May 11, 2020

Aaaaand we’re back.

Four days removed from the situation was much-needed. I slept and drank and relaxed and worked and it was eventful. I went to work for 2 days. Became increasingly uncomfortable with the way-too-lax health sanitation situation there. Quit my job. Decided I would commit myself to this online-gig I’ve kind of had for a bit (since bye bye unemployment $) and am desperately hoping to find another online writing gig.

Came back to grandmom’s tonight. She sprained her ankle about 20 minutes after I left four days ago. Another family member was here with her, a friend came over to wrap it up and give her some Tylenol. Apparently the pain (that was already “unbearable”) was excrutiating for the entire 72 hours that followed. I explained to her and other family members the situation about the job. Yes, I quit, and I did it for her, but I am also reclaiming 6 hours out of my day to be completely unreachable. Available, in the other room, for emergencies ONLY. We start with that tomorrow. We’ll see how it goes.

I took the family member that stayed with her over the last few days to the airport today and got to listen to him vent about her for a bit.

“Motherfucking bitchy grouch!” “Just a fucking cunt!” “A miserable, sad person!” The insults went on.

She’s a sweet lady, or she used to be. I have to keep reminding myself that. She’s certainly not very sweet anymore.

My little sister told me she felt uncomfortable coming over here. One of grandmom’s good friends said the same thing, even before all this covid shit started.

I told her that tonight, I’m leaving the pill in the little medicine bowl right next to her bed. She knows she can’t take it until 4. It’s always 4. I also told her that if she needs me, I’ll come help her, but I’m only coming if she calls me NAME. I typically respond to her crescendo-ing groans. I’m not doing it anymore, even though I’m sure they’ll wake me up. I wasn’t even here for a few days and I still woke up multiple times a night, swearing I can hear her a door over.

I don’t want please and thank you’s, like my grumpy and angry family member said he does. I just want PROGRESS. I want her to be fucking happy to live for at least some time out of every day. She’ll never be happy-go-lucky about it, but I want her to want to sit in her beautiful sunroom or on her amazing back porch and just feel the sunshine and look at the sky and listen to the birds and feel NOT like she wishes she was dead. But the thing is that, even when i do coax or trick or somehow get her out there to the outside, the blue sky I see is not the same as the sky she sees. Maybe we aren’t feeling the same wind. Maybe the birds are saying mean things in her head while they’re singing compliments in mine. I don’t know. I wish I knew. But i’m so defeated from not knowing that I’ve realized I have nothing else to do but work, at least a little bit, on myself. For the sake of myself. I owe it to myself.

I just worry about her. I’m essentially planning to leave here by the end of June. I’ll be living about an hour and a half from here, back to the same place i was living before. A friend has a room. There’s a job there if I need it. The timing feels right. Or does it? Am I just convincing myself it feels right because it’s convenient for me to get out of here/it’s what other people have said/it’s what makes me excited? oF course living with my friends excites me. I miss them dearly. My life has been upside down and essentially on hold for an entire year. I want MY life back. But what happens when I get it back and i still wake up several times in the middle of the night? And i realize tht my life is still always going to be there but i don’t know if life here is always going to be tere? but i actually don’t even fucking like life here. i do not want to be a caregiver. I do not want to be here anymore. But I’m scared to leave at the same time.

ugh this post started so strong and now it’s just a bunch of fucking questions. that’s journaling for you.