i think she's getting worse.

it's incredible, sometimes. i get myself into a lull where i no longer think of her every single moment. and then some tiny thread brings my thoughts back to her - where she is, how she is, if she's harassing people (and who they are), whether or not she'll ever show up at my door. these thoughts are usually pushed aside. i've become so talented at hiding it all again. it rises up, and i squash it back down. there are times when the ride is harder than others.

the past few weeks have been good ones. i really believe i've pulled myself out of the depressive stupor i was in for most of the past year. i'm making plans, seeing friends, filling up my days with activities - even though i still can't seem to get the hang of doing the dishes.

and then there it is again - that worry. that fear. that d r e a d. like a knot in my throat that i can't loosen, and a song comes on the playlist and i lose it. an emotional cutter to the bitter end, i pull up her blog online and read. it's so hard to follow the thoughts she has. such disjointed bits and pieces - i can recognize names and places that she is substituting or altering to fit the current illusions, and translate as best i can.

i don't know why i read it tonight - i had been feeling so good. but there it was on my screen. a long, painful entry dated july 24th. i know she is alive. i know she took a trip down near my hometown a few weeks ago. i know she is seriously hallucinating her consistent "starving, abused children" scenario where she paints herself as mother mary sent by jesus to save them. i know that she is hurt by my absence. i am hurting her.

i don't want to hurt her. that's never been my intention. there is a fundamental piece of me that knows, absolutely KNOWS, that i cannot allow her into my life again. i know the pain, and the frustration, and the devastation that it causes. but the incredible guilt - the incredible weight of knowing that i am hurting my mother is suffocating.

rationally, i know i am doing the best thing for myself. but emotionally - emotionally, i am still the hurt little girl, feeling guilty for hurting her, for cutting her off, for not being able to help her, for not being a good daughter.

i am drowning in emotional regrets that i cannot rationalize to myself, and i hate it. i hate this feeling. i hate that i am still crying over her. crying for her. and for us.