I don't even know how to feel right now. Even with this awful monster of a person, something in me always kicks in when someone is in need of help/care, and I do everything I can to assist and put them at ease. Is it FLEAS? Am I still trying to appease mommy dearest as a grown adult?

So, this just happened: NMom(who has MS, asthma, and is a heavy drinker) recently had major back surgery. I currently live with NMom, EDad, and GC(sociopath opiate addicted) brother. I've been working really fucking hard to get my shit together. I work full time at a great job that I love, I'm finally on meds that treat my depression, and I don't drown my sorrows in booze anymore. Every day is a step closer to moving out, but oftentimes I feel like I have to stick around to be the stable glue to hold our family together for the sake of my father.

Anyway, NMom had surgery and has been home recovering for about a week. I've been extremely busy with work, and because I work the night shift, I rarely see my family(YAY!). Earlier in the week, my father said, "You should make an effort to see how Mom is doing. I know she's grumpy but she wants to know you care." I shrugged him off and responded with, "I'll do my best if my schedule permits me to see her," which made him happy. Cool.

This morning, I did some post-work grocery shopping, which means I got home later than usual, which equals Dad blowing my phone up(never answered it, though). I arrive home, put up my goods, and go into OMG I HAVE TWO DAYS OFF relax mode. Next thing I know, NMom has made her way into the living room, wearing only a tank top and no underwear. She attempted to lie down on the couch, but only her head made it. My father and I instantly go into caretaker mode, trying to get her to sit up and explain to us what her current ailments are. Her arms are shaking, she's forming incoherent sentences, she has a deep cough, and she feels feverish. I finally get her to sit up on the couch long enough to take her temperature, and she's running at 102. I figure she's dehydrated which is why she's shaking, so I bring her a glass of water, and I let her rest her head on my shoulder to hold her up.

Guys, the entire fucking time, my thoughts were racing. "Why are you helping this awful person?" This is the person who beat me, berates me constantly, treats me like absolute worthless shit, yet here I am, taking care of her, giving her my attention and empathy, offering the kind of compassion I haven't and will never receive from her.

While my father is collecting her underwear and pants so that we can dress her for the ER, I brush her unkempt hair and wipe off the smears from the makeup that she always sleeps in. I ask her questions to check her coherency, and wouldn't you like to know that the current US president is "Patrick Truck!"

I help my father lift her into her seating walker, then we wheel her through the house to our van. I lift her into the passenger seat, being careful not to disturb the stitches from her back surgery, and when she's in, I close the door. My father thanks me for helping and he drives off.

They're in the ER now, and I mean, am I supposed to be worried? I'm not. She's sick, she has a fever, she probably has pneumonia. I hope they admit her and she's there over Christmas, which is her favorite holiday. I'm mad at myself for doing so much for her, but I'm also just confused by how indifferent I feel about her being ill and how I'm not worried one damned bit if this is the one that kills her.

I know this is long, I'm sorry, thank you for reading.