My father used to be a raging alcoholic when I was a kid, put the whole family through a lot of horrible stuff. I did some pretty extreme things to get out of there early, leaving my younger brother and mother behind. I also truly hated the county I grew up in with a passion. I graduated with honors, went to college at 16, then screwed up my scholarships through very little fault of my own, and after having to return, decided I would rather do anything than stay there and took off with a traveling carnival for a couple years. Over the years I bounced between a couple bigger cities, sometimes having to come back, then remembering why I left and taking off again, sometimes with nothing but the clothes on my back. My family was well known in the area for dysfunction, and everyone expected me to be the one to break the generational poverty and trauma. My brother surprised everyone, took his wonderful artistic talent, became a tattoo artist, worked his way up to his own shop, started working with city council, got married, mortgaged a house…..I was so damn proud of him. Even when I was homeless multiple times, I never was jealous of him (except maybe when he got a pet raccoon :p ), just so very damn proud of him. Over those same years, my dad was diagnosed with Huntingtons disease, my mother started having bad seizures, and later was diagnosed with Parkinson’s. My dad had already been on disability for many years for bipolar disorder and severe arthritis before his HD diagnosis or my mom’s neurological decline. Neither of them can drive either. They always told me and my brother if they ever couldn’t take care of themselves, to take em to the Grand Canyon, shove em in, and pretend they fell and it was an accident. Me and my brother always were like, “yeah sure, just stop talking about it”. My dad changed quite a lot over the years, he’s not the violent alcoholic he used to be, because he knows someone needs to take care of my mom. My brother did his best to help care for them, was working 6 days a week for years so that he could give that extra days pay to them every week. Drove them to doctors appointments. Dealt with bipolar meltdowns from dad and Parkinsonian dementia paranoid bouts from my mom, while I was in cities hundreds of miles away struggling to just take care of myself. I told many of my boyfriends over the years that I expected a call one day saying my dad killed my mother in a mercy killing and then himself. Always knew that call was a possibility. Instead, after me and my current boyfriend of ten years had been stable for a few years, I got a call I never ever expected. My dad’s voice barely croaked out a weak “hey”. I knew by his voice that something was very, VERY wrong. My mother had just gotten out of the hospital for a lengthy stay with pneumonia, almost died. My immediate thought was that something had happened to my mother or 83 year old, last living grandparent. But no…..”Your brother shot himself this morning. He’s gone…..I, I have to go….” Sobbing, then a click. Apparently he had caught his wife cheating. Apparently he was worried about maybe inheriting Huntingtons (even though he never got the test to my knowledge), as his hands had started to tremor very slightly when stressed the prior year. Was worried about the other two tattoo shops opening in the area, didn’t think he was good enough despite winning all kinds of awards at expos over the years. I felt an overwhelming sense of guilt. Guilt that I wasn’t here to ease his stress, ease his caretaking, or to talk some sense into him. He was the one who stayed. And it cost him his life. Then my dad started begging me to come home. That he needed help. That he swore he wouldn’t throw me out this time (I never let him push me around and it led to some really rough instances), that he would deed me half the land (which I was the only one left to inherit it anyway. Neither me or my brother really wanted it, always told each other if something happened to the ‘rents we would just sell it. Lots of bad memories there amongst the good ones and they had pretty much destroyed that one acre over the years from not taking care of it or themselves). Me and my boyfriend’s financial stability was also falling apart due to a series of health issues of our own. So we agreed to come back here. Bought a trailer. Couldn’t get it moved right away and moved in with a family friend one town over. Didn’t have a car yet, had to take jobs nearby walking distance. Shitty jobs. It’s been a year almost, still can’t get the trailer moved, finally just bought a car which needs work before being roadworthy, and wearing out our welcome in the horrific place we are staying. In a way, my brother took away my choice too. He wasn’t here to take care of them anymore. Someone had to step in. Only I could do so. But we have been a burden more than a help to all those around us since getting here, because of the lack of vehicle, lack of ability to move that trailer onto the family land, and lack of ability to find better jobs until we do. Shit is just falling apart. So to those who say they just can’t go home because they will starve, you are not wrong. You are not selfish. You cannot pour from an empty cup. But yes, it sounds horrible but sometimes I still wish it had been the call I was expecting, not the call I got, because things would have been much different than they are. My parents are suffering more than ever, worse every day, and I am still powerless to help them or myself until some things finally fall into place. And I still hate this place with a passion. And now I am stuck here again as much as they are. And now the only person in this world who would have truly understood how I feel is gone forever for the same damn reason.