(no subject)
Gramma is doing fine, however I am still distraught, generally. My general anxiety won't leave me, and robs me of my ability to function. It's lulled to a dull nagging that flares up at times.
I've had plenty of time to ponder the nature of my problem, as while it is seemingly obvious, no one idea focuses perfectly upon my concerns. A good portion of my problem is the apprehension of it all, so understanding everything I can manage to may seek to calm me down. ...Otherwise, I would desperately try to avoid antagonizing the thoughts further.
Several people now have come to me with a reminder that life will indeed go on even if I were to lose grandma. And this is valid and valuable advice, as it certainly feels as if it won't. But I think it might be an insight to the true nature of my issues to wonder that while I might indeed survive, I am instead fearful of what I will jettison in the process. I am not too afraid I will literally cease to be, or will never enjoy life again afterwords -- While it brings about thoughts of suicide, such is old hat for me, and has since lost it's gravity -- I fear what kind of person that might come out the other side.
I won't dare to say it is the nature of the whole of humanity, but at very least my persona has chosen a path of amputation in times of strife. Through a combination of cowardice and ignorance, my mind has seemingly chosen on a subconscious level to abandon aspects of personality for the sake of self-preservation. At this time I'd ask that you humor the legitimacy of me being able to so plainly speak of my own flaws without my credibility coming into question.
Almost 10 years ago, I wrote a poem. ...Corny, I know. One of the lyrics, was "Just because I pulled myself out of the fire, it doesn't mean I made it out alive". It's campy, but I was reminded of it by this situation. Already back then, I was just discovering how I brick up entire wings of the haunted mansion that is my mind.
I fear what sort of person I would remain to be, after all is said and done. It feels like I do most things for her sake, to make her happy. Including personal upkeep. Leaving her behind and leaving this whole town, state and life behind, I'm pretty confident I could take care of myself nonetheless. However, I am afraid of what sort of evolution--....mutation... I would make in the process. Would I only be scum, in the wake? The last vestiges of the nice and good person I already no longer am, gone forever?
I'm sure we've all met them -- people inexplicably cruel, even in times of levity, as though it was no harm, no foul. Selfish and self-absorbed, they obliviously ramble on about how they're done wrong, in situations where they weren't wronged, maybe not even involved to begin with. Their only personalities involving stepping on others, like it is their right and duty, and their only hobbies or features being insipid and hollow interests.
How far do I have yet to go before I am one of those? How long until I discover that as the only way I can be, the only nature I can have? How many days until I find that being a considerate person makes me ill? It might only be a matter of time.
Already I am reminded of my social anxiety regularly. I can only imagine how droll and asshole-ish I appear to so many that I fail to charm with distractions drawing away from the man behind the curtain.
Yes, there is life beyond Grandma. It's my biggest fear.
Some may find it hard to imagine, and so may think I am merely exaggerating what may be a trivial issue. Grandma isn't just a family member I regret to lose. She was the shining light post when all other avenues were dark. The sun went down for me at a young age, as early as I can remember practically, and one by one, the lights in the other houses and shops went out, the street lights went dim, and all roads went dark. Her light kept my eyes from adjusting, and eventually, I was alone, and couldn't see through the darkness.
Everyone else seems... disingenuous, or cumbersome -- like their nature is something else. But her... she knows nothing else. She comes from a time where people were more honest, more sincere. A friend of hers told her that there was 'a madness behind everything she does'. Meaning, every seeming act of kindness had a selfish pursuit discoverable within. A simple idea of philosophy, yet it horrified Grandma. She never considered the thought. She was good just to be. Hers is a dying breed, replaced by self-righteous, self-helping Lady Gagas. Nobody seems to pay any mind to the slippery slope that leads self-help to self-centeredness. People discard religions and their doctrines with pride, yet hold no interest in replacing the morals or decency they provide, if nothing else. Like quitting a job because you don't like it, and acting like being unemployed is a better stance. Well, not exactly, but you get the idea.
