When I get old, I'm taking up skydiving.

Transient Global Amnesia is the inability to either retain short term memories or access long term memories. It's pretty common for the elderly and people who have severe illnesses. Typically this condition's episodes improve after 24-48 hours, but it could take longer for individuals who experience delays in healing (such as dialysis patients). The doctors think that mom's got the short term memory TGA. Sometimes she's completely sharp. Sometimes she resets after five minutes, and we have to repeat the same conversation several times. Sometimes she resets after thirty seconds. Those are the episodes that concern me the most. She asks a question. I answer it. She stands there looking at me for a few seconds, then asks the same question again. If this type of episode happens while she's in the middle of something, she gets really confused. She then has a brief period of panic, which is almost immediately replaced by anger. When she gets angry, she attacks whoever or whatever is an easy target.

She's giving the nurses so much hell this morning that they've called me twice in the past hour to talk her down. I think I better go back to the hospital and give her a familiar target to attack so those poor women can have a break. Lemme just get some coffee on the way.

It's not insomnia

I'm awake. It's after 6am, and I've been awake for almost four hours. Why? Mom woke up at around 2:30am and came into my room asking what day it was and if she was finished with dialysis. I answered her. She asked again. I gave the same answer. She asked again. I then asked her what she was talking about, hoping to get more information about what she was asking. She sometimes forgets the words to express what she wants to say needs a minute to sort it out. After she repeated the same question about six times, I told her that it was still nighttime, and she should go back to bed. She said she had a headache. I told her that she should rest. Then she asked me what day it is and if she was finished with dialysis. 

"Go to bed, mom. I'll get you up when it's time to go to dialysis."

"Okay." She shuffled away, and a few seconds later I heard the lock on the front door click.

"Hey! Where are you going?" I jumped out of bed and flew to the entryway.

"I don't know."

"Come on." I led her back to her bed as we repeated the loop of her two questions and my one answer. She complained about her headache again, and I convinced her that getting in bed would help. I said that I'd call the doctor, but that was a lie. Migraine headaches are a common side effect of dialysis. I'm familiar with migraines; They are debilitating. I usually get them a few times a year, and I spend two days alternating between functional semi-conscious in the world under a carefully-layered combination of pain killers and shutting myself away in a dark room to suffer in silence. I know it sucks. What I don't know is how a person can cope with feeling that misery in addition to the apparent physical trauma of having their blood filtered through a machine every other day for the rest of their life. I don't know how to help. I am not good at consolation. That is not likely to change. 

The thing that I am obsessing over in my mind is WHY DID SHE LET IT GET THIS BAD? This is what happens when the doctor tells you that you need to change your diet and lifestyle and you ignore the warnings. You ignore them for OVER TWENTY YEARS! I want to yell at her about it, but it won't help. It won't make me feel better. She won't accept responsibility for it. Most importantly, it won't change anything. It's just wasted energy, and I'm already so tired.

Yesterday morning we had a 15 minute argument and standoff just to get her to put on shoes to go to the grocery store. She wanted to wear slippers. I wouldn't have made a big deal about it if she wasn't going to leave the car, but I insisted that she come into the store because she needs exercise. I didn't tell her that because it would've caused another argument. 

It was a very hard day for me. I took a lot of shit from her about everything, and eventually I told her that I'd heard enough. I had to shut her up, so I told her that nobody wants to listen to her criticism. When she started again, I told her that she needs to stop talking about things she doesn't know anything about. That got her. She threatened to punch me and stuff rocks in my mouth. I told her that a person who couldn't put on shoes without an argument didn't have the ability to intimidate me. Silent treatment. Success! I texted my brother to let him know that she might be ready to try and buy his love now. That's what she does, plays us against each other. She has always done it. She will never stop. I once told her that talking about my brother to me behind his back is something that she should consider stopping because it doesn't do anything but make her look bad. She hasn't really stopped, but she has adjusted her approach. The mudslinging has been replaced by what appears to be inquiries based on concern. It's the same thing. She just wants information that she can use for manipulation. Well, I don't have any.

