Tuesday 9:36pm

April 26th 2011

It is always different. The reason the fight starts. The fight always varies. Maybe just passive aggressive. Maybe furious, cresting physical. Maybe it starts out one way and ends another. Maybe it doesn't end for days. Maybe it never ends...just gets forgotten or ignored until the right opportunity to bring it back out and throws it on the table like a rotting heart fresh from the grave presents its self.

And my feelings, rage, hurt, sadness, grief, desperation, hope, optimism, depression....and then....defeat. Always defeat. Maybe I bite back, maybe I nip...maybe I just take it, maybe I try to mediate, maybe the whole thing ends with every one smiling and apologizing. My post fight night always ends the same....defeat. The reality of the fights, the words that are said, the meaning implied and worded just right...they almost never let me nurse a delusion that “things will eventually work out” But there are moments, few and far, full of laughter and sweet smelling rain where I do hold the notion of well being.

These moments are worked up to, they come after weeks, maybe months of trying, pleading and pretending that things are ok...followed by small doses of avoidance, denial and self deception. But when I have them, small and false as they are. They feel so light, so “good”, so right....that I want to share...but protect. I'll cup this small bit of nirvana in my hands, hiding it, protecting it, afraid to show it to the others for fear they'll rip it apart...or worse nurse it, feed it with false deeds and words...do their part to grow it and make me trusting enough...comfortable enough to open my self and let it show.

Maybe it happens the minute I smile, the minute I begin to believe. Maybe it happens days or weeks later. But always... it happens. My small little notion, my piece of joy is crushed, burned, carved away or just shamed and pained black. Always it turns cold and melds into the thousand little bits of concrete shadows that support the crux of my reality...the truth of the situation and the feelings that urge me, plead with me not to.....fall into the same loop again.

It's so much harder, painful, humiliating, crippling to hit the the bottom of a well, from the height of hope and happiness.

Grandma has been good for a few weeks. We went to the coast last weekend. She made strides at independence...and verbalizing. Carrie forgot to refill grandmas pill container “again”...and today she had some kind of “event”...whether it would have happened or not despite the pills...I don't know. What I do know is that....Mom lost it tonight at grandma, Jessica egged it all on, grandma is confused and midgrade nonverbal and Carrie can't control her self because she hates her job. And there is so much more...but my eyes are crossing and I just deleted three pages of the letter “k” because I passed out while writing because I took too many pills. But damned do they feel good tonight.

“Please don't go, I want you to stay...I'm begging you please, oh please don't leave here.”~ VNV Nation.....she left anyways though.

10:10pm