Sunday, February 07, 2010

I am doomed to repeat the same pattern.

I am going to use this time to talk about whatever I want until I feel done. You know, like usual.

Last night I fell asleep with my clothes on at an obscenely early hour. I think I'm getting sick. Or rather, some little organism of some sort is attempting to do horrible things to my bodily functions and my immune system is already hard at work battling said organism. I won't feel the symptoms. It will be a thing that almost happened.

I want to get one of those cute little netbooks. Right now I have a desktop and it becomes nothing more than a thing collecting dust each time I can't come home. Parts of my life start unraveling around the edges when I can't pay or view my bills or check the status of my bank account. I have become entirely dependent on the internet. Oops.

Friday I had to take my mom to the emergency room. The short of it is that she overdosed on methadone and was released the next morning. The long of it is much, much longer. I can't tell it all, but I'll tell some of it. I was there all by myself at the hospital for so many hours. I couldn't tell the doctors what she had taken, how much, or when. I couldn't tell them anything. I didn't know. And I felt so alone. My brother and dad should have been there with me, but they had other "more important" things to do. I was falling apart. I cried and tried to hide it when the doctors came into the room. I was scared and angry. So angry.

Jeremy was the first to answer my texts. It was like a vent releasing the pressure building up inside of me. Relief. He let me come over after I left the hospital. He let me tell him all about how awful it was. He was great. My other friends did text me back after him. Let me know that there were many people around me ready to listen, ready to help.

The tears and the stress and the anger gave me a headache that pulsed in time with my heartbeat. I tried to stay calm. To make it go away by sheer force of will. But no. It got so bad I couldn't read my book. I couldn't eat. I thought I would throw up from the pain of it. And every time I stood up it somehow increased in magnitude until breathing was all I could think of. I left the hospital then. My mother was out of it. My family didn't seem to care enough. The doctors assured me she would be okay, they were watching her. I left.

It had started snowing outside. I pulled my hood around my face and bent in on myself in an attempt to keep the blowing snow from my face. It was already accumulating on the roads. The drive was slow and white and scary. I lost control of my car and spun around in a circle, coming to a stop too close to a car and a mailbox. Close, but not touching. I wanted so much to be done with the drive and I had to crawl along. Another stretch of lonliness. Another stretch of fear.

Yesterday I was happy. Just the difference between the horrors of Friday and the relative routine of Saturday were enough to make me feel grateful. Safe. Happy. Relieved. The problems aren't gone, of course, but I don't normally hold on to bad feelings for long.

I think I'm done talking for now. I would very much like this to be a day where I stay in comfortable clothes and maybe cook something hot and delicious and hide in my house from the cold and the people. I don't want to talk anymore. I just want to be.

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