I called my folks last night—there was more to the story than what I'd been told. The problem is that the more I hear, the worse it sounds. Evidently my aunt Mildred's pretty much gone off the deep end—drinking heavily and not taking her lithium. I gather she got in a fight with my grandmother, and that my aunt also attacked my parents.

Thus my parents took her to the hospital. Again. She did what she does every time this happens—fights, screams, yells, curses, and tries to hurt anyone who comes near her. Apparently she directly attacked my parents, too. Because of how the laws are, the hospital can't keep her against her will. As soon as she's stable—meaning her lithium levels are back up—she can't be held against her will.

This hurts.

I'd intended for my commentary today to be about all the fun we had this weekend, but considering I just got back from the bathroom with red eyes and a sniffly nose, I think you can guess that it's the furthest thing from my mind right now.

I happened to think to check my home email account a few minutes ago, and got kicked in the pants by what I found. Mom emailed me at about one this morning to let me know about what happened this weekend. My aunt Mildred, the one who is battling bipolar disorder, shot her son (my cousin Clint) in the hand this weekend during an argument.

She swears it's an accident.

All I know is that I feel like someone kicked me in the stomach.

I just don't know what to make of this. I just don't. We've dealt with the problems of dealing with her problems for as long as I can remember, and I guess in my mind I've always hoped that it would never come to this—to violence. But evidently it has.