Mensch sag mal bist du auch so glücklich
The last few weeks I've been under such stress that it's amazing that I'm not in pieces on the floor. I'm pretty sure I'm being held together with sellotape and chewing gum. Which is a pretty interesting concept. Such nice design. So many things have been coming to the surface all at the same time and in many ways, it's suffocating. My inner circle know this and they continue to behave like complete fucking idiots and jerk-offs. I understand that many people aren't comfortable death or people being sick, but Jesus Christ. A little support would be nice. I'm juggling two households, 3 upset kids, a pre-grieving mother, a terminally ill relative in my care and two others at hospital all looking to me for direction. I'm a monster, not a miracle worker.
One of the things causing stress I saw coming, the cancer so when I got the final diagnosis, it was no surprise to me. My grandmother, a lifelong smoker, had been diagnosed with a few illnesses related to her smoking a few years back, but they never checked her for cancer. The last year she'd not really been herself. I'd suspected it and had asked about it for months, but got brushed off by so-called medical professionals. Oh well, nothing I can do about it now but sit by the bedside and offer support. It's been difficult, not emotionally draining, not sadness, but me having to reassure. I've never been good at that mainly because I can't empathise with many, if not all people. I just lack that wiring in me. I act nice because I know it's socially acceptable. It's something that's expected of me. So, this right now is probably my most important performance. I feel like Leo DiCaprio reaching for that Oscar with this performance. I smile and nod, offer my shoulder to cry on, but I can't feel the same connection that they do. My flavour of sadness is entirely different to theirs and more often than not, it's entirely selfish. ((Perhaps I'm a bit hard on myself sometimes.)) Everyone around me is distressed by dying and the fact that a family member is dying slowly before their eyes, they're crying over it and some of them haven't even processed the news yet and I'm over in the corner thinking about cream horns. Why bother getting upset over something you cannot do anything about? I don't understand. And why be upset over death? It's not only the final adventure, it's freeing. Freedom. Something so many people spend their lives in pursuit of, yet they fear. I can't wrap my head around this one. For me, I've always found death to be a comfort. A cosy, kind friend. Maybe this is just me being a morbid fucker.
One of the things causing stress I saw coming, the cancer so when I got the final diagnosis, it was no surprise to me. My grandmother, a lifelong smoker, had been diagnosed with a few illnesses related to her smoking a few years back, but they never checked her for cancer. The last year she'd not really been herself. I'd suspected it and had asked about it for months, but got brushed off by so-called medical professionals. Oh well, nothing I can do about it now but sit by the bedside and offer support. It's been difficult, not emotionally draining, not sadness, but me having to reassure. I've never been good at that mainly because I can't empathise with many, if not all people. I just lack that wiring in me. I act nice because I know it's socially acceptable. It's something that's expected of me. So, this right now is probably my most important performance. I feel like Leo DiCaprio reaching for that Oscar with this performance. I smile and nod, offer my shoulder to cry on, but I can't feel the same connection that they do. My flavour of sadness is entirely different to theirs and more often than not, it's entirely selfish. ((Perhaps I'm a bit hard on myself sometimes.)) Everyone around me is distressed by dying and the fact that a family member is dying slowly before their eyes, they're crying over it and some of them haven't even processed the news yet and I'm over in the corner thinking about cream horns. Why bother getting upset over something you cannot do anything about? I don't understand. And why be upset over death? It's not only the final adventure, it's freeing. Freedom. Something so many people spend their lives in pursuit of, yet they fear. I can't wrap my head around this one. For me, I've always found death to be a comfort. A cosy, kind friend. Maybe this is just me being a morbid fucker.
Today, I had to explain to my younger sister that our nan had come home to die. That is her final wishes and I'm to provide the home care in support of a hospice team. She didn't understand that nan was dying here. She thought that she'd spend her last time here and go somewhere else to die. My sister was completely unaware of the seriousness of everything or what the situation actually was. The thought hadn't even occurred to her. I explained the gravity of the situation and how the disease is currently progressing. She looked at me in horror, searching for some sort of comfort on my features, but instead, she saw me talking with almost gusto and curiosity in my eyes. I'm not trying to be a dick or suppress any feelings. I'm actually curious about it. I dearly wish I could see the disease from the inside, watch it in real time. Sadly, I can't. I'm fascinated by the inner workings of the human body and how malignancies occur. I love watching the precision in which the body carries out complex tasks, yet we rarely feel and or see them. Our consciousness is merely a passenger in this massive biological journey.
