A struggle between commissions, so that I may fuck up on the struggles and not on them.
Bailey is on palliative care, and there is nothing further that can be done. Ruth needs surgery, Helmi possibly needs surgery, Bailey cannot get the surgery to remove the mass on her.
I gave the girls grapes last night, only to remember that Bailey cannot grab anything, and it stabbed my heart again. I'm reminded of Maxine and Rose and Artie. I watched Max decline and struggle with a pituitary tumor, watched as her ability to move was taken from her, cried as I seen she refused to eat anything more. I watched Rose decline over many months, I found Artie had a stroke and was completely immobile and unable to do anything for himself.
I lost Shirley in August following a mystery illness, and had to go straight into work following her being euthanized. I never had a chance to properly grieve. Now it lays hidden beneath the surface, festering.
All of them had neurological issues. Watching your loved one be slowly robbed of their ability to move or eat or take basic care of themselves is heart wrenching.
There's so many things outside of these that I just won't talk about publicly, but they're on the same intense level of stress and worry. Self care is virtually absent, and that only magnifies things. There's no time to take care of myself. There's too many things to carry and leagues to go. It's like Atlas and the Earth, only there's no one to trick into bearing the weight.
Internalizing and burying everything will not help, but that's all I seem to be able to do. It lays beneath the surface, grumbling and prodding for an opening, seizing any opportunity to erupt from the depths.
All of this haunts me and follows me like a collective of ghosts, and I cannot exorcise them and often fear to face them directly as they blend into the static and clouds around me.
But I'm neither weak nor pathetic. These people would have folded ages ago.
Artwork is mine.
Mut belongs to myself.