Home.

Mental illness is ugly, abusive, and strange. It doesn't have a solid identity, as it sits over people we once viewed as 'safe'. A parent, a friend, a lover, can all become victims. It makes no announcement. It just waltzes in. Destroying peace, order, love. You try, again and again, to act as if the person you know, and have known for years, isn't playing harbor to a parasitic chemical imbalance that leaves the family broken beyond measure.

It makes being home apprehension filled. The kitchen is a prison. The cars are on lock down. The outside world is looking in, trying to get you, going for your soft spots.

And those that live among the mentally ill, stare outside barred windows, seeing the regular world travel, grieve, spin, but most importantly, recover.

There is no session to stop and pick up the pieces. If you try, they only fall down harder once you realize you're playing all by yourself. The other person, no longer is living up to their title.

A shut in. Verbally abusive. Leeching money. Yet, vocal enough to complain to the high heavens. To yell, and catch, and make excuses.

And you don't have a car. You barely have a job. You worry about your mother.

But this family of three is no longer three functioning adults.

But..what do you do?