing when you get out of the military” he doesn’t know. He has a different answer every freaking time. He’s upset that no one has offered to help him move his own stuff. He’s upset that no one asks him how he’s doing, even though every time I do ask he says he’s fine, and I don’t the energy in me to fight to get to the truth. If he doesn’t want to talk, fine. I’m having a hard enough time with my own stuff. I need him to take care of himself, which he apparently can’t do even though mom raised both of us.
I don’t have it in me to fight with him and continue taking care of everything else. Part of me wants him to go back to Germany because at least there he’s not making a mess in mom’s car and apartment, the car I just got done cleaning out which now looks like a second bedroom because all of his shit and trash.
I want to know this is the right course of action, and I don’t. I want to know that I’m doing the right thing, and I don’t.
I want to not feel guilty or shamed. I have so much support from outside my immediate circle it brings me to tears, but Zane and John are being themselves. I feel like it’s selfish of them. I want them to be understanding and compassionate but john is still too immature to think past himself and Zane’s a sociopath who while understanding emotions never empathized so I don’t know why I’m hurt over the lack of empathy now.
I have a list of things I ought to be doing right now and instead I’m pouring out all of this garbage onto a blank page as if it’s going to help fix things. Even though John and I have talked it doesn’t feel fixed. It won’t get better if I don’t wash the stupid pillow, but that’s the last thing I want to do because he’s an ass who hasn’t done anything to help me since he’s been here, and I’m sure that’s a lie, but right now I can’t think of anything he’s done to actually benefit me in this situation. And right now I want to be selfish and be tit-for-tat with shit. You want me to wash something for you, on top of all the trips to the store I’ve made to buy you things, and all of the chores I’ve done without you asking?
Go fuck yourself.
I want to cry and I can’t. I’m too tired to. My body refuses to make the tears even though my shoulders shake. I’ve been eating better, two meals, sometimes three, but every time afterward I have to fight off nausea because I really don’t want to eat at all. I’m forcing myself to do it and my body tries to retaliate.
I want a hug and compassion and for someone to hold me and let me cry everything out so I can feel better and not have all of the negativity inside me. I want to not worry about holding someone’s hand over the phone, trying to make them feel better about having to pay double rent when I did that for half of our relationship. I want to know I can count on John to not walk away from me when he’s pissed and to tell me about the scan results because in no world is it right for him to withhold that information from me just because I’m late.
Right now, sitting in the apartment alone I have nothing left in me to give. I’m burnt out from anger, fear, and worry. I’m burnt out from doing. I’m burnt out from change. I’m burnt out and somehow I have to keep going. I have to get these things done because if I don’t do it they’ll pile up and be unmanageable in the future.
This is a moment of feeling overwhelmed. These feelings will pass and I know they will. I know that I will be ok and my family will make it work. I know I will keep reaching out and letting people know how things are going, which they’re going better. We get closer and closer to leaving the hospital every day. I don’t want John to stay with us. I want him to stay with Jason and be away from me because I feel like I’ll constantly fight with him otherwise. It makes me remember why I moved out of mom’s place in the first place.
I’m so good at finding the positive points when I’m explaining things to other people. But right now I don’t see any. Right now I’m fighting with myself on going to the gym because there will be people there and it’s new, and it’s so much easier to go back into my mom’s room, curl up with her blanket and do nothing and hope that it really is all just a horrible dream and that I’ll wake up and my biggest worry will be biking against the wind to get to work, or dealing with an annoying student who dicked around in class instead of paying attention, or working shitty hours 5pm to 1am, or Zane not wanting to be intimate even though my skin’s on fire.
But this isn’t a dream. This is my reality. I need to learn to cope with it.