I hate my grandmother. She believes she knows all, and has a responsibility to tell all. She believes she is entitled to everything simply because she is old. No. If you’re an butthat, and treat me like dirt, I will not respect you.
She used to hit me. I don’t mean lightly tap you on the shoulder, because she was a frail, sickly thing. No, she was a fat bull that had its nuts cut off. She would say that she was merciful, since she didn’t use a brush like her father did. Or the belt. Her personality stinks! She’s abusive.
Yet she expects me, and everyone else, to revere her as some goddess-on-Earth.
She speaks to everyone in a patronizing tone. Or else it’s mockingly snide, like “Honey, you idiot, you know you’re doing it wrong, so just listen to me.”
She called me a s*** even though the dress I wore was four inches, nearly five, below my knees, it was a summer dress, so no, it had actual sleeves. Not spaghetti straps. I was a virgin for far longer than she was. AND I didn’t pick lousy boyfriends who drank and were scumbags.
I get she has issues. Or she did. But it does NOT in ANY way shape or form give her the right to hurt those around her.
Once, when I was learning how to drive, I went ONE INCH over the rise, and she screamed at me, even though it was my mother in the car, and me… I asked her, “Wow, so you care more about your car than you do about us?” And she said she did. What a brat. I didn’t scratch her car. Nope. It was perfectly fine.
She’s done lots worse, but I remember that instance vividly, because shortly after, she refused to let me sleep over a friend’s house because that friend was black. She was racist. And didn’t want to admit it in front of my friend.
She’s a coward. A man pulled a gun on our neighbors, we could see them through the windows, and I was only 10, but I was going to call the police–and she GUARDED THE PHONE so I COULDN’T, because she was afraid that they “might find out it was us.” REALLY? Their LIVES WERE AT STAKE. Two years later, a young woman with two children begged me to let her in because her boyfriend had left in a rage saying he was going to get his gun and massacre them. I let them in. I guarded the door with a metal pan. The boyfriend couldn’t know where she went–no one was watching outside. Yet my grandmother pulled me aside, and basically told me that I should kick her AND THE CHILDREN out. So, the kids deserve to die because their mother made a poor choice in a boyfriend? Excuse you? No. That’s not how it works. I ignored her. And luckily, by that point, she wasn’t going to argue in front of the woman. I gave the kids a stone I had, and calmed them down, telling them to wish on it if they were in trouble, and silly kids’ stuff that isn’t always practical but really helps in hard times. I can’t stand the fact that she went upstairs and was so craven I—I am ashamed to have her in my family!
She has no manners herself. She scoffs down food and NEVER STOPS EATING. She’s over 300 lbs. She says she’s dieting by eating veggies and 20 lbs of salad dressing. But it’s not okay for me to be 118 lbs. Alright.
If it were legal, I would’ve killed her already. Not for her cowardice. Some people just don’t have gumption. You can’t teach it. But for how she has treated my mother, and those I love. She has torn them down to tears. Calling my mother a b*tch, and how she has failed at raising her children, how even if she goes back to college now she will never amount to anything… How she doesn’t deserve to be family!?

No.

Nope.

Not okay. People like this should just be wiped off the face of the planet. They are a blemish on society. They aren’t productive in the slightest. They bring good people down.

I might murder her. Might. I hate her. Hate makes you want to destroy. So… Maybe. I could imitate a heart attack. She has so many health problems as it is because of her bad habits and filthy character.
Sigh. No. Okay. So I can’t kill her. But my hatred smolders beneath my lids every second she speaks, or whenever I see her… She acts nice for maybe half a day, then shows her true colors. She just can’t keep it together.
Maybe she’s dying. Maybe that’s why she’s calling so often. Good riddance if she goes.
If she dies before next year, I will happily tell the world on a fancy microphone that while it is wrong to speak ill of the dead, I cared naught for her and that her presence won’t be missed.
I am about honesty.
I have told her and my family how I feel about her. Tactfully, but not so as well. For example, my grandmother out of the blue asked me, while my mother had just left the car to get something quick from the supermarket, “Can I get an honest answer? It will stay between us.”
Me: “Yyyyeah?”
Her: “Why is it that you think we can’t get along?”
Me: “It’s because your personality stinks.”
Her: “WELL. HUMPH.” -mother returns- “DO YOU KNOW WHAT YOUR DAUGHTER SAID TO ME?!”

Yep.

So I hate my grandmother.

I wouldn’t mind if she died.

I am a horrible person. I can live with that.

But the sooner she goes, the better I’ll feel. I hope she drops by Thanksgiving. Then I’ll have more to be grateful for. She brings out the worst in me. She abused me. Maybe that’s why I hate her. I can’t let go. But she continues to abuse not only me, but others. I hate, hate, hate it. I took psychology. Advanced Cultural Anthropology. I know why people may do what they do. But that doesn’t justify their actions. I know that wanting her to die is wrong. I know that hate is wrong. It makes me feel gross inside. I want it gone. But it never works. I’ve tried shrinks, psychologists, counselors, friends… But I want her out for good.