my grandpa always grumbles when im there, he thinks I'm ok with him talking badly about everyone? do you always have to blame anyone but yourself? 'fuck

4 years

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my grandpa always grumbles when im there, he thinks I’m ok with him talking badly about everyone? do you always have to blame anyone but yourself? ‘f*** ya jj leaving your dirty dishes’ did you ever consider someone else had left it there?
why do you always have to pick me out to be the rotten of the bunch just because I’m there and ill take it? i hope you get what you’re dishing out soon enough. ill never let you live with me like mum is.
when shes old, ill take care of her like shes taken care of you. except she’ll actually be grateful and not spray b******* out of her mouth like you do. you filthy creature. clinging, latching onto MY home, you don’t pay rent yet you live here, you hang up a few clothes and think you’re in a position to whine about how nobody does them? you’ll learn soon enough when they grow old, and it’s ‘assumingly’ my turn to take care of you. 🙂

New Confession

I wrote a few days ago about never being comforted by the people who I love and who claim to love me. like most confessions I make here, I often start to reevaluate after I hit submit and will eventually begin to feel more level headed about whatever dramatic confession of emotion I decided to spew. this is not one of those times. I had a procedure today- invasive and painful. i knew it wasn’t going to be comfortable, but then afterwards I got bad news from the results. yeah, as I suspected for a long time, I’ve got cancer in me. pre-cancer, anyway. but the doctor let me know today that considering how young I am and other aspects of my history, I shouldn’t have these huge pre-cancerous growths in me. and I mean huge. how often do you have a doctor look at you and go “wow, that was the largest polyp I’ve ever seen in a 24 year old.” anyway… after this, my boyfriend of 6 years drove me to our house, almost completely all in silence. go inside, no real words spoken. nothing to say about it. any of it. just flops onto the couch and tells me he has a headache. makes me make him food and tuck him into our bed because he ALWAYS flops onto the couch when we get home, and then proceeds to complain about how uncomfortable it is to sleep on it and how sore he is. he at least tells me he loves me, I suppose, but nothing else. I say “I love you more”, like I frequently do, which is supposed to prompt a “No you don’t”, and a short reason as to why HE loves ME more. this time, he just says nothing nothing. nothing nothing nothing. now I get to go upstairs, cook myself a meal after being asked not to eat for 3 days, and then sit alone in my living room with only my thoughts. these f****** thoughts. why do I never get to be the baby. why do I never get to be the one tucked. why do I never get to be the one who gets their back scratched and their hair played with until they sleep. why do I never get asked if I’m okay. it’s like I was open with a disease that makes it so that whenever I’m upset, or hurting, or crying, I give off a noxious gas that makes everybody sick. I hate it here.

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