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~My grandfather~ Tuesday, May. 20, 2003 - 1:57 AM I've been up all night typing away. I see my shrink on friday, but am going psycgo in word. I have done up about 5 pages so far. He's gonna just love me. I can guarantee that he will have me on drugs this week. He is going to press them on me. So when he does I am going to ask him one question.... "how can they help when they just mask the symptoms, and don't help me with the problems?". Fuck, I am so fucked in this head, that I think I am going to end up on them anyway. I can't function anymore. Tonight I had the 3rd shower I have had since before Jay left. She has been gone for 20 days. The only reason I had one is because I was getting sick from my hair, and had to shave my head. Then I had to wash off the little hairs I was coated in. Otherwise, I just don't care. Yes, I am dirty. I smell, and am wearing the same clothes, sitting in the same spot. But thats okay, I'm comfortable with that. It is my choice to give up on living. My choice to fall into my mind, and get lost in every bad thing that has ever happened to me. It was just fucking grand tonight. I remembered in detail when my grandfather died infront of me, with my hands on him, taking some of his pain. I felt him go. I watched his jaw sag. I cried hysterically out in the cold where no one could see, or hear me. At the funeral, I chose the music, shared a poem I wrote, but before the service, I went in to see him alone. I cried so hard I nearly made myself sick. No matter what I did, who I was, how I looked, or where I was. He loved me unconditionally. He made everything better. He was the only one who understood me. I was the only one in the family he would hug. He was everything to me. My world was falling apart around me....but he never did anything but take me out into his garden. He taught me how to grow things, how to appreciate plants, and birds. The first time I saw an owl it was with him in his backyard. We used to drive to Calgary together just to visit my aunt for a bit. Those long drives were the best times of my life. He made everything go away. He made nothing matter but the road. He made me appreciate life. Then his was gone. With it went the last person to truly love and understand me. I loved him more than anything. I composed a poem for him while he was dying in his bed in the livingroom. The last time he smiled it was because of me. After that he was too far gone to be able to do it. I loved him more than anyone. He was my mentor. Back when my mom was saying that I was shit, and she loved my brother more. That it was my dad who wanted me, not her....my grandfather singled me out to be with him. He got me doing things in the garden for him. He took me places with him. Talked to me, just spent time with me when I was a burden to the family. As far as I know...there is still no marker on his grave. My stepfather never did what he had to, to get one. When the money from the deal comes, I want to buy one for him. I need to buy one for him. I miss him so fucking much. No one else seems to care at all. No one but me. I live everyday in my own personal hell, because everyone seems to have forgotten him. But I can't. He truly loved me. He was the most amazing person I had ever met. He has touched me in a way no one could ever do. Sometimes I want to die, just to try to find him again. I miss him so fucking much. He died Feb.17,1992, at 12:15pm in his bed, in the living room, with his ball game on t.v. Surrounded by us all. That memory will never fade, nor will it ever hurt less. He was always proud of me. He would have loved Kristian, and would have made fun of Jays hair. He was always happy and into trouble of some sort. I still remember the day he called me up to tell me he was going to die. He needed to talk, and called me. "Amber, your grandpa isn't going to be here much longer. I am so tired. So, so, tired". I got so scared. I never told anyone about that call. He knew he was going. He knew it well. He was dying of lung cancer. Only it had spread into his chest cavity, and was taking over. He was in so much pain that the doctor gave us a shitload of Morphine, and said "If he needs it, give it to him. Give him whatever he wants. There is nothing we can do now." I miss him so much. Why couldn't it have been me instead? Why not me? IVY ~WTF?~ - Saturday, Mar. 25, 2017 |
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