The last year...

So, another insanely long journal entry but it has been awhile.  And sadly, a lot has happened in the last few months, that I need to just get out.  So feel free to read, but it is a book for sure.So I took a moment and re-read the last journal entry I posted, and it was from March of last year.  My how much a year can change.  My life for the last 6 months or so after that journal entry was actually doing better.  As dates would have it, on the 10th of March, I found a new game to play, and well, consumed most of my summer.  I found a game on the phone, called Ingress.  Long story short with the game, there is two separate groups,  and we fight over points of interest in the world.  The real world.  Anything that is art, or historic, down to post offices and other government buildings, are all points of interest.  This year alone, I've been to York, PA, Gettysburg, PA, and down to Baltimore, MD for this game. I'd made some new friends, from the game, some of which I'm still really good friends with.  I was able to get out more, and explore Philly, and learned a lot.  In doing this, I was exercising more, and before the tragedies of my life, that I will get to later on in this, I had lost 41 pounds total, and was down to 254.   I was happy, proud of myself, and honestly was just feeling great about my self.  While my Myasthenia caused some issues from time to time, I feel like I did better then I normally do.  I would go to Philly 3 days a week, and would walk anywhere from 4 to 12 miles in a setting.  This game really altered my life, and I think for the better.In other news of that time, my mom and I were doing great, I was helping her sort out some of her life issues, and we repaired a lot of the trauma stuff that happened during my childhood.  She also helped get me out of the depression I was in, back in March.  I found that I was spending a lot of time in my off time with her, and I had a ton of fun and enjoyment.  Life was good.But as my life, or as life in general, it never stays good.  No matter how much I want it to just stay good, something always winds up happening.  To the point that I start to question if I bring it on myself or if the universe just hates me.  It frustrates me to no end, because I do try hard to bring myself up, and try to be happy.  I don't want to be this sad guy, who has such a hard life, struggling to just survive.  But at the moment, that is where I am.  So November 5th, 11pm.  I get a phone call,  from my good friend, that my best friend is being flown to the hospital.  Turns out he crashed his car, and really messed himself up, and is likely to die that night.  He says he will be there in 30 to get me, and sure enough he was.   He drove like a crazy person to the hospital, and when we get there, we missed him by minutes.  He was in surgery.  So we all sat there, praying, waiting, praying some more, hoping he would pull through.Story from his parents at the time, he hit a deer, going an unknown speed, and it caused him to veer into a telephone pole, where he clear cut the thing, and went and took out a 16 foot tree, before finally coming to a stop.  He lost a good 7 pints of blood, his legs were extremely messed up, but didn't know the extent, and they weren't sure if he would survive tonight.  Lots of tears and light talk about all the good things he has done for us, and him as a person.  We get some updates throughout the night, saying they got him stable, but he is was really critical.  By 9am, they had finished with his first surgery, but only his dad and mom could go back and see him.  His dad lied and said that his girlfriend was due to be married to him in a few weeks, and that she needed to see him, and they let her go back too.  They stayed there for a few hours, and I waited.  The friend that brought me wound up leaving with his girl, and I wound up going home, in tears, thinking I was losing my friend.A few hours later, I get a call to come back, that he is insisting I see him.  I get back on the train, and go see him, and let me tell you, he was a sight.  He had metal bars sticking out of every part of his one leg, holding it together, with weights on it, and his other leg completely immobilized.  But he was alive and I was so happy, and relieved.  We lied to the hospital and said I was his brother, so I found out all he did.  He was driving, most likely 80-100mph when a deer jumped out in front of him.  He slammed on the brakes, hit the deer, the pole and tree.  He hit the tree and pole at around 50 according to the internet videos we looked up later on, for the safety information.  So long story short, he begged me to stay with him, and so I did.  I was up at the hospital everyday, until they kicked me out of the room for the first week or so.  He was in the Trauma ICU so they had very strict hours.  