Shallow breaths like whispers. A struggle for life on Christmas Day.

Two children playing tag in the waiting area while their mother works is a sadly strange dichotomy [if i even spelled it right].

I didn't see any decorations or even one Christmas tree.

I saw the picture tacked up to her wall- sometime in the early 80s [that much I can tell from the haircuts]. No other pictures are near her and it isn't even in a frame. There is a boy leaning over her while they both hold matching homemade teddy bears. I doubt the boy is her brother judging from the difference in hair, skin and eye color. I wonder who came in and put it up for her. The curled edges suggest the picture has been up for years. I wonder if she ever looks at it and maybe for a millisecond she is reminded of who it is- of living in a house with a mother and father and brother.

She barely had any clothes in her drawers when I put the new sweater and pants I bought her in the drawer.

Human waste mixed with one part bleach ten parts water odors waft by my nose.

Carrie is silly and tries to make Jean laugh but Jean can barely sit up.

There aren't even any towels to wipe the chocolate and snot and lunch from their clothes and faces.

I know that they don't belong in this nursing home and that NOBODY belongs in this nursing home.

The nurse tells me Doreen has been heavily medicated since 6 am when she rolled out of bed, onto the floor and tried to strip naked. She was like "As you can see she's still combative." as Doreen is like "I can't open. Its stuck!" while trying to open the present I gave her.

It is noticeable. She barely responds to her name and I know the psych meds are just destroying her brain. She isn't learning how to control herself. She's just being forcefed meds to keep her quiet.

My job is becoming my mental springboard that is making me painfully aware of reality.