This is it. Here it is. The spiral out of control. I knew it was coming. I just didn't know when. I hear the music of impending doom playing in my mind. The darkness is returning. Mean, destructive and unsafe behavior is on its way. Shame, humiliation and hate will soon follow. And to top it all off, regret, embarrassment and disappointment will pile on top of me until I can no longer get out of bed.
The emergency services will be called, and a transfer to the hospital will be arranged. A little vacation for me and I'll be feeling better in no time.
Everyone reassuring you that this time, they'll get the medications right. Reminding you how well I've been coping these last few years. All the platitudes and lies will return. I can't bear to imagine myself stepping back into my role. My fake life. Determination fuels me to clean myself up and to get ready for our afternoon out. Our last Mother-daughter day.
*Dear Mom, I'm sorry, is a fictional end of life journal from a daughter to her mom. Certain content and subjects throughout the story may be distressing to readers.