I stare at the so-called "food" in front of me. Tasteless, blob. I look back down at my right leg, which hangs on the bed's edge thanks to my mother. I can't feel or move my legs. As if they aren't there in front of my eyes, I may as well get them amputated. I remember her nightmares. The voices in her head. Her incoherent talking when she was upset. The times when she would stop talking to me at all. When I would have my episodes..she was there for me as I was. I start shaking, sobbing. This is all my fault.