Hell will never freeze over

I remember thinking that my sister will be well when Hell freezes over. And indeed, there were icicles in Hell for just a little while. Small fragments of hope that looked like snow flakes and covered everything for just enough time to make me feel a little less sweltering in my hell.

My sister is in lockdown. Another suicide attempt. Kicked out of rehab. 

My mother is in hosptial. She weighs 94 pounds. 

Hell is hot and furious again.

I wanted to destroy something last night - my anger is complely void of any other feelings right now. It is unabashed and all consuming. When my hope gets ripped from me I feel helpless. When I feel helpless, I feel nothing so anger fills in all the spaces in between.

I have lived this story so many times with my sister and my mom. Watching them flail violently like fish dumped out of their fishbowl - gasping for breath. It is unbearable to watch and my compassion is lost and wandering somewhere far away from me today. I watch them with their mouths gaping open, struggling for breath. I feel nothing. In truth if I start to feel anything, I know I won't be able to stop the flow of feelings - the guilt, the pain, the flashes of my childhood consumed by these bizarre and unnessasary behaviours. Every joy I have is overshadowed by these events. I call them events because they are never just small "incidents" - they are always worthy of a big striped tent with elephants and clowns parading through them. It's a fucking circus.

I don't know what will happen to my sister now. She is still homeless. The rehab clinic was her only hope to find a place to live that she could get support that wouldn't tear my mom apart. She needs 24 hour supported care but she is not sick enough for that? She can be so rational and say just what you need to hear. In fact I spoke to her 2 days ago. She said she loved me. She couldn't wait to visit on Sunday and see her kids. She said, "Bran, I'm going to be ok". I cannot fathom how all of that changes in 2 days. I have seen it a million times and I still cannot wrap my head around it. I cannot make this make sense. When the sense is gone, all that's left is anger.

I know this sounds selfish to be more concerned about my feelings than theirs. In truth, I will never be more concerned about my feelings than theirs - which is the part that pisses me off. I will never walk away. They will continue to call me. I will continue to take anti-anxiety medicine that keeps me from falling over everytime the phone rings. I hate the phone. Everytime I see a message flashing my heart hurts. Even on the days it is not them, I am never lulled into a false sense of security. My head tells me, maybe tomorrow. We'll see. And I am telling you - it is always the next day that the phone call comes. It ALWAYS comes. There is no repreive. For me, it is like expecting the sun to come up. 

I am avoiding my therapist right now. He is clear that I am in a crisis because otherwise we would be meeting. But I hate the sound of his voice when he says, "You must now think of yourself and take care of yourself". Thanks Doc. Sage words. I wish I had thought of that my self. I hate how therapists chalk everything up to some tiny truth or easy application. Even when I ask him EXACTLY how shall I do that? Between my 2 jobs, 3 kids, 2 dogs, a marriage and a consistent lack of people I like around me - when shall I do that? Add a splash od suicide and a skeletal mom - AH YES, a recipe for relaxation. Look Doc, I booked a hair appoitment for myself today and I plan to get highlights. Is that good enough? I'll sit in a chair and make small talk with some very overpriced hair stylist who will lament at how much her feet hurt and I will pretend to care. I may close my eyes while I get my hair washed and pretend to enjoy the scalp massage. I may even get the stimulating pepperment conditioner. Oh yes, I'm a pro at self care. I get my nails done, I get pedicures whenever I can. I love the tanning beds and the new running shoes I just got. I spent a fortune on a new outfit for a wedding I just went to. I take baths with scented mineral salts and exfoliate my feet with mulberry and mint. I GOT the self care thing down pat Doc. When exactly do I start feeling better? I'm sure the steak I scarf down while my mom is hooked up to an IV is really going to make me surge with goodness and relaxation. My friend says I shouldn't sit home tonight, she will pick me up and we will go out for drinks. The same poison that makes me feel all ship shape is what is killing my sister as we speak. Is that possible? Can one glass of wine make me feel worlds better and make her a suicidal mess? Apparently she swallowed a whole bottle of the same meds I use for anxiety. Fucking ironic and brilliant all at the same time. Seriously - fuck my therapist. 

So yes, I am just a bit angry today. I want something - ANYTHING to work out. I had one week of my sister kind of back - laughing a bit too hysterically on the phone but saying warm fuzzy things instead of screaming how much she is offended by my guts that she hates. I would rather it all just be shit instead of these small opening to a frozen hell. Hell is not going to freeze over and I live here quite permanently thank you. 

The Thaw

It is a little like flipping TV channels to determine my mood most days. I'm not very happy most days but I am also functional and able to fake happy a lot. I'm grateful for the ability to do this. I look forward to the day when I can turn the channel to "Happy Days" and really be there.

I look forward to the day when my sister can do that as well.

I go in and out - a little like my moods - in deciding if my sister will make it through this. SOme days I feel so hopeful and patient. Some days I feel aggravated and evil. I don't manage my anger around her very well - despite the fact that it is not all related to her. But she is a very convinient vessel to drop my anger on. I want to blame her for my current state of unhappiness but mostly in speaking with other people who have had other traumas and who seem to feel the same way I do - I realize she is not to blame for what ultimately undoes me.

I want things back the way they were. When my parents were both a little crazy and my brother was eccentric and my sister was wild but they were all in my life. There was always this HOPE that things would just come around back then. Before my Dad died, I believed we wouldbe re-united at some point. I believed that inherantly he loved me even if he didn't like me that much (I wa a teenager after all). When he didn't write me in his suicide note, it was the first time I realized I could not talk my way out of something. I could not change or un-do what I always felt was mutable. It was the first time hope was ripped out of my fingers and I have longed and ached for it ever since. 

They say that the worst thing you can do to another person is take away their hope. And though I stand here a mortally wounded victim of this, I have also slung the arrows that have killed hope dead, on the spot. What a terrible circumstance of the human condition that we need to destroy other people's hopes in order to find our own? It's not just me, it's whole communities and cities and countries - wrestling hope from one to give it to themselves. It is literally on the news every day. And who is the most affected by this constant exchange of hope for sale or rent? The vulnerable, the expendable. My sister.

By proxy - I am also slated to be the victim of this tragic exchange. I take it from her and someone else takes it from me and so on and so on.

 I met a little boy yesterday who was 12 with no parents who contacted him or had even seen him for 7 years. And you know what he wanted the most? He wanted to meet his little brother who had been born some time after him. He wanted a connection. ANY connection. It is his hope. Hope that he still has a family somewhere, even if he has to cultivate it in a little boy who doesn't even know he exists yet. 

No matter what, I see my sister still reaches for hope. It is small. It is sometimes not recognizable as hope but it is there. After all this play business, she figured it out. SHe moved towards problem solving it on her own. I want to shout to the roof tops. I wrote her to tell her I am proud of her - she will hate it and probably delete it because she is still bitter she had to do it herself. It will probably make her even angrier at me. But I don't even care if it makes her see that she can do things without those of us around her considered "able". Like that little boy who found hope in something that may not even happen - I saw it today too. A spark. I'll take it.