I’m at my absolute breaking point.
Cw: medical issues, family death, money problems, displacement, general whining and bitching.
I am safe.
This is also a fucking safe space for me to brain and trauma dump, because frankly I know two people on this website in meat space and only one of them I’ve met in person.
I’m at the end of my fucking rope. This year has been a test of how much can I fucking take, and the answer is not a whole lot more.
January: I have to call EMS for my father because he can’t breathe. I can hear him literally dying as they’re wheeling him out of the house and let me tell you that is a sound that fucking sticks with you. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to unhear it. He has a major massive pulmonary embolism event. HIs lungs are chock full of clots, and we nearly lost him several times. He’s released from the hospital, but now is severely immunocompromised and has to change everything in his life. My best friends dad (i called him dad) died. He died at the same hospital three doors from where my dad was sleeping. I am still dealing wtih the guilt that my dad came home and theirs didn’t. Not that i want my dad dead. I can’t explain it.
February: still dealing with the life changes that come with dad’s new medical issues, adjusting to having him home, getting myself registered as an at home care worker, managing his appointments and the like. My brother and sister buy a house and are in the process of moving in and needing help with that.
March: My brother and sister in law get covid. I’m sure something else happened I can’t fucking remember.
April: I think I had a health issue, but I’ve blocked it out. Yay trauma.
May: My parents let it drop that they were underwater on their mortgage. They were unable to tell my brother, sister in law or myself, so we couldn’t fucking help. The house fucking sells on the 27th, because apparently the bank could make more selling it (and with real estate in washington, i believe it but fuckssake)
June: I spend the entire fucking month packing a house up that we’ve spent 20+ years in. I have no help, nothing. I pull my back to the point where I can’t even sleep sitting up, the dog is acting out because she’s panicking and I have no where to go.
July: Mom and dad move in with my brother and sister in law, I, with my dog land with a friend who is graciously allowing me to stay until I get my feet back under me. My parents get covid (which is a potential death sentence for my father--he’s fine and recovered now), My mother’s car gets broken into and her work bag is stolen (she works for the government btw), I have a double ear infection, cellulitis and an abscessed wound on my hip because I fucking excel at taking care of myself. I’m 99% sure I’ve got rona because I feel like fucking ass warmed over. AND THEN? TODAY? MY BROTHER CALLS ME AND TELLS ME MY UNCLE DIED.
I am at my literal breaking point. I don’t have anything in control, I can’t help anyone, and I’m fucking utterly useless. And I’m mocked openly by real life friends because I’m taking joy in a fucking movie, fucking fictional characters and writing fucking fic about them.
