The new patient in mum’s ward is in pain. She cries, laments, hits the bed. Sometimes her voice changes, low and raspy, and she sounds extremely sinister. It is broken by cries and long groans.

Sometimes I hear her pray in a much lighter voice. The relatives keep the curtain closed, so I have no idea what’s going on. She is breathing now, forcefully gasping for air. Someone in there is playing a cheerful music video.

Everyone in this section is stressed, but we do not acknowledge the strangeness.

The past few times I’ve declined invitations, I hear my mother’s voice asking what else I could possibly have to do anyway.

Trying to set aside thoughts of a more stable time in the hospital. One day at a time. One meal, if at all, at a time.

Making an effort to control my rage fantasies. It finally slipped out when I left the hospital, walked to my car. A rifle in my hand, shots of vengeance at every negligent and spiteful nurse. Five bullets in the face for the one who intentionally injured my mother’s face.

Otherwise, today has been a tolerable day. I really need to sort out food. I’m eating like crap here, every time.

  • m: Oh god I think I genuinely would be good at this
  • p: Intj showing
  • y: This is not a surprise LOLOLOLOL

Very layan with this imagery of Nins and I as guardian angels of hell.

I will draw up detailed masterplans. This reminds me of my childhood.