whatevs
Mining for copium in the weirdest places.
- Jan 15, 2022
- 2,911
It saddened me that she died, even though she was a narcissist and me, being something similar, had expressed to my family how convenient her death would be. I was honest. I wanted her to die. Or rather, I thought I might want her to die. I wasn't completely sure.
Now the only thing I can do is to point at my former self and laugh. Nothing positive was achieved by her death and the selling of her shit. I just lost someone that had seen me grow and that I cared about somewhat.
I was there at the crucial point. She was sweating, pale, bloated, in misery. Mouth open, eyes vaguely trying to focus. Head failing to erect, but attempting. They had administered a death cocktail. Legionella in the water supply, I was told. Life waging war on life.
We all cried quietly, nothing dramatic. But I was crying for more than my grandmother. Yes, she died obese, paralyzed and stinking of piss, having lost most of her dignity. Routinely sharting in front of me, as moving into the bathroom was an odyssey. Cared by these strangers, rowdy East Europeans landing in a more prosperous country in the south.
Her death was another reminder, an unusually stark one. I would die. Everyone would die. Most people would die like that, ill, dephormed, defeated by suffering, after lustfully and foolishly grabbing life as long as they could.
There is something very wrong with life, no? Only children, which barely know anything are really joyful. It's because they don't know.
Now the only thing I can do is to point at my former self and laugh. Nothing positive was achieved by her death and the selling of her shit. I just lost someone that had seen me grow and that I cared about somewhat.
I was there at the crucial point. She was sweating, pale, bloated, in misery. Mouth open, eyes vaguely trying to focus. Head failing to erect, but attempting. They had administered a death cocktail. Legionella in the water supply, I was told. Life waging war on life.
We all cried quietly, nothing dramatic. But I was crying for more than my grandmother. Yes, she died obese, paralyzed and stinking of piss, having lost most of her dignity. Routinely sharting in front of me, as moving into the bathroom was an odyssey. Cared by these strangers, rowdy East Europeans landing in a more prosperous country in the south.
Her death was another reminder, an unusually stark one. I would die. Everyone would die. Most people would die like that, ill, dephormed, defeated by suffering, after lustfully and foolishly grabbing life as long as they could.
There is something very wrong with life, no? Only children, which barely know anything are really joyful. It's because they don't know.
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