The skeletal figure changing into her nightwear, drew a painful intake of breath from me. All the while she was clothed, in several layers, one could almost dismiss the ravages to her body. She looked childlike and fragile, and still had some sort of energy, fired up by adrenalin. The muscles, once so firm and strong, had now wasted away and drew shudders from others who witnessed a glimpse beyond the facade that 'all was well'.
Her life, from the age of 17, had been out of control.
I have always been snowed under with constant worry of some sort or the other, be it the death of my husband at a young age. Constant moving to chase employment. Death of my father, aunt and, subsequently, ten years of my life given up, thus far, to my mother's fight with Alzheimer's and five years trying to come to terms with my daughter's illness. All done with absolutely no help, as I have no siblings, and friends are light on the ground, despite my coming to their aid in times of their troubles.