Ugh. Something tells me I'm going to die cold and alone. Like a... fish.
I've had plenty of time to ponder the nature of my problem, as while it is seemingly obvious, no one idea focuses perfectly upon my concerns. A good portion of my problem is the apprehension of it all, so understanding everything I can manage to may seek to calm me down. ...Otherwise, I would desperately try to avoid antagonizing the thoughts further.
Several people now have come to me with a reminder that life will indeed go on even if I were to lose grandma. And this is valid and valuable advice, as it certainly feels as if it won't. But I think it might be an insight to the true nature of my issues to wonder that while I might indeed survive, I am instead fearful of what I will jettison in the process. I am not too afraid I will literally cease to be, or will never enjoy life again afterwords -- While it brings about thoughts of suicide, such is old hat for me, and has since lost it's gravity -- I fear what kind of person that might come out the other side.
I won't dare to say it is the nature of the whole of humanity, but at very least my persona has chosen a path of amputation in times of strife. Through a combination of cowardice and ignorance, my mind has seemingly chosen on a subconscious level to abandon aspects of personality for the sake of self-preservation. At this time I'd ask that you humor the legitimacy of me being able to so plainly speak of my own flaws without my credibility coming into question.
Almost 10 years ago, I wrote a poem. ...Corny, I know. One of the lyrics, was "Just because I pulled myself out of the fire, it doesn't mean I made it out alive". It's campy, but I was reminded of it by this situation. Already back then, I was just discovering how I brick up entire wings of the haunted mansion that is my mind.
I fear what sort of person I would remain to be, after all is said and done. It feels like I do most things for her sake, to make her happy. Including personal upkeep. Leaving her behind and leaving this whole town, state and life behind, I'm pretty confident I could take care of myself nonetheless. However, I am afraid of what sort of evolution--....mutation... I would make in the process. Would I only be scum, in the wake? The last vestiges of the nice and good person I already no longer am, gone forever?
I'm sure we've all met them -- people inexplicably cruel, even in times of levity, as though it was no harm, no foul. Selfish and self-absorbed, they obliviously ramble on about how they're done wrong, in situations where they weren't wronged, maybe not even involved to begin with. Their only personalities involving stepping on others, like it is their right and duty, and their only hobbies or features being insipid and hollow interests.
How far do I have yet to go before I am one of those? How long until I discover that as the only way I can be, the only nature I can have? How many days until I find that being a considerate person makes me ill? It might only be a matter of time.
Already I am reminded of my social anxiety regularly. I can only imagine how droll and asshole-ish I appear to so many that I fail to charm with distractions drawing away from the man behind the curtain.
Yes, there is life beyond Grandma. It's my biggest fear.
Some may find it hard to imagine, and so may think I am merely exaggerating what may be a trivial issue. Grandma isn't just a family member I regret to lose. She was the shining light post when all other avenues were dark. The sun went down for me at a young age, as early as I can remember practically, and one by one, the lights in the other houses and shops went out, the street lights went dim, and all roads went dark. Her light kept my eyes from adjusting, and eventually, I was alone, and couldn't see through the darkness.
Everyone else seems... disingenuous, or cumbersome -- like their nature is something else. But her... she knows nothing else. She comes from a time where people were more honest, more sincere. A friend of hers told her that there was 'a madness behind everything she does'. Meaning, every seeming act of kindness had a selfish pursuit discoverable within. A simple idea of philosophy, yet it horrified Grandma. She never considered the thought. She was good just to be. Hers is a dying breed, replaced by self-righteous, self-helping Lady Gagas. Nobody seems to pay any mind to the slippery slope that leads self-help to self-centeredness. People discard religions and their doctrines with pride, yet hold no interest in replacing the morals or decency they provide, if nothing else. Like quitting a job because you don't like it, and acting like being unemployed is a better stance. Well, not exactly, but you get the idea.
Ugh. Something tells me I'm going to die cold and alone. Like a... fish.