I'm good at wearing a mask. Really good at it.
The reality is the tendrils of depression have been licking away at my ankles all week long. That my apartment, always a good indication of my mood, has begun rehearsing as a post-nuclear wasteland setting. That while I smile on the outside, I've been struggling to keep in check periods of overwhelming sadness and anger.
I'm sad because this is my mother's 2nd hospital stay in two weeks. That the cause of it was a non-specific heavy-duty virus. That it might be indicative of bad things to come (this is my mind projecting, and not at all based on my mother's current condition nor what the doctors have said.)
I'm angry because of an interaction on Tuesday with someone. It was a revenge hit against me. I hurt her in October, so she kicked me in the gut when I was down. Nonetheless, I can't shake the feeling of disappointment and betrayal, and the nagging feeling that I've just re-experienced strife high school style. I literally received the words "You're off my f-list" in an e-mail. From someone close and dear to me, and who is an adult.
I mean, really. Off your friends list? I expect to be told on to our 3rd period teacher because I'm cutting class and kissing Joey behind the bleachers.
I feel the anger rising up again. I need to control this.
The good news is that my mother is being released today. After work, I will go get the van and drive her back home. The good news is that after rescuing her from Coney Island Hospital, she received excellent and attentive care at Memorial-Sloane. The good news is that my weekend plans are not completely scrapped, and I will be able to drive south one day late to meet up with friends and my love and my sis.
The good news is that a hellish week is ending.