kim got sick. i told her whenever she wanted, to tell me, i would take her home.

she finally told me. so i took her home.

i knew she was bad because she was quiet. unlike her.

i keep a quiet tally of how long it has been. in my head i cut down the days since ive last seen her, or last spoken to her or her or him.

i finally really talked to my sister, just a minute ago.

found out she had been taken to the hospital this weekend. playing softball, she was hitting. the pitcher did a cross over, it curved in, caught her finger.

almost broke it.

she told me this. and a part of me broke inside. because i didnt know. and i wouldnt have known, had we not talked.

and i broke. because of other things.

i had this horrible dream this morning. which is becoming par for the course now. horrible dreams more often than not.

when i was a little crayon i had bad dreams. nightmares and such, like i guess most kids do. nothing too big about them, but i trained myself to sleep through them. to live them out to the end.

because, as i said to my sisters when they told me they had nightmares, they were just dreams. i, in the end, was in control of it.

so i sleep through these dreams. i dont know if i toss or turn, i dont know if i mutter or cry, like it feels like i do. all i know is, eventually, i wake up, feeling older than i am, and feeling like ive been kicked in the stomach.

this morning was another one of those dreams.

the dreams, now, are about me running away. usually from my mom, or a mom like figure. but i cant run away, because they stop me. and they hurt me. or they want to hurt me, and come really close.

this morning i was cornered and slapped.

the worst part, i think, though, is not that she slapped me. because she has slapped me before. the worst part is that it makes me feel like a little kid. and i know how much i missed having a mom, growing up.

this is not to say she wasnt there. because she was. but she was in her room, in bed. she was depressed, she was untouchable, suicidal at some parts.

i know ive never really talked about my mom here. or at least, it feels like i havent. and i guess tonight i will. because its pushing in me.

in the dream, feeling like this little kid again, feeling as if that is my mom, and moms are supposed to be like this, and there she is. slapping me. and here i am, wanting, dear god wanting like nothing else to hurt her back, to openhandedly smack the side of her face, but not doing it.

because i am a little kid. and she is my mom. and i cant hurt my mom.

right?