When he is truly sick, each successive hour with Segev becomes more oppressive, claustrophobic. The house is in disarray, my disorganized self at its best. Relief does not come with sleep, only for Segev. The worry is catastrophic and the need to maintain treatment, concentration, knowledge and dedication, absolute. Worry could bring the house down.
Yes, I want to escape it. But then that is the definition of claustrophobia isn't? The feeling comes from being in a situation and you cannot get out, you have no room to breath. Or more precisely, there are too many things in the space. But I continue breathing, to make a show as if i am OK and that it affects me only a little. For the sake of the other children, an example, my parents, anyone who is dear. But always it feels that even the casual observer can plainly see...but no one sees. Or, and no there is no self-pity in this statement, no one seems to care. Actually the truth is elsewhere; no one can understand. I prop myself up with thinking, "no one is interested in understanding". Damn, that self-pity-potty again! I'm writing myself into a corner here. Almost nowhere to go. Segev needs me.