Who am I? What am I to do?

Its been a month and a half and things still haven't calmed. If anything they're worse. And it's killing me. Its unleashing demons I've fought before. Though I won the last time I've noticed the increased aggression and physical toll it takes on me. I won't be as successful one day. That day will be my last.

My life is one that movies could not capture. The horrible things I've been through and the horrible things I obsess over show through the gray in my once blue, vibrant eyes. I lost my soul a long time ago. Through the windshield of a car I should have never been in. Coming back from a light I never should have ran from. That was my chance. Since then I've experienced things no one could imagine. Ive been stricken with disease which restricts my mobility more each day. Pain that never ceases and sleep that never comes. The treatments require money. The money requires working. Working is impossible. I watch my two children grow up more each day. Soon they won't be able to forget me. Then I am trapped. They are the reason I stick around and fight and the reason I want to go. They don't need to lose their innocence watching their father suffer and die a slow death. My brain conjures images of my brutal and vivid end. Its playing on loop every moment im not distracted. Dreams of running in traffic and nightmares of surviving. Visions of wrists running dry in the bathtub. The sound of the belt stretching as I slide down the closet door. Then the ultimate sadness when I wake up. Suffering still. No chance at heaven; no soul to save. I missed my chance. Still I'm

, a soldier and I follow my path. I try to make this world a little better when I leave it. So, of course, when my father needed a place to stay I was there... But maybe I shouldn't have been. You see, about 4 months ago my father was stricken homeless along with his fiance. I found this odd and completely out of character but didn't question it. I invited them into my home with no room for my tribe as it was. 2 small children and a wife can fill up a house. Air mattress in the living room it is. My dad will learn to love it. Still not able to work I watch and worry as we get farther behind. I sell all I can to help make amends. But, eventually, there were no more. The two houseguests were struggling as well so no need to bother them with my woes. Right? And then it happened. Everything took a turn and I never saw it coming. It still hasn't ended and I know not what to do. You can be a soldier and battle for good but, I've found out, you sometimes also have to battle for evil to be that same soldier. To be that same follower. To uphold that same faith. I woke up a few weeks ago to find my father having a stroke. Strangely, I knew how to handle it. I understood the symptoms and relayed the urgency to the dispatch. We were able to save him after a 4 hour brain surgery. With no money we were figuring out how to make our home equipped. Due to me already limited mobility there was not much to change. I spent what money I did not have to get out home ready for my dad, the survivor! But, boy, was I way off. We discovered an addiction that triggered this stroke. An addiction I completely missed. How?? Along with this addiction came truths to come out that would forever make me regret being there to save my fathers life. What kind of person am I? How terrible. This thought makes my demons stir and take over. What kind of son am I? After all, there are only 2 of us. Me and my little brother. My bro is severely autistic and is the most loving and happy person I've had the pleasure of knowing. Most people saw my brother as handicapped but I saw him as a priveledge. The light this family needed. At least, he was. Now he is violent and depressed; a familiar pattern amongst us. He can't stand to see his father, our father, left like this. Did I do the right thing? I unearthed after the stroke which came from an overdose many things I wish I hadn't. I found out my father and his fiance were not only addicts but dealers. I found hundreds of dollars of dope lying carelessly on my children's bookshelf in the living room of my house. Which was also the area that I let them call home. I went through everything only to find uncapped syringes and burned spoons tucked away all throughout the very room where my family gathers daily. I lost all respect and love right then. I could not even grieve the brain damaged father for worrying about my children being safe in there home. I immediately sent the fiance packing. She can go be homeless. I got enough going on. And by the time we brought my dad home 3 weeks later he is able walk a little and understand most things. He cannot speak. He will never live on his own again. But he is alive. Or is he? Ive mentioned my disability and my mental health but my father has ignored it since I was diagnosed. Now that he is in a condition Im having to care for him. But all he cares about it the dope. And his fiance that brought the dope around in the first place. I am having to keep tabs on him and drive all over town to find him when he "disappears". My little brother gets more depressed and I get angrier. He doesn't deserve this. Did my father miss his chance too? My eyes have grown more gray as my life and fight fades. What kind of person am I? Did I do the right thing or did I intervene in my father's chance at redemption? Did I save his life or take it? Every day since I have seen small improvements with my fathers speech. Always about his fiance. Or asking for my money that I don't have. I can't keep this up. I know that. I'm perfectly fine deciding my own fate. Am I perfectly fine to decide others as well? Do I end suffering for myself or end it for us all? Who am I? Did my passed battles just prepare me to fight? Or show me how to lose? Or would it be winning? Who am I?