Numbness, denial, escape, self-medicate, run run run

I'm not that important.

I'm trying really hard to get better. Or I think I am. I have pressures and hopes and expectations weighing down on me. Just get better. Buck up. Get with it. What is your problem, anyway?

And I caught a glimpse of real life and maybe I don't wanna get better, maybe I'd rather stay in a nice fog, where my grandma isn't gone and my daughter isn't suddenly grown up and life isn't so ugly and dreary and hurtful.

I can't cry hard enough for you to hear me now...

The summer of 1983, my parents moved me away to Obernburg, Germany, and I spent my first night there crying for my grandmother.

Now, 28 years later, it's the summer of 2011 and I'm spending the night again crying for my grandmother.

I didn't realize when I saw her briefly this past Saturday, and kissed her on the cheek, and said 'I love you, bye,' that it would be the last time we would ever speak.
I don't know how to do this.