The days are being challenged by a lingering, deeply rooted, intense and frustrating emotional attachment.

My mom is killing me. Literally, it seems to be taking the life from me. It is not a constant ordeal, because suppressing it is what my brain is doing in order to keep going with the peace that I’m determined to remain in. But that brain of mine, well, it is a complicated thing. Maybe if I were a cat, like our sweet Angel and Luna, then maybe life would be easier.

Mom–oh god, where should I start. It’s too lengthy and complicated to get into. The love and pain from watching her slowly give in to the life she is choosing is destroying me. Although I have a good grip on the reality of it all, my deep love for mom is causing a lot of inner turmoil. She simply cannot do things in the same manner I can and looking into her life is a bitch for me, because I cannot fix it. I cannot make her choices. I can’t do what is best for her, because I’m not her. The choices she makes are really bad ones in my view, and the best she can do in her own view. The contrast is the fuel for my current frustration. Lingering, daily frustration.

She has already attempted suicide, has hinted at willing herself to death, like she had recently mentioned her dad had done once his wife of sixty-plus years had died. Her voice is completely labored and shaky, the divorce from her estranged husband is being finalized, the house she lives in is probably going to be sold off because of the divorce, her COPD is intense, and she keeps on smoking those precious cigarettes, her blood pressure, she says, was 300/100 a few weeks ago during the ambulance ride on the way to the hospital (the hospital she voluntarily left even though they wanted to admit her), and, and, she is as stubborn as a mule. I’m tapped out. Fucking, stick a fork in me, I’m done.

I sent her flowers earlier this week with a nice note attached, but honestly, I refuse to call her. A visit is out of the question. I cannot, after all that has happened because of her personal choices, deal with it and still function with peace. I have a job, a family, a lot of reasons to keep the peace for myself, and I cannot–will not–let her kill me like she always has. At the same time, I love her. Sometimes I don’t know what to do. Is distance best, while letting her know that I love her still with things like the flowers? Who knows? Only I can understand where I am with it all. But I really think that sometimes people need to be alone in order to figure out how to survive. Does she want to survive is the question I have hanging over me all of the time. We simply can’t save those who don’t want to be saved.

Damn, it is hard being human.