Ahh...... the blame game.
It's his fault, because he's such an asshole all the time, and didn't get her a christmas present, and pushes her buttons and rolls his eyes.....
But then it might be my fault, since I knew something was wrong, but I was tired and I was angry and I was selfish and I didn't want to subject myself to yet another traumatic visitation......
Maybe it's their fault, after all they were right there, and they were supposed to be supporting her, and they were supposed to see her need, and they should have invited her over for coffee....
It's too complicated to place blame. And everyone is responsible for their own actions. It's easy to blame chemical imbalances and bipolar syndrome and manic depression and pot withdrawal, but when my stepmom swallowed that bottle of antidepressants, she made as many choices as there were pills, and every single one of those choices was made in blatant disregard for the children who desperately need her.
How will my family survive my stepmom's latest suicide attempt? I don't know. I just don't know.
My disdain for the medical community is at it's peak right now, as they help her to skirt the issue at the core by telling her she's got a mental disorder and needs more pills. She just swallowed a whole fucking bottle of pills, but she needs more. Yeah great, so what's to stop her from swallowing those the next time she runs out of weed? Good question. I don't know the answer to that one either.
I repeat it like a mantra...... They're not my responsibility. Her choices, his attitude, the boys..... they're my family, but they're not my responsibility. I can only pray...... only pray..... only pray..... but sometimes praying feels like doing nothing and sometimes I just can't pray anymore.
Last night I was only angry. Mad and pissed and sick of it all. I called Rafiki and begged for a moment, just a few minutes, and she prayed with me, and then I went back to my parents and fell asleep on the couch with an old movie starring Bill Murray and Woody Harrelson playing quietly in front of me. I felt better in the morning.
I spent the day with my dad (miserable) Pooky (oblivious) and Fuzzy (not talking). Visited my stepmom in the hospital. Always listening, always speechless. They can come to me, I'm there. But who will I go to? I'm alone tonight. It's better that way. Spilling myself here to all you faceless entities, but on a night like tonight I can't help but wish I had someone of my own.
Just in case I suddenly found something to say.
I came home to three piles of poo and a puddle of pee. A problem I could solve, a stink I could eradicate. I almost welcomed the task.
It's his fault, because he's such an asshole all the time, and didn't get her a christmas present, and pushes her buttons and rolls his eyes.....
But then it might be my fault, since I knew something was wrong, but I was tired and I was angry and I was selfish and I didn't want to subject myself to yet another traumatic visitation......
Maybe it's their fault, after all they were right there, and they were supposed to be supporting her, and they were supposed to see her need, and they should have invited her over for coffee....
It's too complicated to place blame. And everyone is responsible for their own actions. It's easy to blame chemical imbalances and bipolar syndrome and manic depression and pot withdrawal, but when my stepmom swallowed that bottle of antidepressants, she made as many choices as there were pills, and every single one of those choices was made in blatant disregard for the children who desperately need her.
How will my family survive my stepmom's latest suicide attempt? I don't know. I just don't know.
My disdain for the medical community is at it's peak right now, as they help her to skirt the issue at the core by telling her she's got a mental disorder and needs more pills. She just swallowed a whole fucking bottle of pills, but she needs more. Yeah great, so what's to stop her from swallowing those the next time she runs out of weed? Good question. I don't know the answer to that one either.
I repeat it like a mantra...... They're not my responsibility. Her choices, his attitude, the boys..... they're my family, but they're not my responsibility. I can only pray...... only pray..... only pray..... but sometimes praying feels like doing nothing and sometimes I just can't pray anymore.
Last night I was only angry. Mad and pissed and sick of it all. I called Rafiki and begged for a moment, just a few minutes, and she prayed with me, and then I went back to my parents and fell asleep on the couch with an old movie starring Bill Murray and Woody Harrelson playing quietly in front of me. I felt better in the morning.
I spent the day with my dad (miserable) Pooky (oblivious) and Fuzzy (not talking). Visited my stepmom in the hospital. Always listening, always speechless. They can come to me, I'm there. But who will I go to? I'm alone tonight. It's better that way. Spilling myself here to all you faceless entities, but on a night like tonight I can't help but wish I had someone of my own.
Just in case I suddenly found something to say.
I came home to three piles of poo and a puddle of pee. A problem I could solve, a stink I could eradicate. I almost welcomed the task.
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home