1118AM. Christmas day.

Exhausted.

Went to bed at 3, 330 or so this morning, got up around 840. Not bad, not great.

If you don't add the emotional BS that has been draining my energy.

We're still at home. My father is acting edgy. It's something that gets worse as the day goes on. I've already repacked my bags, not that I really unpacked them in the first place. I was just so tired that instead of putting everything back in its place last night like I normally do, I just left things a mess.

We're hoping that in the three days it takes for this drug to clear out of his system, he'll get better. Until then, my mother is clinging to him, attached at the hip like I was to her. Placating him so he doesn't rage.

On the hope that it's only the drug.

We have, at minimum, three days of living on the edge. Moments of clarity, of our father, her husband, being himself, before he switches back into drug-mind.

It's incredibly difficult.

You forget. You forget so much how bad it is, when he is good. You start hoping that the future will be okay. And then a sentence slips out of his mouth, his facial expression changes, and you plummet again.

GV8 let me down last night.

The first time he had done so, when I needed him so badly.

That hurt my budding trust in him badly. I don't know if I could ever want to date him again, or if I did, if I could ever regain that trust with him. He was too tired to come to me, too tired to be with me when we determined that the best place for my father was a mental facility, and the security guards were coming down the halls, waiting by the door, to restrain him and cart him off.

I called him, crying, telling him this was going to break me and I needed him. Because he told me if I needed him, to call.

That he would be there.

Apparently, he did not mean physically.

So I called, I called and asked him if he would come down if I started falling apart, if I broke like I thought I would when the guards took my father away.

And he said no. He didn't want to drive tired.

This from a man who has gone days without sleep. From a man who will push himself, push himself into the ground, into doing what needs to be done, no matter what, hop on a plane and fly to where he needs to be, who will wake up in perfect alertness in times of an emergency and get things done, drive wherever he has to go.

And he would not come to me if I asked him to. He would not come if I was mentally breaking down.

That shattered part of me.

That shattered the growing bulb in me that would flower with trust and love for him, for the future men in my life. I was suddenly without the anchor that kept telling me to trust, love, focus, relax, he would be there for me.

That he loved me, even though we couldn't be together.

So I inhaled, exhaled, pushed away emotions, and clung to being strong, to getting my mother and sister through the evening.

Knowing he had left me alone to deal with some of my worst fears.

Knowing that even he would let me down in the end.