I wrote this while I was
in the middle of such
despair, knowing what lie
out there, waiting for me. My mother had died as
a direct result of her mental illness, having been homeless, walking the streets--unbeknownst
to me--then finally died
in a local hospital, after having been in ICU
for ten days; her physical health was, at
best, critical. She was found by ems, passed out
for approx. 3 days, lying in her own feces and other bodily fluids,
in a furnitureless apt.
I've carried this with me
for over a decade. And now that I face the same
conditions of homelessness, being shunned by family, and having walked in the cold
freezing conditions of
winter streets, I thought
of her, and how her situation compared, in part, to my own. It is a vicious thought, to think
that a daughter might be taking on the "curse" of
her mother, and how hard
a curse it is to break.