He had 2 more surgeries in that time, all very serious, but they managed to repair most of the damage, and got to take some of the metal away.  At this point, he had been in 34 hours of surgery, but he was more or less out of the woods of losing his life.  They were worried he was going to lose his leg, but were being optimistic about his condition.  They moved him up to a normal room, and I wound up living at the hospital with him for 3 weeks.  I more or less did the nurses and techs job for him.  I kept him comfortable, making sure he ate, drank, and did what any great friend would do, and just listened.  I was there to be his support, without a care to my own.  I helped him do some PT, during his off time, when he wasn't sleeping, putting a great stress to my body.  I didn't care though, I wanted him to get better.  During these three weeks, a lot happened for him.First and foremost, he realized he wasn't happy in his relationship.  I tried to counsel him, on being a good man, and all, but I think part of that got lost in translation, as he did wind up dumping her shortly after he got out of the hospital.  Secondly, we kind of found out who his friends really were, and he continued to praise and appreciate everything I was doing, which I won't lie, felt really good.  I felt like I was doing the right thing, and through all this, kind of found my way with God a little.  Due to the exhausting nature of things, I from time to time, would feel like I was being boosted, or helped along.  I believe God was there, watching over me, and making sure I could be strong enough to take care of him, and was giving me the strength to do so.  From the crash itself, it was a miracle that he was still alive, and that also helped with building my faith.  Also meeting all the people from his church, and all the talks he would get with them, kind of opened my eyes a little.  It was a positive and engaging experience.  So three more surgeries, another 20 hours, and more or less he is fixed.  He had a bad sore on his left foot, and they were worried about it, but again, were hopeful that he would be alright.  He had 2 pins sticking out the side of his foot we had to be care of, and I got taught how to do all his nurse work for when he went home.  I more or less assumed responsibility of taking care of him.  I didn't mind, as it was helping me feel like I had a purpose in life, and that I had a greater meaning then just a little game that I had been playing up til this accident. I figured God wanted me to do this, and didn't want to disappoint him. So December 6th, my mom's birthday, he gets released.  We get him home, and get him settled, and I wind up taking the night off to go be with my mom.  I spend the night with my mom, which at the moment had been a rarity.  I would come home for 4-5 hours at a time once a week while there, to do laundry, cook for him, and come back.  I honestly was kind of neglected my mom, and to this day, I feel bad about it.   She understood, and encouraged me to help him, and not to give up.  Always my mom, trying to be encouraging for me.  I remember very vividly she wasn't feeling well, but she would be alright she said.  Little did I know that this was a precursor for what is yet to come, but more on that later.  I still spent the night with her, watching tv and catching up, and went back to his house.  His parents made up the room he was in with an extra bed so I could stay and take care of them.  They didn't have the time due to them having so many kids, and homeschooling and doctors and all the parent stuff.  It was a lot easier for me to stay there and helped them, and I did, for a time.A few days later, I took a leave to go be with my mom again, and she was feeling better enough, so I celebrated my 33rd birthday, and her 63rd.  We went to a steak house near our house, and had really big juicy steaks, listening to country music, and had a really good night.  It honestly was probably one of the last great memories I would have with her.  I went back hours later, and resumed my caregiver role.  As the week or two progressed, he started getting more and more demanding of me, and this sadly is where things in my life start turning south.  Up to this point, he had more or less been really sweet and caring of me.  He was vulnerable, and afraid and scared, and honestly he used that to his advantage with me.  He confided in me, about all things, and told me things I'll never repeat.  But he was sweet, and gentle.  After a week or so of him being back home, I don't know what happened but something flipped in his head.It is hard for me to say, but he became more like a master to me.  I didn't agree to this, nor do I ever agree to that, but I felt more or less like his servant or slave.  And as time progressed, it got worse.  It got to the point that if he felt I didn't hear him right, he would yell at me.  