And we’re back in the room.

I thought there was a light. Mum was referred to a live-in Hospice for care and I thought that maybe in a few months she would go and live there full time and I would continue living here and tidy up and organise things, and visit her every day and they would care for her. We visited it and had a tour. But it’s not live-in. It’s short stay. She goes there for a week so I can go home. And if she needs to be admitted to hospital, she goes to this Hospice instead of on a ward. But it’s not live-in. I quote “We’re not a care home.” In that case, I don’t understand what a hospice is. I don’t understand anything and I’m tired and stressed and hot. I’ve crashed down to earth from thinking there was help in sight. And I miss Matt and my house and my bed. And I fucking hate my brother and the fact that he’s not even texted to see how we are in a week and his Facebook is just full of photos of him and his girlfriend drinking, eating, sitting on their fucking sofa. Whereas I have to wait for one of Mum’s friends to visit before I can have a bath.

I donated to the Red Cross Syrian fund today. It’s awful how we forget that people are people. But I can see how it happens. Life is just so fucking stupid and meaningless. Yes, people are dying. But people die. My Grandfather died a few weeks ago. My Mother is dying. My friend’s daughter has to have her second intensive bout of chemotherapy and she’s 17. “But those people dying are somebody’s child or somebody’s mother, or somebody’s brother…” Yup. And somebody’s child, mother or brother dies every fucking day.

I’ve just lost all respect for life. I’d think I was having an existential crisis but I don’t actually care.

All I care about is Matt and the joy he somehow manages to bring me.

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And we’re back in the room.

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