2005-11-17, 1:07 p.m.
So, Mom won't stop yakking about that woman who managed to get her husband off the respirator once he was living at home again. Which sounds to me like a fucking fairy tale one trots out periodically to well....blow hope up people's asses. Mauricio keeps on encouraging her with this one, which annoys me greatly.
"He lived for SEVEN YEARS," she chirrups. Over the phone I can tell she's got stars and flowers in her eyes at this idea.
It's not realistic, I say. That woman had MUCH MORE MONEY than we do. Enough to pay a team of live-in nurses and pay for the fucking respirator (at least for the four months it took to wean him off of it) and every other piece of machinery. We cannot afford to ever bring him home.
And besides that, it may very well make my mother keel over to be 24-hour caretaker for years on end. (Seven? *shudder*) A team of doctors have BEGGED HER not to try to bring him home. BEGGED. I saw it. I was there for that. I don't want her to keel over.
Life is much easier since he went into the hospital. Mom and I don't have screaming fights all the fucking time any more. I don't want the screaming fights to come back. I like that she can actually leave the house without struggle, guilt, and meltdowns. Hell, I like that she can leave the house at all.
I've argued these points with her. As usual, rationality and sense means nothing compared to TEH GUILT that he's in the hospital. "I have to try!" she said.
I still can't figure out why stretching it out to seven years worth of stringing him along in a bed is great, just because she can't let go. I've warned her that at some point, she's gonna be FORCED to let go.
The horrible thing is that I too am supposed to have stars and flowers going off in my eyes at the idea. "We can bring him HOME! To Our Beloved Family! Hooray!"
And instead, the idea gives me a horrible sick feeling of dread.
I seriously don't feel much of anything any more. I guess I'm "letting go" of most stuff. I don't feel much love for people. The idea of being in love again or caring very much about the people I'm supposed to be caring about is severely unappealing most of the time.
I can't even write a fucking happy ending in my novel. The character's got a love interest she's quite happy with right now, and I'm starting to feel tempted to keep them together and happy instead of breaking them up the way I planned to. But on the other hand...I don't want HER to be happy because I don't get to be. And how mean of me is that? I should want to give the character the happy ending I won't get...and I just want to be stingy and "Nobody gets to be fucking happy if I don't!" about it.
People tell me depression meds, should I elect to go on them (which won't be happening considering my lack of ability to not gag on pills), tend to make you more numb. I can't say I need any more of that. I'm doing uncomfortably numb on my own just fine.
I don't much like the numb. It's kind of disturbing how little I care about most stuff. But on the other hand, considering I can't feel happy right now- and I mean "can't" as in, nothing in my life at this point is anything but teh suck and that isn't changing for anything but the worse until after Dad dies- not feeling is probably a very good thing.
I scheduled my last shrink appointment for the day before Thanksgiving.
The sad thing is, I'd like to go in there and be able to tell her nice things on the last day. That the dude I vaguely hinted about awhile back and I are happily dating or at least with some vague hope of someday doing so (she was rooting for that), that things with Mom are improving, that there's hope on the horizon. So that she can leave with a reassuring feeling, that I'm not going to drown in her absence.
The truth? I'm drowning more than ever. And I can't even fake otherwise enough to blow hope up her ass on my way out of her door. And I hate to do that to her. I don't want to walk out of there and leave her with a horrible feeling of dread that I'm going down the toilet and once again won't have any psychiatric aid at my disposal.
But... like I said, I can't even fake it enough to give her that kindness.