facing my fear of my mother dying

I had an interesting experience today. My mother is a psychiatric patient - every now and then she gets off her meds, and becomes crazy, because her levels of dopamine skyrocket and she starts babbling unconnected stuff.

I saw her today for the first time in a month or so... she has lost a lot of weight, because the high dopamine levels are preventing her from being hungry. My sister noticed that something is wrong, but all she did was tell my half-crazy mom to take her meds, knowing fully well that she wouldn't do that, and didn't bother with anything else.

My opinion of that was that she is selfish. I forgive myself that I have allowed myself to label my sister as selfish.

I went to her, and saw her in her wretched state. It was heartbreaking, to say the least. I didn't react much, because I had done a lot of self-forgiveness on the mother point, but there was still an uneasy feeling in me. A pressure, a resistance.

I gave her some meds, which she took as soon as I asked her nicely to do it for me. I felt sorry for her, because she needs someone to direct her in her life, and she doesn't have anyone who would be willing to do so, so she hid herself in her own deluded world. I forgive myself that I have allowed myself to feel sorry for my mother. I forgive myself that I have allowed myself to pity her for the fuckup that she created for herself.

She hadn't slept in 3 days, and she was behaving like people on amphetamine psychosis, so when the medicine I gave her started to kick in, she became sleepy and asked me, and my friend who drove me there, to leave. We left shortly afterwards, and I was a bit calmer, but there was still a sort of annoyance in me, which I could not completely define.

When I came back home, I relaxed a bit, breathed a lot, and started doing physical cleaning up - it helps me with being here. All of a sudden it came to me, what the nagging feeling was - I was fearing my mother dying. It's something that has haunted me since childhood, but somehow I missed it, and it came up this time.

I forgive myself that I have allowed myself to fear my mother dying. I forgive myself that I have not allowed myself to realise that now I am responsible for myself, and there is no need for my mother to keep living for me. I forgive myself that I have allowed myself to want my mother to live for me. I forgive myself that I have not allowed myself to realise that my mother has to live her life for herself, and not me. I forgive myself that I have allowed myself to want my mother to do my bidding - I have not done so in quite a while, but the self-forgiveness did come up, so I hadn't dealt with this point entirely.

I have no wishes for my mother to live for me anymore. I have no need for my mother to help me or fix stuff for me in any way. Unfortunately, I have a feeling that she needs me to take care of her.

I forgive myself that I have allowed myself to have a feeling that my mother needs me to take care of her, when in fact she doesn't, and has survived on her own until now. I forgive myself that I have allowed myself to take the responsibility for my mother's life onto myself. I forgive myself that I have not allowed myself to realise that by doing so, I am trying to have an indirect control over my own life and safety.

This feeling that she needs me to take care of her comes from the times when I was a teenager, and I took care of her, when she would come home drunk and pass out on the sofa. I was satisfied that she passed out, because then I had control over where she was and that she wasn't hurting herself.

I forgive myself that I have allowed myself to want to direct my mother, so I would have control over my own safety, which she represented.

I would cook for her, so she would have something warm to eat, when she woke from the drunk sleep, because she was always very hungry when she'd wake up. The feeling I had while doing so was one of responsibility and love for my mother, which was essentially fear of being left alone, if mother died.

I forgive myself that I have allowed myself to mask the fear of ending up alone, if mother died, as love for my mother. I forgive myself that I have not allowed myself to realise that I was masking that fear as love.

I feared my mother's death for a long long time - 30 years, to be exact. It went from being very intense when I was a child, around 7-8 years old, when I remember it being the most intense, to a slight nagging feeling a few hours ago, when I spotted it.

It is terrible how children in this world have to start abusing themselves and masking fear as love, and it is all connected with money and survival. Till here, no further.