My last meetings with my grandmother went very poorly. She has finally been settled into her new place. But settled is a poor word for it. She still cries all day long. She doesn’t recognize me, my sister or my father at all. And on the final day that I went to see her, the caretaker turned me away. She said that all of the pictures, cookies and time that we were spending with her was too confusing for her.
I was supposed to just leave. Just leave and she will be fine. I was turned away from seeing her. I still don’t know what to do about that. I was told it is best for her. That it was the good thing for her. What the hell is good about any of this? Where does the ethical compass to point when ALL DIRECTIONS ARE RUBBISH?
I can’t talk to anyone in the family about this. Everyone is so tetchy and aggravated by this whole ordeal even just mentioning my feelings for the situation sparked off waves of yelling and accusatory tones. There was so much negativity that I am split into small fragments of who I was before I arrived. I don’t have anyone to talk to about this. Or at least I have no one to confide my thoughts that will listen without yelling at me. I’m done. This is done.
I feel both compelled to go out and live as much as I can while simultaneously hide balled up in a small corner of a dark and quiet room. I was rude and mean to a customer service person on the phone tonight. I always try to be friendly to folks whose service is on the telephone, but I couldn’t hold it together. I hemmed and hawed and jack-assed about vexing this poor person on the telephone.
My brow feels heavy and tense. My shoulders aren’t really moving at all. I am glad to be gone. That place is a trap.
Why, then, ’tis none to you; for there is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so: to me it is a prison.
The Tragedy of Hamlet, Prince of Denmark – Act 2, Scene 2