Its not well written but most of my stuff is written quickly. I'm done about the same time that i start.
"Maybe you shouldnt have wasted all that time at the yoga place and been a good mom instead."
I'm sitting here, remembering the conversation. Sitting here as I relive the pain once again. That pain that sets in when i have realized that yes once again, i taste of failure.
That taste, bitter and sour, reeks of your love. The rank care you take when you tell me that I get bigger every year. That I fail as a mother.
And you. Your scent is acidic. You tell me that my negativity is bringing everyone down.
I'll remember that. When he does the same...hey he did it 5 minutes before I did.
I'll remember that the next time you do it. Which is daily.
I keep forgetting that it's only for the elite. I'm on the bottom in this household. In this life.
I was growing up too. So why am I not accustomed to my status? Because I forgot.
So here I am again. Waiting for the diagnosis. I thought I was over all that. But maybe...just maybe? Then I could be appreciated and loved when you both realize that soon I'll be gone.
No. I wouldn't even get that.
You see, when he went, he went home to die. I was there for two weeks in the beginning. We took care of him. It was rough but we were there.
I would never get the same care and treatment. No way would they do that for me. I'll have the hospital room where they will leave me to rot alone, just waiting for the phone call when they can finally sign the papers and be done with me for good.
The time will come, when my rancid life will end and theirs can begin.
And then they can forget me.