One moment that I think will always stick with me, is I was in the middle of something.  I was cleaning up the room, as it gets messy, and my touch of OCD tends to make me want it organized and all that.  He asked for something to drink, but he said when you get a few minutes, no rush, he still had a little left.  To me, that was saying when you finish up with what you are doing, can you grab one before you sit down.  Apparently that wasn't the case.Needless to say, he yelled at me, saying I didn't listen to him, and that he was thirsty and it was critically important that I got him something.  He made me feel so horrible inside.  I felt like I was a little child, and got upset.  I grabbed the drink, gave it to him, and wound up storming outside.  He has a shed out back where he keeps all his computer stuff, and I went out there and just balled my eyes out for 30 minutes or so.  I didn't understand why he would treat me this way, after all I have done for him.Getting myself together, I went back inside, and tried to talk to him about it.  That was a bad idea, one that I stupidly made many more times before wising up.  He got hostile, yelling at me some more, about how he can't do for himself, and using the pity card of how helpless he is, and that when he asks me for something, it is because he can't do it, and that it needs to be of higher priority.  The cleaning could of waited, his drink was more important.  I wound up just agreeing, saying I was sorry, and got a shower and went to bed, crying myself to sleep softly.  I'll never forget that night, it was so painful.So from there, all things went south.  He was more and more insistent about things, and kept changing how things were done.  On top of that, he wanted to go out more, and needed more and more of me.  And on I pushed, unhappy now, because of all his yelling at me, but I wanted to be that good friend that helped him.  I feel like it became expected of me, to do all these things.  His family more or less guilted me into helping more, as they had so much going on, and he did with his "I'm helpless" card.  Well come Christmas time.  The start of the end.  The 26th of December, my family gets together to have a big Christmas dinner.  My dad got in early, and was doing his usual baking the ham, making the salads, and generally just being my dad.  I came home really early, after a stressful day with him, and spent it with my family.  He was upset with me for leaving him, as it interfered with his plans, but I felt my family was more important.  So regardless, I spent the afternoon helping them with cooking. Hours later, everyone comes over, and well, things fall apart some.  They are all sick with the flu.  My mom and dad didn't know, neither did I.  Needless to say, this dinner was all coughing, hacking, sneezing, and the like.  It was misery.  I stayed away from them as I didn't want to get sick, but wound up getting sick a day or two later anyway, so it didn't matter.  My dad got it really bad, and so did my mom.  And while I will never say this out loud, I blame my sister partly for the following weeks.  My dad finally got over it, but my mom didn't.  She seemed to be getting worse, and was having a harder time eating and just wanted to sleep more and more.  After 2 weeks of fighting with her, I finally managed to convince her that she needed to go to the hospital.  It was a Sunday night actually, we were walking the patriots game, for the AFC championship.  I remember crying, pleading with her that I was worried she was going to get pneumonia.  Now meanwhile, before this, I had 3 or 4 more major fights with the guy I was taking care of.   He laid on such guilt how when I was gone he wasn't being cared for enough, and how I was interfering with his plans by going home.  He wound up giving me a car, a really piece of crap car mind you, a month or so prior.  It was honestly around Christmas time.   He was using it against me, saying that it needed fixing and that I should be here more so I could get it fixed.  I felt personally he was doing everything in his power to manipulate me, and one of our fights was actually all about that.The fight in general, was about how he was so upset and pissed at me for not telling him what his now ex girlfriend felt about him.  I felt it was wrong to tell him that.  But after an hour of him working me, and fighting and getting me really upset, I broke down and told him everything.  I know if she ever finds out, she will hate me even more but that is beside the point at this point.  Needless to say, I lead with how he manipulates people.  And how he does it to me all the time.  I got really uspet at him for it, but for whatever reason my words fell on deaf ears.  It is a constant problem of mine, that I'm not sure how to fix, is not being heard or listened to.  I'm not sure why people don't, but I notice that in my everyday life everyone ignores me.  