A plague upon our house.
We can move, we can rebuild, but it's always there.
I do believe it's spread to me, I just internalize everything. But she has to break completely, and all we can do is watch.
Heaven must hold a special place for those that know so much suffering in this life. What cruel deity would allow so much pain and ruin? Little cracks, over time... 33 years of life, and most spent in the presence of illness. It chips away, until it has consumed it's vessel.
How do you justify madness?
I can't even relate what I feel correctly. This is the third time I've written this, and it's either too vague or to exposing.
Why must my family feel shame? The only options presented in recent years are extreme, and unthinkable. We've already sacrificed our personal lives, what else will it take?