Desperate

It was exactly 5 months yesterday from the day he was admitted into Columbia and the real crazy began. I couldn't bring myself to write about its I wanted to crawl into a hole and die, but God saw it to give me another day. I slept, not soundly, not restfully, just the body shutting down and turning back on like a well oiled machine. I am tired. In more ways than a human can be.

You know that scene in the exorcist when Linda Blair is really at her worst? Bring that to modern day and amplify it by 10 and you have Anti-NMDA infected Jason right now. He is not levitating or spinning his head around-yet-but it is bad. He is a aggressive and he is bigger than they are and he is not cooperating the way we need him to. This is typical. Typical of the disease, of the patients. But the problem is he is bigger than they are. I can't be there 24/7 like I want to and be the buffer between him and them.

You ever had your heart in your throat constantly? I don't eat or drink for fear it will mess up my heartbeat. That is how intense the feeling is. The baited breath I hold for when the doctors finally throw up their hands and say "fuck this shit" and lock him away in a mental institution or some place he doesn't belong keeps me on edge all day and night. Both hands tremble now, the left not as bad as the right. My worst fear is that he snaps out of it, right in the middle of us handling him like he is the devil reincarnate and take every emotional toil to take to scar him the rest of his life.

I'm scarred that's for sure.