It’s no secret that I was in sorry shape before going to the House.

My weight had dipped below 80 pounds, some of that didn’t count because my legs below my knees where so bloated, not to mention how much the steel in my back weighs.  My hair, which I think is one of my more defining features, was coming out in lumps – covering the shower drain so thoroughly that the water would back-up.

In a mirror, I could see my sunken eyes – blue – dulling from every deepening craters.  The veins could be seen through my skin, so I knew I was alive, as if I needed to be reminded.  Every scrape or, sometimes, even a fingernail would easily draw blood.  Red spots populated my arms, plainly see beneath my freckles.   Later I learned that my arteries were leaking.   The spots where blood pooling just under the skin.

Still, I would not eat.
The thought of food made me nauseous.  If anything did go down my thought, I would become so cold – shivering so badly – that only Florida’s noon-day sun could bring me a brief respite.  Food was ash in my mouth.   It was the foreign enemy, although my body had begun do devour itself.

(You are what you eat… Then, I’m all me)

I adhered to a rule —  That I was of the working poor and Jason depended upon me.  I could not let him down.   So, I paid the electric, the water, the garbage.  I kept up with the credit card bills.  I bought Boar’s Head lunchmeat and bakery bread because I thought that was what he deserved.  Video games, expensive calculators (for his classes), food court lunches…    Yes, yes, yes….   I know it seems silly.  It doesn’t seem like hardly anything at all, in a way.

However, at that time, it was everything.
I don’t know why.

I did rely on him.
I relied on Jason to do the very best he could do at USF.
I believed that, one day, I wouldn’t have to work at all and could spend my days devoted to the novels that have been rattling in my head for decades.  We would travel and see Europe, the wonderful places in America, Egypt, the Mayan ruins, and Japan.

I relied on him to cook me the one thing would eat – shirataki noodles.   For some reason, I was incapable to make them for myself.   It had to be him.  This didn’t happen as often as I liked.

This fanatical world where we enjoyed each other, our time, without regret or worry, kept me going.

It was all for him.   Everything was for him.  I’d be damned if I took a crumb.

I found myself in Indiana as part of a plot co-conspired between mom and Jason.    I had no knowledge of it until later — which was probably a good thing.   If I knew I was being plotted against, I would completely shut down.  Without a doubt.  Anger and betrayal would have paralyzed me.

Truthfully, it felt good to be home.
People cared about me here, in their own special ways.   Mom and sister, over analyzing and critical of every movement and mouthful (I did not) take, tried in vein to get me to change my ways.  Brother, bless him, still treated me as me, although I scared him.  I desperately needed to be treated with some form of normalcy.  Brother became my waning strength.

Yes, I still obsessed about Jason, his well-being, and the bills — but it wasn’t so much.   I had convinced myself that being apart was the best.  I worked and he gained all the benefit.   This way, in Indiana, I did not tax the water or electric.   Nor did he have to handle my while panic attacks and desperate tears of frustration.  He was far better off then when I was physically there.

Around the house, I did not let my work or condition stop me from attempting to be a good daughter.

I insisted on mowing the grass, although it caused searing pain in my shoulders.  Simply brushing against the corner of a wall or branch from a tree caused blood – but without pain.  The house was swept, mopped, and dusted completely – every day.  Clothes were washed and dried before the sun rose.   Studying their habits, breakfast was made every morning in the form of eggs, bacon, and oatmeal.

I could not, would not, allow my degrading physical and mental condition stop me.

But, I think I knew.
I think I was preparing to go.

Each and every night, I kept the tall lamp light on.  The room heater buzzed.   Despite being July, my fingers and toes chilled with any passing air conditioner movement.  Instrumental music played.

Sleep and I were not on friendly terms, but unconsciousness (blackouts) were.  The heater was there to keep me warm during these times.
–  I didn’t want Death to find me already cold.

I was never one for a nightlight, but I needed one.  I wanted to greet my reaper properly and see her or his face.

And the music, well…  It just seemed fitting.  I enjoy instrumental music and thought that Death would as well.  Besides, I’ve always placed great confidence in music –  the sounds – the emotions.   Rather it be rolling waves or morning birds, I love it.
—  I also didn’t think that Bill and Ted was appropriate back in the day for meeting Death.  Wild Stallions – sure, but come on.   Show a little respect.

And, in the middle of the night, as I lay sideways on the bed, curled into a tight ball, I was prepared to go.  With regrets?  Yes?  But only the regret that I could not do it all and be everything to everyone.

To this day, I still struggle with that concept.
Everything for everyone and nothing for me.   Still a martyr in the making, I feel guilty about spending $3 on myself.  Hopefully, that’ll change one day, but not any time soon.

But, I was ready.
I was ready to go.