35

My mother cares about me more than - prior to my hospital admission - I thought she did, and it is hard on me knowing this now. It was not my intention to end up in the emergency department 35 days ago, on that Friday night; that night that simultaneously feels like this morning and like a distant memory. No, I had no plans for that night, my plans for the following days, however, had been made carefully but they were thwarted by a spontaneous act performed out of despair. I’ve had 35 days to cool off, I’m no longer determined to carry out my plans and I know that if I did they would really hurt my mother. I didn’t think anyone would care very much, a little upset maybe, but nothing life changing. I’m angry with my mother for putting this burden of love on me. For the last two years M has been the only thing keeping me here, not because I wanted to be with him, but because I couldn’t stand the thought of hurting him. After M ended things I had a brief window where I thought I could have been free of anyone’s love, free to do as I wish without fear of causing significant pain to anyone. I missed the window because of that stupid act 35 days ago, that stupid act that in a twisted way saved my life.