❀ prescribe me alive ❀
There's been a whole lot of falling apart going on lately. Whatever it is, the fact that I'm never able to keep to my promises breaks me a bit. The fact that in the end, no matter what I do, they're still planning the funeral and deciding on a burial or cremation before my grandmother is even dead. The misdiagnosis itself was Sepsis when she really had a Urinary Tract Infection. Due to the improper care and mistreatment, her kidneys and liver are failing. They gave her a death sentence and sent her on her way. No matter how much we get from an imminent lawsuit, the fact that they want money as compensation for what some big guy up top believes my grandmother is worth is, well, unsettling.
It's even harder to realize that all the times she used pet names, it was because she couldn't remember who I was. We had so very little memories together in the first place. Going out to eat, feeding the stray cats, eating sandwiches... It all seems so, so very small in the scheme of things. It's amazing how these small, seemingly inconsequential things are so important to me now. When push comes to shove, I don't have much to remember her by. A couple pictures, a little jewelry box I was given as a little girl. I suppose what hurts the most is the fact that, in the end, we were never able to see each other again. I remember saying that I'd see her again soon and that I loved her so many times. That we'd go out and do things like we had back when I was small and naive.
Now, I suppose what hurt me the most was in the past years her name was never included in the birthday cards I was sent or other odd things. It was like my family was ashamed and didn't want her to exist to me. It was like, all of a sudden, she was something that people wanted me to forget. I can remember when I was younger listening through the walls because my family refused to tell me what was going on. I also remember firmly telling them that if they did not cease their foolishness, then I would, like the child I was (and perhaps still am), throw a bit of a tantrum. Perhaps it was because they were more honest with me when it came to my other Grandmother. Ironically enough, she was afflicted with the same illness, but when I was far younger. It angered me that they were trying to cover something up that I had all ready been through. That I had all ready seen.
Now, I'm just sitting her crying like a bitch. I don't even understand why I am crying anymore. Crying is, as a whole, is something I hate doing. It's such a weakness in the scheme of things--makes people assume that I'm all fucked up in the head when I'm really not. I just hate tears, mostly because they never fix a damned thing. I really want a break from all this, but I can't just run away. I only have about twenty dollars to my name. That wouldn't even get me out of Florida. As hard as I work myself, as much as I study, as much as I try and forget, these are things that are not easily forsaken. It would be so easy to say that she doesn't matter to me, but she does, and that's what makes things hard. The fact that someone so kind and filled with love is treated like trash, mainly because of her age, angers me. I can't say that it appalls me--no, I know that the world is shit. People, as a whole, are shit.
In this world you come into it knowing nothing and helpless; in this world you leave it knowing nothing and helpless. This world has left me a jaded person--more abrasive than most girls--and far less patient than most. It just feels a little like something inside of me broke and now everything just feels numb and pointless. It's a lonely little existence, especially when you can barely get up out of bed without thinking of how much you hate what you've come to be.
But that's just normal these days.
It's even harder to realize that all the times she used pet names, it was because she couldn't remember who I was. We had so very little memories together in the first place. Going out to eat, feeding the stray cats, eating sandwiches... It all seems so, so very small in the scheme of things. It's amazing how these small, seemingly inconsequential things are so important to me now. When push comes to shove, I don't have much to remember her by. A couple pictures, a little jewelry box I was given as a little girl. I suppose what hurts the most is the fact that, in the end, we were never able to see each other again. I remember saying that I'd see her again soon and that I loved her so many times. That we'd go out and do things like we had back when I was small and naive.
Now, I suppose what hurt me the most was in the past years her name was never included in the birthday cards I was sent or other odd things. It was like my family was ashamed and didn't want her to exist to me. It was like, all of a sudden, she was something that people wanted me to forget. I can remember when I was younger listening through the walls because my family refused to tell me what was going on. I also remember firmly telling them that if they did not cease their foolishness, then I would, like the child I was (and perhaps still am), throw a bit of a tantrum. Perhaps it was because they were more honest with me when it came to my other Grandmother. Ironically enough, she was afflicted with the same illness, but when I was far younger. It angered me that they were trying to cover something up that I had all ready been through. That I had all ready seen.
Now, I'm just sitting her crying like a bitch. I don't even understand why I am crying anymore. Crying is, as a whole, is something I hate doing. It's such a weakness in the scheme of things--makes people assume that I'm all fucked up in the head when I'm really not. I just hate tears, mostly because they never fix a damned thing. I really want a break from all this, but I can't just run away. I only have about twenty dollars to my name. That wouldn't even get me out of Florida. As hard as I work myself, as much as I study, as much as I try and forget, these are things that are not easily forsaken. It would be so easy to say that she doesn't matter to me, but she does, and that's what makes things hard. The fact that someone so kind and filled with love is treated like trash, mainly because of her age, angers me. I can't say that it appalls me--no, I know that the world is shit. People, as a whole, are shit.
In this world you come into it knowing nothing and helpless; in this world you leave it knowing nothing and helpless. This world has left me a jaded person--more abrasive than most girls--and far less patient than most. It just feels a little like something inside of me broke and now everything just feels numb and pointless. It's a lonely little existence, especially when you can barely get up out of bed without thinking of how much you hate what you've come to be.
But that's just normal these days.