I think I’m still alive. Maybe.
Jack was pretty horrified to come home with me in this condition. It took a lot of explaining and even more time reassuring him his grandma (probably) didn’t mean to poison me. Of course Jack wasn’t entirely convinced I was going to be fine, but now that I’m officially out of bed and back at work, he’s not worried anymore.
Mom isn’t sulking anymore either. She’s mentally swept the whole incident under the rug and pretends it didn’t happen. Her usual M. O. when something bad happens to one of us. As far as she’s concerned, our lives are always perfect and she is a perfect parent. Lies, but until I can get back on my feet and into a new place with Jack, we have to pretend with her.
I’ve figured out in life, though I hate it, sometimes one has to pretend everything’s fine for the peace. I just want to run, but there’s no way I can support Jack without help yet. I’m going to make up some calming sachets. Anything to compartmentalize this anger.