(no subject)
I'm sometimes scared that I'm heading towards a life that I will be greatly dissatisfied with one day. I fear I might be holding back on several different issues in my life.
This feeling only comes sometimes; it's a creeping feeling that crawls out from the back of my brain to the front when I least expect it.
I could feel melancholy because of the rain. I could feel melancholy because I'm not traveling. Who knows.
Edit:
I just remember before my Grandma Marjorie Bacon died...when her hair was fallen out from chemo, when her bones supported a thin thin frame, milky eyes, swollen tongue...she was a shadow of her former self.
Before she died,
I have this distinct memory of her at a Christmas Eve party where she became emotional and her voice elevated from a soft, kind tone to loud, waivering shouting. My grandfather became impatient and angry with her, saying "You're just being ridiculous," and all these other swears in between. I saw the disgust he had for his dying wife, and I saw her glaring at him, crying. She said, "Leave me alone! Leave me alone!" And so he did. He left the living room and headed towards the kitchen, muttering and saying horrible things loudly as he went.
She settled down; her anger receding and her soft voice returning. There was still the tone of desperation and that aspect of volatility that was present while she talked, as she said, "All I want to do is return to Alaska. That's all. I remember how beautiful the mountains and the lakes were. I wish more than anything I could go back..." And after she said that she drew her blanket around her shoulders more closely around herself. And I remember thinking right then and there how pathetic she had become. How sad she was. How her time was drawing closer and closer and how there was nothing anyone could do about it. She was just a bag of bones, tissue skin, blue veins, frowning. She almost looked like an infant. Helpless and crying all alone. Bald and small. The rest of the family tried their best to calm her down. And I just sat there, bewildered, overwhelmed and confused. All these emotions, rushing in at once....Shaking my head, shaking my head.
And now I sit here, crying as I typed all of that. I loved her very very much and that's why it kills me to remember her being that way before she passed away. She passed away in 2004, in December. She passed away full of desperation. She didn't die at peace. She died not with a bang, "but a whimper".
And that, that right there,
is what I'm most afraid of ending up as.
Alone. A shell. Crying. Unfulfilled.
This feeling only comes sometimes; it's a creeping feeling that crawls out from the back of my brain to the front when I least expect it.
I could feel melancholy because of the rain. I could feel melancholy because I'm not traveling. Who knows.
Edit:
I just remember before my Grandma Marjorie Bacon died...when her hair was fallen out from chemo, when her bones supported a thin thin frame, milky eyes, swollen tongue...she was a shadow of her former self.
Before she died,
I have this distinct memory of her at a Christmas Eve party where she became emotional and her voice elevated from a soft, kind tone to loud, waivering shouting. My grandfather became impatient and angry with her, saying "You're just being ridiculous," and all these other swears in between. I saw the disgust he had for his dying wife, and I saw her glaring at him, crying. She said, "Leave me alone! Leave me alone!" And so he did. He left the living room and headed towards the kitchen, muttering and saying horrible things loudly as he went.
She settled down; her anger receding and her soft voice returning. There was still the tone of desperation and that aspect of volatility that was present while she talked, as she said, "All I want to do is return to Alaska. That's all. I remember how beautiful the mountains and the lakes were. I wish more than anything I could go back..." And after she said that she drew her blanket around her shoulders more closely around herself. And I remember thinking right then and there how pathetic she had become. How sad she was. How her time was drawing closer and closer and how there was nothing anyone could do about it. She was just a bag of bones, tissue skin, blue veins, frowning. She almost looked like an infant. Helpless and crying all alone. Bald and small. The rest of the family tried their best to calm her down. And I just sat there, bewildered, overwhelmed and confused. All these emotions, rushing in at once....Shaking my head, shaking my head.
And now I sit here, crying as I typed all of that. I loved her very very much and that's why it kills me to remember her being that way before she passed away. She passed away in 2004, in December. She passed away full of desperation. She didn't die at peace. She died not with a bang, "but a whimper".
And that, that right there,
is what I'm most afraid of ending up as.
Alone. A shell. Crying. Unfulfilled.