Give Me The Night

[giv mee thu nahyt]: This was written by Rod Temperton, who wrote some of Michael Jackson’s hits, including “Thriller” and “Rock With You.” Many of Temperton’s songs are about a night out, just with the setting changed. One of his biggest hits is “Boogie Nights,” a song he wrote for his band Heatwave. That one is about a disco-rific good evening.

The House God Has Forgotten Part 85: The girl running from the mudslide.


Welcome to my life.

My chest has been hurting almost a month now. A secret I have been keeping from (almost) everyone. So it is time I admit it here.

Last night I had three nightmares. I do not remember them, but they lay there in my subconscious.

It seems like my world is slowly eating at me.

Thursday and Friday were a bitch. Such bad pain in the chest I had to call in sick. First coughing. Which leads to puking. This time I got to “cough” phase.

A deep burn that makes your lungs rattle and you feel like it must feel when you have Corona. At first, I thought “Oh shit. Now I have it.”

Then I cough a little in the morning and then it disappears.

You lie there on the couch like a child waiting for Christmas. “What did I get?” Then you realise that is just another “attack” as I like to call them.

Now the frequency has begun. A couple of days on, a couple of days off. I can sit there at The House God Has Forgotten and feel it. My chest tightening. My thoughts about how bad it hurts.

I just sit still and wait for it to go over, but it never does.

I wrote to my boss: “I have concluded that it is panic attacks. I have been secretly feeling this way for months. So now I have contacted my Phychratist. I don’t know why I am feeling this way (but after thinking long and hard I know what it is).”

Almost a cry for help.

I remember seeing this picture of a girl in a mudslide. 1985. She was five and was stuck there. Holding on to a branch for hours waiting to fall in. The family there to tell her good-bye. Knowing that they would never see her again. She stood up like a brave soldier. Holding on. Until it got to be too much, and then she falls down.

I am not that bad. I do feel something like the little girl running before the mudslide. Trying to beat it. Watching not to fall. Fighting and trying not to lose.

I live with a lot of stress. Not just a little these days, but a lot.

My mother has cancer. She is dying. Her tumours stayed the same, but now they are growing again. She spends the majority of the day in her bed. She is almost bedridden. She has a hard time eating solid foods. She cannot walk on her own anymore. She lives in a world where she is obsessed with the past. Going through memories.

The question is not “where does she have cancer” it is a question of where not.

Lungs, liver, bones, blood. You name it.

My father who has been taking care of her is sick himself. Not of cancer, but he has his health issues.

“In sickness and in health,” he tells himself as he walks her to the sofa. “In sickness and health.”

They have been married for most of my life. Almost thirty-eight years.

I know my father will fall apart when she is gone. All of those questions that people think about. The logical like “should I keep living in the house?” to the emotions of dealing with it all.

I know I will not be able to get there for the final good-bye.

The funeral will pass me by like a speeding car in a race.


Me never bothering to renew my passport.

Me never bothering to get my Swedish one.

Saving those ever so important vacation days from The House God Has Forgotten.

So I get those telephone calls with my father. Him walking outside of the house and telling me how bad it is, but far away so she cannot hear him.

I talk to my stepbrother. He doesn’t want to hear the truth. “Stop with the gloom and doom!” he tells me. He is the one that has to hold up my fragile father when he is falling apart.

He cannot handle it. I feel like I am.

I try to be logical when this is all happening around me. “You have to prepare yourself Dad” and pushing down all of the worries for him. “This is what happens when you have stage 4 cancer”. “The drugs are experimental, they can stop working.”

Then we have the report I made.

Me having to be cordial with a colleague where it is uncomfortable. Spending many days a week with who it was discussed about.

Thinking “The better I know this person, the harder it is” and me keeping my mouth shut.

It weighs on me like a stone. The pressure of keeping myself straight. Of wanting this person who did these things to be fired, but I know The House That God Has Forgotten and how it works.

They will be here for a long time.

Where I work we have constant fights.

Bad attitudes.

The throwing things around. The discussions about different things that come of (pay reviews by the boss, interviews with HK) speculations. Conspiracy theories.

The worse part is the silence. When you can tell that someone is pissed off and they take it out on everyone.

The ups and downs in moods. The feelings that you are the bi-polar one and they are acting like you should be acting.

You having to be forced into a room. Nowhere to go but deal with it. Nowhere to hide, just observe and feel bad.

The drive throughout the city when I have my daughter.


Running out the door and not stopping.

Going from here to there.

This is life for me, and I would never change a thing on that front. It is your kid you do everything for them.

Add to the fact that you are the one struggling with a mental illness makes it all that harder.

Any person would feel the stress of that.

I do everything I can to make sure I have control of my emotions.

Take your pills. (As you hold them like a cup in your hand and throw them in your mouth)

Try to be open, but not wanting people to see you are weak.

And just no one understanding. The pressures that are a lot for a “normal” person are even harder for me.

So I am not a person that is like “Oh feel sorry for me” and I just fight on. I struggle. I am falling all over untied shoelaces.

So I wrote to my doctor. “I need to see you. I am not feeling so good. I am having panic attacks and nightmares for the past few months.”

I know now because of how things work I might get lucky and see him in December.

Bad luck.

In January.

The House God Has Forgotten after I tell them this is going to probably send me to Previa. Where som B phycologist will listen to me, and I will have to say the same story to my doctor again anyways.

My wife thinks I need some medicine to calm down. I know I will not get “the good stuff” I will end up getting some allergy pill that I have taken before that makes me all weird and tired.

It would be nice to be comfortably numb at The House God Has Forgotten.

Maybe just all the time these days.

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