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05 April 2008 @ 08:53 pm
A year later...  
I stopped writing to live journal. There were too many things I wasn't strong enough to write down. Reading back over my last entries. I didn't speak in depth about Dad leaving, about the constant missing of him, Mum's suicide attempts, her then chasing men and internet dating. It all was just too messy, too painful. And, writing things down has that inevitable way of making it more real. Sometimes that can be a good thing, but more often that not, it makes us face the things we wish we can pretend are fiction.

Now the time has come however that I need to write things down. Things I need to get my head around. But first, I'll summarise the things I spoke of before.

I've fallen out with Dad. He never seemed too bothered with us anyway, after leaving. I think he thought of us as his duty as opposed to the kids who should have been his life. He came to see 'West Side Story' which I was in in November. I'd worked really hard on it, working with professional dancer/actress/choreographer Sorelle Marsh. Father came to see it, and got the hump that I took too long to say goodbye. Said he shouldnt have bothered coming to see it, because all I did was hold up a pipe, which was definitely not all I did. It hurt so much, to know he could care so little about my dreams and aspirations. We've barely spoken since.

Ruben: Ruben was definitely not the guy I thought he was. he lied to me many times. Alex never cheated on him. Alex, in fact, turns out to be the most loveliest, most beautiful girl I have ever met and we have gone on to become very close friends. We both thank Ruben for that. Him cheating on her with me, without my knowledge, forced us to meet and much to his annoyance, we got along straight away. But, I've let go of the anomosity towards Ruben, mostly, and somehow we've managed to become friends. I drink with him sometimes, we text to see if eachother are OK. But all romantic feelings are long gone. Just, knowing all the bad things he's done to me, and others, makes me appreciate that whilst I cant not have him in my life, I should be extra weary of what he says/does.

My sister has continued to be my rock, throughout everything. I would truly be lost without her. My Mum and I still argue, but, we've been getting along a bit better these past few weeks. I suppose we've had to. There's so much going on... so many awful awful things. Which brings me to now, present day, present problems.

My Grandad's partner Lizzie was told she had bowel cancer. She went through chemo. We thought she was better. But they opened her up, planning on cutting away 3/4 of her liver so the rest would grow back cancer free. The cancer had spread too much, there was nothing they could do. So they sewed her back up again, like she was a fragile doll. A fragile doll with something eating its way inside to out and stealing with it her life. She has a year to live. 47. What a terribly young age to be given a death sentence. You hear on the news all the time, young people dying. But, when you know them... Lizzie's such an interactive person. She likes the finer things in life; poetry, theatre, good music, travelling. She's just like me. And she's 47. We went to see her the other week. She's got so many things she wants to do before she goes. So many things she wants to achieve. If she can achieve so much in a year, imagine all the achievements she could have had given her 'twice three score years and ten.'

Then came another blow. My Grandad was told he has cancer, in his spine, his lungs... everywhere. He hasn't been given as long as Lizzie. Oddly, I'm not as effected by it though. I know I SHOULD be. Blood is thicker than water, that's what everyone says. But, he's 71 and has been smoking since he was 11. And, he seems an old 71 anyway. Obviously it still hurts. He's my Grandad and I care about him. But it almost feels natural, like this is his time. It's like Lizzie's life has been prematurely stopped. Like a show brought to finish before the second Act. Lizzie wants to do so much, and Grandad just seems to be sulking. he also keeps drudging up the past, all those lost years between he and Mum, times when we barely knew of him as a Grandad. I know I shouldnt admit it, but I just know, if it was my other Nan and Grandad in the same situation, I'd be a million times worse.

Still, 47. 47. That's no age to die.

Sorry for the long entry. It seems long overdue, but, I think I'm gonna stay more faithful to livejournal. See it more as a sanctuary, where I can talk freely, without having to fear Im hurting my Mother, or my little brother.
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