Britney

I see my mom every few days when I go to visit her at the hospital, but I don’t really remember what it is like to have a mother. She looks nothing like she used to, sounds nothing like she used to. It is hard to believe that this is the same woman who once spent almost all of her time worrying about me. I look in her eyes and see nothing but utter confusion, an unfamiliarity which scares me. I don’t know what to do, but even more than usual, to a “real-world” degree that extends to foreign subjects like the fate of a human life other than my own, and bills, and being absolutely alone emotionally, perhaps more than I was before. I hate this more than anything. I can’t handle it. ♦