At the moment I'm finding it to be extremely hard, but I'll get through I'm sure.So back to my mom, I get her to go to the ER.  By this point, she was extremely weak.  She threw up hours prior, and could barely stand on her own power.  She refused to call 911 and get assistance, so slowly, I walked her down to the truck, and got her in.  I took her, and my sister, who drove over to meet us, and the three of us went.  We got her checked in, and quickly they brought her back.  First thing the doctor noticed was she was really dehydrated, so he pumped a bunch of IV fluids through her, and they did a whole bunch of blood tests to figure out what strain of the flu she had.  Well, turns out she didn't have either.  She didn't have the flu, or pneumonia.  But the doctor didn't look happy, and looked honestly scared to say what was wrong.  He said that my mom was very sick, and they needed to do some tests, but she wasn't leaving the hospital.  He didn't tell us what was going on at first.  An hour or so goes by, he comes back to change her IV bag, and my sister and I more or less pin him in the room, and he tells us a lot.  Her calcium levels were off the chart, she barely had any Vitamin D in her body, and all her blood levels were crazy.  Oh, and umm, she may have cancer.  Why the hell do you not lead with that, being the serious nature that it is.  So he gets us all in tears with this "possibly", which sadly it turned out she had stage 4 pancreatic cancer, but we didn't know that for a day or two later.  He gets a bunch of X-rays, and a MRI of her body, and he find that she has nodes all over her.The second day of being in ICU, she gets a biopsy, and it confirms she has stage 4 cancer.  It has spread, from the x rays they did, now to her lungs and liver.  More so then 2 days prior, when she only had a few nodes in her lungs, along with her pancreas.  She was going downhill, pretty quickly.  She grew to be in more pain, as they pumped her more and more of fluids.  Her kidney's wound up shutting down, and her liver wasn't really processing anything anymore.  The tumors were pressing on the bile ducts, causing her to back up and retain water.  By the end, which was only a week from when we took her in, she gained 90 pounds in just water weight.  My mom, she didn't even look like herself when she finally died.  But regardless, a few days prior to her death, they said they had to do surgery.  They thought if they could put a splint in her liver, it would open it up, and let her drain out the fluids.  In doing so, it may kick start the kidneys, and possibly help get her stronger.  She was barely talking by this point, and my dad finally got in from work, and signed off on the surgery.  A short one, compared to what I was used to, but we all talked.  It was a hard talk.  My dad sent my sisters home for a few hours to take care of their kids, and me and him talked.  How horrible it was to talk about what we are going to do once she passes.  He was in tears, something I've never seen before, and I was a literal mess.  Strong as I could be, I held my dad, and tried to do what I could to comfort him and help him sort things out.   When we got back to her, a few hours later, she was on a ventilator.  Her lungs couldn't breathe for her the way they were supposed to, and it was just time. We let a day or so go by, before we realized there was nothing more that could be done.  Her BP was dropping slowly into the dangerous area, and honestly, she only had a few days left at best with the machine.  My mom never wanted to be on one, and when they started talking a feeding tube, which she was adamantly against, my dad decided to take her off the machine.  They did what they call a care package, where they more or less take all her pain away, and let the morphine take her away.  The next 12 hours were probably the hardest hours of my life.  And I've been through some shit over the course of this short life I've lead.  Rape, being left by my ex, pales in comparison to watching your mom, the one you love more then anything, pass away before your eyes.  We sat there, holding her, talking about her, for the next 12 hours, as we watched her body struggle to stay alive.  Breathing only 5-6 times a minute, and her BP being 65/35, we knew it was only a matter of time.At 1:24pm, Tuesday, the 27th of January, she passed away.  She took one last deep breath, and that was all her heart could do.  Minutes prior, we noticed her breathing change, and the labor, and knew it was time, so we all got to say goodbye.  Sadly, she passed while I was saying goodbye, but as I'm sure you can tell, I'm not short on words.  All I could do was hug her, and cry.  Writing this now I'm in tears, just remembering that time, is so hard for me.   I know how hard it was for my sisters, and my dad, but me and her had a connection I don't think she had with any of them in years.Over the years, me and her talked about some really deep stuff.  