There. My anger has a name. It does me no good, of course, to be angry with a person so helpless about things that happened so long ago. I cannot bring myself to speak the words because I know that it's cruel. I am not her. I believe that cruelty is unnecessary. However, I am still angry. That anger festers in my brain and my heart is shrouded in a sooty darkness. With every criticism, I feel it thickening. I look at ambitious people with an envy so deep that it makes me wonder what is happening to me. Once I have served my time as caregiver, I am not sure who I will be.
Each day that passes chips away at the optimistic and hopeful girl I once was. I see no future. I see no reason to believe that there is anything good waiting for me. I live in a fantasy world inside my head every minute that I have free. All my creative energy goes into the fantasy. All my hopes and dreams are alive in the fantasy. It is the only place where they are safe.
I have a few hours free three days a week. I often use them to have pleasant conversation with strangers at the store or play video games. The rest of the time I am an automaton, taking orders and doing the things that are needed to keep the old lady alive and well. It is much easier to be completely detached. If I don't feel anything, I do the job very well. If I don't allow myself to consider how deserving she is of kindness, which she is so apparently incapable of demonstrating, I have no problem with it.
She has no friends. I see why. Whenever she tries to start a conversation, I immediately shut it down. The only things she talks about are other people's shortcomings. She insults people. She gossips. No, I have no interest in participating in any of it. Do not attempt to involve me. If that's the only way you can carry on a conversion, then I guess we won't have any. I often change the channel on TV when she starts bashing celebrities because I just don't want to hear it. And so it goes. I am fulfilling my duties as a daughter, and that is all.
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