Polonium 210

Well, the best way to describe the stuff I coughed up last night would be luminous. It was bright orange; almost glowing in the dark. It looked liked I'd been drinking Polonium 210. There was quite a lot of it as well. It took ages to cough it all up.
Sometimes it feels like I'm going to drown. There's so much - solid and liquid - at times that it feels like my lungs are full and I'm never going to get it all up and breathe again. Sometimes I wonder if that would be such a bad thing. It would certainly put me out of my misery. My waking times are bad enough with the pain, the endless chest infections and the catalogue of my many other health problems; you would think I at least deserve a decent night's sleep.
I don't get a lot of sleep. I choke a lot; sometimes it feels like I only go five minutes between each one. Frustration can kick in at these times and I don't want to go back to sleep. So, I'll hurt myself, or start playing video games to try to keep myself awake.
Things aren't helped much by my mom appearing at the bottom of my bed every now and then, as she did last night. She never does or says anything; she just stands there, hands set wide on my baseboard as she leans on it, staring accusingly at me. It doesn't scare me, but it's not nice to have your dead mom staring at you from the bottom of your bed.
I've got a few issues about my mom's death. I have a lot of guilt. It's because when my dad died of cancer in 2004 I was alone with him in his hospice room. I held his hand as he passed. And it was the most traumatic thing I'd ever gone through up to that point. I cried like a baby. Of course, my two older brothers, who like to pretend they're big men, were nowhere to be seen. One ran off to the pub to get drunk, and the other wouldn't come to the hospice for ages, and when he did come, it took us half an hour to get him into the room because he was too scared. Such big men, my two brothers.
Anyway, my mom died in 2007, and the night she died, I knew she was going. They had moved her to a side room; she was unconscious, and her breathing was so laboured I knew there was no way she was going to make it through the night. But I didn't say anything. I chickened out. The memory of my dad going was too raw, so I ran away like a coward. So, my mom died alone in a side room, and that fact has haunted me ever since.