I've noticed that when she doesn't try to remember things the episodes are much worse. I'm not sure if she's tired of trying or just doesn't feel like making the effort. She has always been a chronic worrier. She gets herself stuck in these "concerned" loops, when she obsesses over one thing incessantly. Most of the time it's something unimportant, a detail that doesn't affect much. I have begun to tell her that I am not going to continue repeating myself for something inconsequential. If we're talking about her health: medications, diet, appointments, doctor's orders, etc., I will become a parrot. I am sure to try and repeat the same words every time until she gets frustrated. When she starts bitching, I know that she has absorbed what I said. She has a habit of asking similar questions as a manipulation method as well, constantly checking to see if my answer will change and trying to find a lie. I am not very good at determining whether she's repeating herself on purpose or stuck in a loop... not yet. I treat both the same way, so I guess it doesn't really matter. There's no benefit in me lying to her about her health. She may not ever realize that. I have to disengage to save myself. Otherwise I will go nuts.
The other day, on the way home from mom's dialysis, a tiny dog ran out into the street in front of my car. I stopped and got out to take a look. The sweet little thing came up to me and I picked her up. She was so happy to have found help. I asked the nearby landscapers of they knew which house she belonged to, and their guess led me to a trail that ran cold pretty quickly. I took her home with me and mom. I knew that mom wouldn't feel up to a field trip, so I figured I'd keep the pup overnight and take her to the shelter in the morning. Seemed like a simple plan. Well, about an hour after I made her lunch, mom started screaming about the dog and demanding that I set it free back out on the street to fend for itself because it wasn't my responsibility to care for it. She went on like that for at least five minutes while I got myself and the dog ready for the car ride. She refused to come with me, although her doctor requires that she be supervised 24 hours a day. She just kept yelling like someone was trying to do something bad to her and insulting my kindness, the same kindness that brought me here to take care of her. I wanted to tell her that she and the dog were the same and that I would send her to a home because my kindness and compassion was obviously something that she didn't appreciate. I didn't. I took the dog to the shelter. It was chipped, so no worries there.
I didn't want to come back. I wanted to jump on the freeway and just drive. I wanted to keep driving until this place and this life were as far away as possible. I love her because she is my mother. I hate who she is as a person. I know that hate is a strong word, and I am not exaggerating. I hate her. All of the things that I hate about her are the things that I am continuously subjected to. I'm not sure how love, compassion and hate can be so intertwined, but they are there.
I'm gambling again. Yeah, I'm gonna be in deep shit if I can't find a way to work. The few hours I have free while mom's at dialysis haven't been lucky ones for me. I tried to turn a hundred bucks into a car payment, but I just lost the hundred bucks. For some reason I am not worried about losing my car. I don't really care about much these days. I figure that if I just lose everything it'll be a tidy end to my dreaming. If not for the dreams, I wouldn't feel so broken. Maybe if I let them go, I can just exist and I won't have to feel so unhappy and unfulfilled. Maybe that last little shred of who I think I am is what's holding me back from feeling alive. Maybe the thing that I believe is keeping hope alive is actually extinguishing it.
I am depressed but not suicidal, so that's a step up I guess. No drugs so far. It's not that I don't want any; I just don't have the connections anymore. I don't have any desire to go find them either. The drugs I loved were party favors, and I don't much feel like celebrating anything. There's a ton of booze in the house and no one else here drinks. I've tried drinking; It just makes me more bitter and depressed. I hate being hung over. I'll keep trying simply because it's so accessible and I am in desperate need of some type of escape. I'm smoking a lot. Everyone who smokes has a secret desire to be dead. I read that somewhere. Sometimes I don't want to smoke but I go out anyway because I just need to go outside.
I'm almost certain that this is a penance. That's the only way I can justify subjecting myself to it.
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