You. You waste away on the couch. In front of the television. Day and night. Day after day. Living your life in talk shows and game shows. You feed your depression with anger, indifference, gambling, cigarettes and alcohol.
You. You haven't left the house in years. Haven't picked up the phone. Have done nothing.
I tried to help you. I told you how much it pained me to see you this way. How I've been through the same thing and got better so that you could see that there was hope. How to watch you do this to yourself made me unwell.
You. You cried. You told me that you had nothing to live for. That you were just waiting to die.
You. You accused me of being a narcissist. Selfish for trying to help you. You hated me with all your might in that moment. I could feel it.
I had to walk away.
You. You are my mother. And I'm standing here alone just like I was when I was a little girl, not knowing what to do next. Not sure if there is something to do next. I'm just waiting for this to be over.