mothers
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I just got in a terrible fight with my mother. I was a dick, yes. I don’t even know where else to start. I hate her passive aggressive victim complex. I called her out on it, called her out on the way she talks about my house – my only accomplishment in life it feels
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I visit my mother every Saturday. That is all I can manage. I bring her rum, cigarettes, and lots of diet coke and some lunch. We eat together. She complains about always being alone. Forced to work, etc, etc. I am exhausted. She is an emotional vampire. I know I’m enabling. I don’t care. I
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During my second week in the hospital, I finally called my mother. What a disaster. I had been stabilizing pretty well on medication changes and Dr Floura’s careful dialing in of the right doses and times. I had learned a lot about myself and that this depression was largely existential in nature, exacerbated by my
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I visited my mother today. At my house. I am not living there. She was drunk. She is often drunk. And I just brought her more. More rum, more cigarettes. I visit at least every Saturday with another load of both. She’s been a smoker since she was a teenager. She’s a broke penniless widow
Documenting my journey through the mental health system 