My "grandmother" is dying. I have to use that term in the loosest sense possible because she was never a real grandmother. She lived with my family when I was younger and babysat my siblings and I because both of my parents and my older sister had to work in order for us to survive. But whenever they could, our parents would be with us. Anyways, the grandmother would watch us over the summer and after school. This is how she babysat: if we were hungry, she gave us little Debbie's and chips because it was a lot easier than helping us get fruit or something healthier; if we didn't have pizza rolls or something else she could throw in the oven, we had to make our own lunch and breakfast, everyday; if we were hungry, or even fucking hurt, during one of her shows, we'd get yelled at, brushes thrown at us; my brother and I grew up playing spies a lot because sometimes that was the best way to get food or drink without repercussions. And that's not the worst part. My older brother died when I was three. Before that, my two brothers and I all slept in the same room as our parents (it was a small house), but the grandmother took my little brother out of my parent's room. She was able to use my parent's grief combined with the new baby that was born barely a month after my brother's death to move my younger brother into her room because she "was worried that he wasn't being taken care of or given enough attention. But she left me, only eighteen months older, with my "negligent" parents...I didn't know this fact until I was grown. So, the weird time lapse between my brother's death and when the horrible, deviating nightmares that still have the ability to leave me in tears today started was always a mystery. Now, I know that the nightmares started when she snatched my little brother away. All of this may seem like nothing, but that's because it's only part of the things she's done. There's the times she tried to make me feel less because I was succeeding; the times she made me feel like a blob instead of a person; the time her "small" comments about by weight led to a bulimia-like diet; or the times she threatened to put my parents in jail over things she's done in their name; and there are so many more things she did before I was born that would make you see her as a monster...And she's never once taken responsibility for her actions. She blames others or denies the events ever occurred. She's driven people crazy because of her own delusions and lack of self-worth. So, should I feel sad about her dying? No. Should I feel guilty about that? No. What do I feel? Relief. I feel relieved because she won't be there to start fights on EVERY birthday and holiday; my future children will never have to meet her; my niece doesn't have to grow up being told she's fat; and so much more. My "grandmother" is dying...and I don't care.
izzy806
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