The longest day

This alternating between seething anger and semi-suicidal depression is starting to seep into my core. I can no longer distinguish whether this is a mood or who I am anymore. I live only to serve. I subject myself to constant scrutiny at home every day, and now it also comes from the outside. Friends I have lost contact with are now hurt by my inability to keep the lines of communication open. I don't feel capable of doing anything about it. I have absolutely no desire to talk about any of this, anything going on in my life with anyone. I don't want to hear anyone's opinion. I don't want anyone's criticism. I get enough of that already, more than my fair share. It seems that the hopes I've locked away for safekeeping aren't buried deep enough. I'm not sure why I feel like everyone wants to attack me. Maybe it's life trying to shake me awake. Maybe I'm just going crazy.

I am not a fighter. Fighting has never served me. I withdraw. When one is surrounded by people who know nothing but fighting (and who are so much better at it than me), one learns to absorb the blows. Eventually they will get tired of attacking. Then, there will be a moment of peace to try and reach them... followed by more attacks once they've rested. I know what historically happens to people who don't fight. Yes, they are eliminated. Fine. At least then I can finally have  peace. 

I always believed that if I just loved people they would eventually be kind to me. It doesn't appear to be true most of the time, but there are occasional moments when I think I've broken through. They think that I am weak because I won't fight. Well, I say it is them who are weak because they can't see what's right in front of them. They fight without knowing what it is they're fighting for or against. In the end, nobody wins a war - both sides are damaged. No matter how this all turns out, I want to know in my heart that I did what was right and good. Perhaps that will be enough to keep me going as long as I am needed. I will not fight. It is pointless. My family is constantly arguing about who is to blame for the current state of affairs. Duh. We all are. My mother's health and finances are her fault. My brother's finances and unresolved anger are his fault. My finances and depression are my fault. I could've stayed away and held on to the tiny bit of peace I had. Yes, I blame myself for coming back here every damn day, but that was my choice. I'm stuck here taking care of her because I chose to do it. It's not that I wanted this specifically, but I cannot live with myself if she goes to a home. I spent many years witnessing what happens in those places, and I would feel like a cold and heartless, self-centered spoiled brat if I didn't at least try to help. My discomfort is the consequence of that decision. Whatever ruin I am subjected to is a consequence of that decision. I am no stranger to bad decisions. I don't fear them. I don't fear much these days. This is my duty. Of that I am certain. That is all I have. The rest be damned. And it is.