Insecurities

I was the worst daughter ever. I hated myself and I hated her and that's why I was the worst.

I stared at her still form on the bed and selfishly thought about myself and my plans and how if she hadn't shown up, I would be in Massachusetts right now with James and we would be looking at the apartment that we were going to start leasing.

It was going to be a fresh start and I was going to be free. And now I was here, brushing my mom's yellowing skin with a wet rag and giving her water when she got thirsty and waiting on her hand and foot because it was the least I could do. I had all of these raging emotions that made no sense, but also made perfect sense in my head.

I hated my mother. I hated that I was here. I hated that James didn't go to Massachusetts and that he was in here with me, instead of out with his friends. I hated that with everything she put me through, I couldn't just stand up and leave her to die her slow, miserable death.

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