Things have been great for a while.
I mean, I'm not really depressed right now even.

Just frustrated?

I think this disease will kill me. Sometimes it makes me happy.

Is that depressed? I'm not sure.

Draw has me up the wall sometimes.

She really makes me feel like I'm losing my mind and the thought of telling her how I honestly feel sounds so enticing.

She's sick.

We pulled up the hill toward the house I've lived in since I was 14. We walked in through the garage door kicking off our shoes next to the couch. She sat herself in the living room and began to lie down. As I began the laundry, I heard her cry from down the hall. I pressed on with my chore as I know her bouts all to well.

I explained the time needed before we were to leave as to give her a better picture. Her face wrinkled as she peered toward the floor. I pushed myself to hurry and suggested I wash my whites by hand in the tub upstairs. She did not stir. At the top few steps she began to weep
loudly.

"What's the matter?"

"I wanna go home." In a piercing cry.

"Okay, if you feel you can't wait." I spoke assuredly.

"Can you tell me how to get home?" Shrilling slowly but loudly enough to make my stomach tense.

My mind trembled in frustration. Why can't she just remember? You are a grown adult without any difficulties learning beside your own decisions. Her pain is overbearing, she cannot take on challenges well.

"Sure. Give me a second."

I let my clothes fall to the tub and ran the water. I savored my time to let my mind relax. I felt a blinding stress fill me. The water was warm, my fingers pushed to the base feeling the level rise. I've been gone to long, my heart feeling weighted.

Her face was red and tears streamed to her neck. I calmly explained to her the way home.

My laundry almost completed, she called.

"Where are you? It's almost been 2 hours." Every word waspishily filled with poison.

I carefully watched the machines. I stayed aside checking dutifully over the hour.

"That's how long it takes, I don't know what to tell you." Speaking first with guilt, ending with an unmeasured venom.

In between painful sobs she raised her tone "I can't sleep with you coming home. You are so loud and make every noise in the world when you come in. I just want to go to bed."

I'm sorry I forgot I'm only capable of walking alike a deliriously rabid bear up stairs and a sliding door. I'll make a note that I'm a serious piece of shit for having to do whats necessary to go to work in clean clothing that was only delayed to abide to your choosing of how we spend our day. Your fucking needs are incredibly selfish and make me wish I was dead.

I took a moment to respond.

"Well what do you want me to do, this is what it takes. I'll see you at home soon."