Reflections of a restless eccentric

 I write this on your birthday. There's so much on my mind that I haven't said to you. I don't know if I'll ever say all this to you, because being honest and being cruel don't seem very different at this point. But there's also all the love I have for you, and I find myself feeling this strange mixture of emotions - love, sorrow, pain, grief and hatred. I write this as much for me as for anyone else, as a catharsis from the intensity of watching a parent go through chronic illness and deterioration. Whenever I call, I hear your screams in the background. I hear the constant pain, the panic, and anxiety. The shrieks of a tortured soul existing. Not living, but merely existing, every moment spent so agonizingly. I genuinely feel sad for you, but I feel sadder for Mom. 'For better or worse, in sickness and in health' sounds glorious during a wedding, but surely there must be a limit to the worse and the sickness? How does one live with a spouse who not onl