I am now 67 years old and at a prime age for complications from covid 19.  I think a lot about my life, no one will care much when I pass.  I had such dreams when I was young.  I wanted to explore my dreams in art and stage.  My maternal grandmother supported me and believed in me, she was my best friend.  She was my savior during my father’s commitment at a psychiatric facility when I was a child. She tried her best to shield me from my siblings mental illness; my sibling’s horrible cruelty.  When Nana died in my 16/17th year, a part of me died and I no longer cared. When Tommy was born I felt I had purpose, but my poor judgement led me to believe he was better off at age 9 to live with my parents.  I was blind to reality.  My father, was extremely abusive to me, but gentle with Tommy.    My father beat me with his hands, a belt and threw glass at me that cut me and shattered around me leaving me unable to move.  He hit me so hard once in front of Tommy that I fell all the way from the kitchen to the next room.  Yet the sun rose and set on my father because I felt responsible for it all.  My parents always told me to look out for my mentally ill sibling because they said I had more common sense.  My mother always blamed all of us for my father’s breakdown instead of him and his abusive mentally ill ways. When my grandmother died my mother told me to forget about art school.  I went into Social Work because I wanted to cure people, people like my father and sister.  But it was a complete waste of my life.  If the covid 19 kills me it will a totally wasted life.  Tommy died in a horrific car accident.  I want so badly to go back and never leave him with my parents.  I want him back. If I live I will devote the rest of my life to my truths, my truths and no one else’s truth. I will live the life I wanted, the life my grandmother advocated and my Tommy longed for.