If I could bundle up all my rage and sadness right now, it would grow to be the size of the sun, and we’d all get sucked into it. For the fourth time in my life, I received the “your mom is in the hospital” call today. Her coworkers found her unconscious in bed and the five prescription pill containers alluded to the idea that she had mixed her medications.

Future drug addicts: if you’re going to keep being an addict, don’t have kids. Putting them through that is too much. When you’ve sent your mother to rehab before and  then you find out she’d never changed to begin with, it’s heartbreaking.

What do I do wrong as a daughter to make you need to get fucked up? I called 5 times this week and you ignored me. When I think of my father in a coffin at the Vashon Cemetery, he seems just as dead as my mom is now, even though she is alive in her hospital bed. He had so much life in him. My head will spin forever.

She is fine. I just needed somewhere to write this. Facebook can’t handle the truth. People are still occupied with hating their parents or revolting against them.
It’s all fun and games until they’re gone.