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she'll let you in her heart, if you got a hammer and vise
Monday, February 6th, 2012 11:19 pmDon't.
Just don't fucking say "I'm sorry."
I don't want to hear it.
The point is that I had to ask my next door neighbor to dog-sit, even though asking someone for a favor is like peeling off skin, and I had to text Chance, and tell him, even though he never fucking met her.
And he, he fucking said "I'm sorry", even though he never fucking met her, even though he had the goddamn opportunity, even though I fucking wanted to spend the rest of my goddamn life with him. That's the point.
The point is that I never told Chance any of that.
The point is that I'm going to have to get my own goddamn hotel room, and I'm going to have to pay for it. The point is that I have to get my own hotel room because a) my parents are going to want to share, to save money and b) in case of the worst case scenario.
The point is that the worst case scenario involves me being stuck awake for 12 hours of a goddamn car trip, in the back seat (with nothing to read and my phone battery dead, but no, not gonna let that happen) and possibly being stuck awake the entire goddamn night, maybe both nights. My mind fucking hates me and I wouldn't put anything past it. Insomnia would be the goddamn cherry on top of rubbing salt in the wound, and I don't want to keep anyone else awake.
The point is that I'm going to have to leave the house, and I don't remember the last time I did that. It probably wasn't last year, even though it feels like it's been that long.
The point is that I would have to leave the house to shop for a goddamn black dress if I hadn't seen this coming.
The point is—my grandmother is dead. My mother's mother.
At least, I guess that's the point. The point is definitely not that I wish it were me, because that would be selfish, and stupid, and I never want to do that to my parents. Even though that thought's true, that wish is real, that's not the goddamn point. I'm not that selfish, I swear to god.
So, the point is that she's dead. She called me the worst granddaughter in the world, once, and she has like 20, so she would know. She had like 20, I guess. She doesn't anymore.
I wish her death hurt more. She deserves to have it hurt me more, she was a wonderful person and I would have been a better granddaughter if I'd been able to. I couldn't, though, I can't. I never could.
She apologized for the 'worst granddaughter' thing, before you think less of her. I'm completely 100% sure I deserved it in the first place, but she apologized anyway.
Adding insult to injury with the death thing, is all, I'm evidently not capable of hurting more than being this depressed, even if I wish I could.
I don't think SHE'S adding insult to injury, I'm not angry at her, even though maybe I should be, 5 stages of grief and all that.
Anyway, the point is, she's dead.
I'm not that upset, so don't, just don't fucking say you're sorry. Just save the consolation for someone who cares more than I do, even though the likelihood is you don't know them.
Because her sons, her daughters, her family, my goddamn mother—they do care more than I do, even if it's not my fault that I can't care anymore.
Please don't tell me you're sorry. Just don't.
(I know there's not much else to say, and I'm sorry for taking those consoling words away from you, but it's the pure truth that I just don't want to fucking hear it.)
Just don't fucking say "I'm sorry."
I don't want to hear it.
The point is that I had to ask my next door neighbor to dog-sit, even though asking someone for a favor is like peeling off skin, and I had to text Chance, and tell him, even though he never fucking met her.
And he, he fucking said "I'm sorry", even though he never fucking met her, even though he had the goddamn opportunity, even though I fucking wanted to spend the rest of my goddamn life with him. That's the point.
The point is that I never told Chance any of that.
The point is that I'm going to have to get my own goddamn hotel room, and I'm going to have to pay for it. The point is that I have to get my own hotel room because a) my parents are going to want to share, to save money and b) in case of the worst case scenario.
The point is that the worst case scenario involves me being stuck awake for 12 hours of a goddamn car trip, in the back seat (with nothing to read and my phone battery dead, but no, not gonna let that happen) and possibly being stuck awake the entire goddamn night, maybe both nights. My mind fucking hates me and I wouldn't put anything past it. Insomnia would be the goddamn cherry on top of rubbing salt in the wound, and I don't want to keep anyone else awake.
The point is that I'm going to have to leave the house, and I don't remember the last time I did that. It probably wasn't last year, even though it feels like it's been that long.
The point is that I would have to leave the house to shop for a goddamn black dress if I hadn't seen this coming.
The point is—my grandmother is dead. My mother's mother.
At least, I guess that's the point. The point is definitely not that I wish it were me, because that would be selfish, and stupid, and I never want to do that to my parents. Even though that thought's true, that wish is real, that's not the goddamn point. I'm not that selfish, I swear to god.
So, the point is that she's dead. She called me the worst granddaughter in the world, once, and she has like 20, so she would know. She had like 20, I guess. She doesn't anymore.
I wish her death hurt more. She deserves to have it hurt me more, she was a wonderful person and I would have been a better granddaughter if I'd been able to. I couldn't, though, I can't. I never could.
She apologized for the 'worst granddaughter' thing, before you think less of her. I'm completely 100% sure I deserved it in the first place, but she apologized anyway.
Adding insult to injury with the death thing, is all, I'm evidently not capable of hurting more than being this depressed, even if I wish I could.
I don't think SHE'S adding insult to injury, I'm not angry at her, even though maybe I should be, 5 stages of grief and all that.
Anyway, the point is, she's dead.
I'm not that upset, so don't, just don't fucking say you're sorry. Just save the consolation for someone who cares more than I do, even though the likelihood is you don't know them.
Because her sons, her daughters, her family, my goddamn mother—they do care more than I do, even if it's not my fault that I can't care anymore.
Please don't tell me you're sorry. Just don't.
(I know there's not much else to say, and I'm sorry for taking those consoling words away from you, but it's the pure truth that I just don't want to fucking hear it.)