I've been walking around, looking at everything and thinking, 'I thought that I finally got out. I thought that I had finally escaped this place, this family, this mess.' I hated Phoenix. I seriously hated it. However, I miss it. I miss school. I miss privacy. I miss having a clean kitchen and bathroom. I miss not having to explain every goddamn thing I do. I miss getting a direct deposit paycheck. I miss solitude.

Zombie

I'm a peace-loving person. There aren't many things that I'm willing to fight for, but peace is one of them. That sounds strange, but some people will continue to make your life hell until you fight, and then they'll leave you alone and move on to their next victim. I hate fighting. It pisses me off when someone makes me fight. Every time I feel anger, it turns into pain and sadness. It seems like the natural progression of those emotions. I understand the cycle. It's not the anger that I try so desperately to avoid ; It's the sadness. You can't turn sadness into anything. You can turn anger into productivity. You can turn pain into artistic creativity. Sadness doesn't have a complementary characteristic. You just have to ride it out until either your situation changes or the emotion runs its course. 

I was depressed. I changed my surroundings by moving to Phoenix, and I hoped that the things that made me so sad would be left behind. They weren't. Those things just became more demanding and urgent. I should've seen that coming.

I firmly believe that you attract people, things and events to yourself with your energy. Positive people can attract other positive people, but they'll also attract negative people who either covet their energy or want to bring them down. It's hard to tell which is which sometimes. I can feel when someone is going to engage with me, but I'm often stunned when the interaction is unpleasant. I used to believe that bad things happened to me because I deserved them, and there's still some part of me holding on to that belief. Logically, I know that's not true, but the idea of karmic retribution intrigues me so. Okay, now I'm rambling.

Going back home has me really stressed out. I have barely slept this week. In the we e hours I think about the events and decisions that brought me here and the ones taking me back. I think of all the comforts that I took for granted that I miss and the ones that I take for granted now that I hope I don't have to miss later. I obsess about being an underachiever. I wonder where all the time went.

I tried to escape Oakland for good. Yes, FOR GOOD. I didn't want to go back there, where the memories of painful events are constantly revisited and the same manipulative and abusive arguments are repeated with people that I just wanted to love. I'm not a fighter. When I'm backed into a corner, I become all claws and fangs just until I can clear a path to run away. I thought I'd finally gotten out of there. I had just renewed my lease. I thought that I was free. Well,

I.

Am.

Not.

Free.

The universe seems to be demanding that I fight for something. I don't want to! I am tired of getting my damn feelings hurt! I am tired of trying to live my truth and being vulnerable and raw in the company of liars. It has become quite clear that I am unable to stop caring about assholes (no matter what they do or say), so why is it so fucking impossible for me to get the hell away from these people? Somebody is going to start being good to me, dammit! <big sigh>

I love my family. I really do. That's probably obvious. I don't know how to fix us. If it wasn't for compassion I would just run away, but here we are. I've gotta go back. I have to try.

The Fallen

An animated and friendly man approached me in front of the recovery clinic. He didn't have the typical look of someone I'd pick up there. He was handsome. He had all of his teeth and, although he did appear a bit unnaturally thin and unshaven for at least a couple of days, he looked healthy.

During the ride to his house, he told me that he was given a small house by his parents when he was twenty years old. He repaired and flipped it, then bought another and did the same. He repeated the process until he could afford a house that he wanted to live in and a lifestyle that felt comfortable to him.

At the peak of his success, he developed a drug habit. As the story almost always goes, it got the better of him. Just before he hit the bottom, he said, he was trading in his vehicles every few months to avoid missing a payment. Now he's without a car or a place to live, but he said that he wasn't worried. Quitting drugs was the big challenge. Everything else is easy.