(no subject)
I never post in here and I am not sure why that is. It is not, I don't think, because I have been busy, though I have been and truly, I am not even sure why I am posting something today. I have maybe become less comfortable with posting my thoughts on the internet. Yet, there is something cathartic about it. I want to leave this city, and I probably will when I graduate, but I cannot leave my grandmother. I cannot leave her, but each day when I go to see her I leave feeling so angry and sad that I find myself involuntarily clenching my fists for the next several hours. I dread going over there, but if I miss a day I feel guilty and I miss her. When I am there though I see that I am imagining her the way she was several years ago and that is what I miss. This realization is intolerable to me. I feel so guilty for my anger and sadness. Even if it were my responsibility, and sometimes I still believe that it is, to take care of her on a daily basis she is so mean and negative now. Few things that she says make much sense. I am watching the person who taught me how to live-- with intellectual curiosity, with joy, and with compassion-- self-destruct. She is so much to me, from my primary parental figure to the person who defined this city for me, and I don't know what to do. I feel sometimes that I have not succeeded in defining myself apart from my family and especially from her-- from our history and mythology and lore-- very well at all. My relationship with my grandmother has long been complicated, and it becomes increasingly painful. I just don't know how I can watch her continue to decline. I can't talk about this very well, and I have been trying to write about it, but it hasn't been going much better. Other than this, I am very well. And something this seems like everything, and other times, it recedes.