If my mother knew I wrote these types of things on here she'd probably slaughter me, but she doesn't know.

I find it ironic that both my grandparents have chosen to fall ill within a year of each other. Not that they chose, but that it happened. My grandfather died last May, and now my grandmother had her stoke only a few days ago, almost a year to the date from which her husband ceased to be. She hates doctors and I should probably visit her in the hospital, but I find that I can't. It seems like selfishness that prevents me from going there, but honestly, I don't think I can deal with these kinds of things anymore. I am tired of being bombarded with these sorry, suffocating waves of depression and sadness. Tired of a boxy hospital room with a hundred indentical corridors that all lead you to the nurse's desk but never to the food court. I'm sorry if I am rude, if I am thoughtless, if I am self absorbed, but I really just don't want to be in a hospital feeling sorry and then going home and thinking about it and moping around and sharing a few isolated words with my mother. It's my spring break, and if there's one thing my grandfather taught me, it was to live before you are too weak to do it anymore. And that's what I am going to do. When I am with my friends I am happy, when I am out of this house I am at peace with myself, and I can't help feeling that way. I've seen my share of illness and heard enough carefully put words spoken by doctors as to not offend us, and I'm done, I don't want to hear it anymore. I spent the last two days at a friend's house and finally my mother called me to ask why I felt the urge to be out of the house so much. I really despise her. As college creeps closer and closer it surprises me how excited I really am to get out of here. I appreciate the things I have here and the nice home I live in but my mother is a force not to be reckoned with. She in insane, she is intolerable, and there is no way to have a relationship with her. She means well, but she has no idea how to convey these good intentions to me without screaming and cursing and degrading me. She doesn't know how to communicate without putting me down, without calling me a slut and a failure, and for this I can never forigve her. I've tried to, I really feel bad about hating her this way, but there's only so much you can do. Some people have open, warm relationships with their mother, but I don't, and I've accepted it.

She is scared because she knows the time is coming when I will be in South Carolina and she will be in New Jersey and I will be gone for months at a time. I have already decided not to call her, because any time we try to have an amicable conversation it turns into her lecturing me on things I do wrong, and I am tired of being told I am wrong. I think she knows how much I can't wait to be free of her intoxicating, overprotective grasp, and the fact that she will no longer be able to dictate my every move scares her. The fact that I could stay awake for three days and party until my liver fails, that I could find a drug abusing boyfriend and contract an STD, that I could fail out of college or get shot, these things all scare her and rightfully so. But I don't care. I don't care about anyone except for myself because I am a selfish bitch and I like it that way, because when you care too much about other people they shit all over you. She spent my entire life trying to keep me away from things and force her narrow minded beliefs onto me, with the hopes that I would grow to be a conservative doctor's assistant or a nutritionist for a small busniess. I know there's a real possibility of becoming these things, being that the job market sucks, but if I can help it, I will avoid them at all costs. I want to direct movies. She doesn't know that and I will never tell her. I have wanted to ever since I was 12, I just didn't know it yet. But if she knew she would tell me that I'm going to starve, that I'll never make it. Oh well. Let me starve. Then I'll be thin and I can go into modeling.