Lately, I get up every morning around 5 AM. Big depression sign, right there. It takes me at least 2 hours to be even remotely ready to try to fall back asleep. I’ve been feeling low, and this morning I have to confess to myself that I am depressed. I am so disappointed, I thought I was finally on an effective meds cocktail for my Bipolar II.

I’ve been having a recurring dream: my mother has moved into a new house. It’s in a cute neighborhood, but her house stands out from the other ones as it is so small, it’s inconceivable a person could fit into it, and it is made from some brittle, rotting wood. It stands on a very rickety foundation and it is open to the elements, walls are missing with snowdrifts gathering in the corners. She wants me to stay in the house with her. The thought nauseates me.

Last night, I told her I wouldn’t stay with her in that house. She looked so surprised.

In real life, we speak on the phone once a week. Since she told me that she tried to commit suicide after staying with me in the US for my wedding we can’t seem to have a real conversation. It’s my fault for asking her not to confide in me anymore. But I can’t be the one she leans on. I don’t have the strength. Now she is all by herself, resigned to aging, resigned to dying alone. All we talk about is her garden. Flowers: breeds and varieties I haven’t heard of before. She planted a pink peonies bush and named it after me. When I told her I had to move back to the US she cried so hard and repeated my name over and over. I could see into the past and there was a baby, it was me, and I was all she had.

Everything feels very empty. It’s terrifying.