How she resented things my Dad did to her, about a guy she loved but could never meet because it would dishonor her marriage.  She however had an emotional bond with him, and honestly loved this guy.  One of her last requests to me, before she stopped talking was to find her journals and burn them, to not let my father ever see them.  I did as she asked, but I did read some, I couldn't bare to read it all.  The pain and agony she was in.  Some of which I didn't even know.  My mom suffered so greatly here on earth.  She felt much like I feel.  Helpless and alone, trapped in a life we don't want or need.  Reading what I did, helped me farther understand why me and her connected so well.  It also explained why she got me so well, and made me realize what she used to say how our talks effected her.  All the praise she gave me in those journals made me cry so much.  But at the same time, it caused great pain because I couldn't take it away, her pain, her sadness.  I find it interesting that you never really know someone.  With all these words I write, how well could you say you know me?  Not likely well enough to really know who I am deep down.  Anyway, back to her passing, we did the cremation thing, as she wanted, and that was tough.  We had to ID the body at the funeral home and that was rough seeing her on the slab.   Watching my dad fumble through everything, it was hard.  Knowing, his life was about to be completely different, all I could do was hug him and tell him I love him.  He says that he loves me more now, it does make me feel better about it all.  My dad isn't an emotional kind of guy.  It is very private and keeps things to himself.  Seeing a bit of this side has made me realize things I didn't know before.So for the most part that has been my life.  Sadly, the best friend and I aren't talking anymore, or at least I don't think we will be.  I haven't been handling things as well as I used to, and his abuse, still continued.  His solution for me, a week ago, was that I need to stop crying over my mom.  I need to grow up and realize she is in heaven, and that she is far better off, and happy now, and not to mourn her anymore.  That I need to get back to doing things in life, instead of crying and being sick.  I don't know how you would take such a thing, but I know for me, I took great offense to those words.  I have been trying to care for him in the time I have, when I wasn't helping my dad get everything sorted.  He is now back to work, and I have free time again, so I was trying.  But after those comments, and a massive fight over how to build a computer, when I'm a computer guy and taught him have been putting nails in his coffin so to speak.  On top of that, he went and told a bunch of people at the church he goes to that I fell, to which I did, but because I asked him to leave me alone because I fell, he got pissed at me.  So he told them that, and I get phone calls asking why I fell, making jokes and then me having to explain my whole life to them.  I was so mad at him, I told him off, and I haven't talked to him since.I feel horrible inside, but I'm so tired of being walked on.  More over, I'm so tired of being told how to live my life, by people who can't even take a moment to understand what my life really is.  I would like to think I do damn well for myself, considering I have Myasthenia Gravis, along with lung issues.  I would like to think, before all this happened, that one day I may actually return to work.  But the stress of him, and my mom passing, my MG has rejoined me, and has been making my life hell.  My dad bought me a newish car, last week, to help me get around while he isn't home, so I'm going to be going to doctors again, to try and find a way.  I need help with the MG, because I don't want to live like this anymore.But all in all, right now, I'm just a bit lost in life again.  Nothing new for me I suppose, but I will say without her here, I don't have the guidance I used to have.   This house, is so huge, and so empty.  At night, I hear the floors cracking, from the heat and cold, the heater kick on, and think it is her upstairs still.  I know it isn't, but sometimes, I just wish this was all a dream.  I cry a lot, and truthfully haven't been right with myself or my head.  I hope that this passes eventually.  I've dealt with so much, and I wonder how much more I will need to endure, before I can just be happy.  I just want to be happy.  I want to not be alone, want to find love again, and want to have more meaning to my life.  I know in time I should be able to find all them, but that time, and my time aren't the same.  I just wish I knew where I was going in life.  Life is so short, and yet I feel like I squander mine away.  These feelings of hopelessness, they do fade in time right?