She then explained what happens if she dies during the night and was panic-stricken. She asked me if I knew what to do. I told her yes and assured her that I do indeed know what to do, who to ring, the whole bit. My other sister overheard and I began to explain what will happen, should it happen when I'm sleeping that they need to keep calm, wake me and leave the room and leave me to attend to everything. "You're so calm and clinical...You're using a lot of big words that I don't understand." I struggled to explain what happens after a person dies in a simpler way, using basic words and the looks of horror on their faces is something I will remember forever. They've never known death. They've never been around death like this. They've had two minor experiences with it, but nothing really memorable...well, okay one of them was memorable and that involves yours truly, but we'll save that one for another day. I suppose my smile and excitement didn't help matters either. I let my inner Daniel show and it scared them. "You're morbid." I waved it off and said, "I'm a realist." I left it there rather than traumatise them with the rest of the after death occurrences and what will happen to grandma after she dies.
It's interesting that it's the emotional side of the entire situation rather than my duties. It's trying to act like a normal human being that I find distressing and upsetting, not the administering medications, washing, dressing, feeding, changing nappies and getting funeral preparations together. Those things I do with ease. The lack of sleep, that makes me a bit grumpy and the overall lack of help I get with the household chores pisses me off beyond any health measure. ((I think I should see my GP after this strain. Or maybe go and visit Elvira and get something before I smack one of these brats into next Tuesday.)) I also know that soon I will have to pack up her entire life. Box up her personal belongings, clothes, treasured memories and after donating clothing and things of usage to charity shops, throw the rest into a skip. I mentioned that to my mother the other night when she asked me about being a crime clean-up technician and she looked distressed. "What?" "You don't just clean up fluids or remains with this. You clean up their lives if they have no family of friends willing or able to do it. It's not always we have to do that, but it does happen."
It's made me think about my own collections and wonder what will happen to them when I'm gone. I don't like the idea of some twat-booger wearing one of my beloved t-shirts. I know this is going to sound selfish but burn everything. Torch it all. Put it in a skip and set it all on fire. Select things will be given to a few people who are deserving, naturally. I'll need someone to carry on my memory, my legacy. If I even have a legacy. At this point, I'm not seeing much of one. But what am I worried for? Part of this blog will linger on the internet until it eventually begins to consume itself, just as people do.
She then explained what happens if she dies during the night and was panic-stricken. She asked me if I knew what to do. I told her yes and assured her that I do indeed know what to do, who to ring, the whole bit. My other sister overheard and I began to explain what will happen, should it happen when I'm sleeping that they need to keep calm, wake me and leave the room and leave me to attend to everything. "You're so calm and clinical...You're using a lot of big words that I don't understand." I struggled to explain what happens after a person dies in a simpler way, using basic words and the looks of horror on their faces is something I will remember forever. They've never known death. They've never been around death like this. They've had two minor experiences with it, but nothing really memorable...well, okay one of them was memorable and that involves yours truly, but we'll save that one for another day. I suppose my smile and excitement didn't help matters either. I let my inner Daniel show and it scared them. "You're morbid." I waved it off and said, "I'm a realist." I left it there rather than traumatise them with the rest of the after death occurrences and what will happen to grandma after she dies.
It's interesting that it's the emotional side of the entire situation rather than my duties. It's trying to act like a normal human being that I find distressing and upsetting, not the administering medications, washing, dressing, feeding, changing nappies and getting funeral preparations together. Those things I do with ease. The lack of sleep, that makes me a bit grumpy and the overall lack of help I get with the household chores pisses me off beyond any health measure. ((I think I should see my GP after this strain. Or maybe go and visit Elvira and get something before I smack one of these brats into next Tuesday.)) I also know that soon I will have to pack up her entire life. Box up her personal belongings, clothes, treasured memories and after donating clothing and things of usage to charity shops, throw the rest into a skip. I mentioned that to my mother the other night when she asked me about being a crime clean-up technician and she looked distressed. "What?" "You don't just clean up fluids or remains with this. You clean up their lives if they have no family of friends willing or able to do it. It's not always we have to do that, but it does happen."
It's made me think about my own collections and wonder what will happen to them when I'm gone. I don't like the idea of some twat-booger wearing one of my beloved t-shirts. I know this is going to sound selfish but burn everything. Torch it all. Put it in a skip and set it all on fire. Select things will be given to a few people who are deserving, naturally. I'll need someone to carry on my memory, my legacy. If I even have a legacy. At this point, I'm not seeing much of one. But what am I worried for? Part of this blog will linger on the internet until it eventually begins to consume itself, just as people do.
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