Here Comes the Waaambulance.





My mother was officially released from Hospice on Monday, 11/8/21. On Tuesday, 11/9/21, she tried taking her own life by swallowing pills.

To say this is all surreal is an understatement. I received a panicked call from A, my brother’s gf, about what to do – told her to call 911 and I’m on my way. I arrive as paramedics are working on getting her into the ambulance and A is just freaking out, not doing a damn thing but pacing and crying at this point. My feelings about A being a cunt haven’t changed, but I hugged her just the same because I’m sure it was terrifying. I should have throat punched her instead.

I arrive at the ER with mom, who is lucid and talking, but ornery and complaining about how long everything is taking. I do take this opportunity to tell her if she didn’t make bad choices this morning, we wouldn’t be here. She keeps telling me she didn’t plan on waking up and she’s tired of always being sick, always being exhausted and feeling like she’s fighting every single day. It kills me to hear her talking like this, especially after her losing a son to suicide just 4 years ago and promising to never do that to me again.

After leaving the hospital, I run to work, grab my things, update them quickly on what’s going on and then go home to pass out for an hour or two. My brain is a fog and I can feel the migraine starting to creep in. Once we found out what room she was in, A took it upon herself to call her and tell her she’s not allowed back at their house. After trying to take her own life. Not the smartest thing to say to someone who’s at rock bottom. Long story short, I told A to back off – she said herself she doesn’t handle mental illness well and she’ll follow my lead – where the fuck did I say to call and torment her?! She talked to mom again at some point and told her we’re planning to commit her and put her in a home. Is she trying to get my mom to be successful at her next attempt? This bitch just needs to get the fuck out of here. She keeps bugging me about touring nursing homes and packing mom’s things – all while she’s still in the hospital, day 1, and hasn’t met with any shrinks or social workers yet. Safe to say, I yet again told her to back the fuck off, we need to take this one day at a time and to stop being dramatic – this isn’t about her. I got a nice “Fuck You” from her so I just blocked her and called the hospital to remove her from the list of people that can call for information. You’d think for someone’s who’s dad killed himself, she’d have a little more compassion, but then again… she’s a selfish twat waffle.

It’s embarrassing to have to talk to her appointed psychiatrist before she even meets your mom to tell her your mom should come with a warning label. I had to apologize to her for trying to tell her how to do her job, it’s just that my mother is great at the victim and manipulation game. She seemed to understand my reasoning for why my mother and I can’t live together, but the social worker, on the other hand, made me feel like the biggest piece of shit for even considering not letting my mom live with me. When or if that social worker calls me today, she’s going to get a piece of my mind.

So here we are, Thursday. Mom still at the hospital with no place to go and me sitting here feeling like I’m being torn in half with wanting to help her and wanting her to grow up and figure it out. I know that sounds harsh. Especially for someone who is suffering from mental illness, but then again, I’ve been dealing with my mother’s mental issues for the past 30 years (that I can remember) and just finally started dealing with it and calling her out on her bullshit. I need to take care of me – I was robbed of that early on and I won’t do it again. It’s my time, my turn, and my life. There are a few people in my life that understand this and have seen my mother for who she truly is. Then there are others who will no doubt think I’m awful, but fuck em. Fuck em all.


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