my eyes are tired. my vision is poor. I’m intoxicated with anger.
In today’s session, Dr D and I talked about how easily people file away labeled boxes stuffed full of the past. We do it without even thinking. Its boxed up, but the one word label can’t accurately describe just how complex life is or was.
It was a heavy session where Morton was out most of the time. At the end he really struggled with a firestorm of flashbacks stemming from last night’s dream. I can’t believe how many memories are tied to one stupid car.
I really don’t want to blog right now so I’m just going to make quick notes for reference.
I tried to give myself an identity but I still sometimes feel like…
Right now it’s easier to be angry with other family members than my mother. My uncle didn’t suffer long enough. My aunt was as much as a demon as the man she married.
There’s part of me that feels ththat my mother’s COPD is justice served for doing her best to snuff the life out of her children. It is her Alzheimer’s that changes things.
In my mind, it was ok for her to lose her breath, to struggle for each breath and get very little. It seemed like justice for her to suffer in the way she made us suffer or made us available to others. Each day would be worse than the last and that seemed just fine by me. But Alzheimer’s leaves her with no understanding of her suffering. She is now a defenseless child and children, no matter how old, should not suffer. She has no way to understand what is happening and has no legal authority of her own. All her choices are made by others.
Although she has no memory of what she’s done or allowed, the point is that she is no longer the person she used to be. This new person suffers with paranoid thoughts. Every time I think of her afraid I cry. I want to hold her.