Waiting

I don’t do this. Ever.  The only journal I ever had was for the worst raps a 4th grader could write, something about “My Club”… My father has been to the ER twice in one month. No one knows what’s going on.  I am in a profession where I am learning how to diagnose stupid horrible shit.  My mom called me tonight while I was staying at my boyfriends house. She thought my father was having an episode, and that I needed to help her take him to the ER.  Turns out her horrible anxiety got the best of her and I came to my cranky ole’ father who was just pissed we kept trying to take his temperature…  When you have an alcoholic anxious mother, life can be pretty pretty weird.  I miss the days that I didn’t realize how much wine she drank, or how much of her life was controlled by the drink.  I miss the days that I didn’t realize or was too young to know I was also an alcoholic/addict.  I don’t know how to be sober. I don’t know how to deal with stress. I am going into the medical field and I don’t know how i’m going to take care of others if I can’t take care of myself. Ugh. So now i’m going to stay up until 4 AM because that’s when my father got his fever the last two times.  I am waiting. Waiting for the bad, waiting for the good, waiting for life to continue.  I don’t know why, but writing my feelings really helps. Maybe diaries are for an older me than a younger me. 

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