Temper, Temper

I'm getting sick and tired of bearing the brunt of my mother's temper. It seems like at least once a week (and never on the days I have Uni) I'm woken by Mum losing it at something or someone and just generally making a load of noise that's impossible to sleep through. But when I get up I have to sit in the same room as her and listen to her lose it and I'm just so sick of it. And it's not always just in the morning. She loses it whenever things don't work out as she planned or something breaks or fails to work and it's tiring.

It's not that her anger isn't (usually) justified. But it's always loud and over the top. Sure, yelling at the computer for not working feels good but it's not actually helping and I'm the poor sod sitting two metres away listening to it.

She complains at me like I'm capable of fixing every single problem she has; and sure I get venting but venting about something I've just heard you vent about? Not helping. And she's just. So loud. I spend most of the time she's angry wanting to leave the room... I'm scared, honestly and I spend a lot of the time apologising because maybe that'll make her calm down and stop being angry. And she's not even yelling at me! Just in my general direction.

I just want it to stop. The end of the month can't come quick enough. A month without her (and Dad), no matter how much responsibly I have to take on, sounds amazing.

I'm Not Scared Of You

So my Dad lost it last night. He's been having issues recently with a tooth of his, possibly one that's got some kind of cap on it, I'm not sure. Either way, it fell out last night while he was in his lounge chair and went down the side of the chair. I was in the room when it happened and Dad's first reaction was to try and get the tooth back.

It stayed his only reaction for nearly an hour and a half. He turned the chair upside down and sideways; checked out the bin beside the lounge and then turned the chair upside down again. And then he felt inside the lounge again.

That's not the worst of it. Dad basically got within minutes of ripping apart our lounge chair in search of this tiny, tiny tooth. My brother was at work but Mum and I were recruited into helping - despite me being busy working on an essay I just submitted. At one point I escaped the room to take the garbage out and got caught up taking the neighbour's dog home so that took nearly twenty minutes. I came back to them still looking. Dad was completely losing it, calling himself all kinds of names and basically thinking he's the worst person alive for losing a tooth. It was definitely an overreaction and both Mum and I were upset -Mum at the fact Dad was willing to destroy our lounge chair; me because everyone else was upset and that tends to make me feel the same. I was also upset because some of the things Dad was saying about himself were awful and I just do not like hearing him talk like that. I cannot handle conflict really.

Eventually Mum and I managed to convince Dad to give up, though not with words but with lack of helpful action. We settled back into our places and wouldn't you know it? Dad found the damned tooth an hour later, somewhere in the lounge.

But that's all background. I found out today, from Mum, that Dad thought I was scared of him last night. See, like I said, I can't handle conflict, especially anger. And my answer to conflict is to remove myself from it. I remember a time in high school that I had a fight with a good friend - my only fight with her in memory- and as soon as I realised being angry was making me cry I removed myself from the situation and hid in a bathroom to cry myself out. I do not like to be present when someone is getting angry and I can't help. Especially not my parents.

So removing myself has nothing to do with being scared of the person who is angry but is my natural reaction to someone being angry. Last night I was not scared of Dad, just upset at his reaction.

And I started thinking. And I realised I've never been scared of my Dad. I mean, I've been scared of his reaction in that I feared the consequences he was going to give me for actions I've done but I've never feared for my safety when he's been present- even when angry, I know he won't hurt me though I'm not fond of being yelled at by him. Which is what I think he thinks I was scared of. He's apologised for his actions last night and I tried to make sure he realises I understood and wasn't scared but I don't know if it was clear.

But the idea that he could ever think I feared him is as upsetting a thought as the memory of his overreaction last night was. I don't want him to think I'm scared of him, he's one of the kindest men I know (with some of the worst politics around but no one is perfect) and I know how much he beats himself up over things. But I just do not have the words to reassure him, especially as I'm not sure he knows, I know what he told Mum about thinking I might be scared of him.

It's a bit of a mess really.

Do You Not Know That A Man Is Not Dead While His Name Is Still Spoken?

If you ever asked me who my favourite author is I would um and ah but eventually provide a list. I'm awful at picking one.

One of the top names would be Terry Pratchett.

His books (of which I've read a tiny selection) are my favourites. It was his stories that I decided to take with me overseas knowing that I couldn't go six months without reading them. His style of examining our world through the lens of the fantasy world of the Disc is almost unique and his humour so close to my own. I loved his (co-authored) book Good Omens so much I left a copy at my high school library. He deserves his place as one of my favourite authors. He is an amazing writer.

...And I now realise I've used the wrong tense for much of that paragraph.

I knew it was coming; I knew he was facing death. But it's still been a shock... I thought he had more time... more books, more magic to share. I guess not.

But at least I can read his books and find some comfort in his own worlds- the title of this post.

RIP Terry Pratchett and be sure, your name will be spoken for eternity.

Procrastinating Thoughts

I have homework due tomorrow so instead of doing it I'm going to update a post here because I've not posted in a while.

Reason: I've been busy. SO VERY VERY BUSY. Like, settling into a new place made me busy but then Uni has made me busier. Firstly because of the homework side of it (SO MUCH READING) but also because of the social side.

I've never been this involved in anything.

Back home, I've work and a list of reasons to not go out. Here, there's nothing like that and I'm just going out so much more. Friends are texting me to do lunch and I go do lunch that day. The societies I'm in all have things on basically once a fortnight (if not more) and well, my building keeps doing things together.

And it's awesome. But it's making me wonder what I'm missing back home? Like... I don't go out much at home and I love it but here it seems I also love spending time with people all over the place? And yes, while I have had to talk myself into going to a couple of events, I've never regretted going.

Though I've not gotten drunk. Just super tipsy.

I'm also feeling a touch disconnected from home. Which might be adding to these odd thoughts. Mostly because my family spread my Nana's ashes on Sunday (their yesterday, my today) and no one bothered to tell me it was going to happen until the day before. My brother assumed I knew and I can't think of what it would have been like if he'd mentioned it in Skype after it had happened.

Or if I'd seen Mum's status on Facebook and not known it was happening.

And while I know it wasn't possible to wait for me to be there and that keeping the ashes in the house was freaking Mum out (mostly because the Furbies in the room she's keeping the ashes in keep going off for no reason...) but a part of me wishes they could have delayed it. It's only a few months. Or if I had just gone on exchange last semester as originally planned... but then I would have missed the last months of Nana's life- and definitely wouldn't have been home before her stroke. It was just rotten timing, I know, but a part of me is heartbroken at missing this absolutely final goodbye.

And the rest is pissed I only knew about it because I called Dad twice for his birthday instead of once.

5 Things The Last Week Has Taught Me About Grief

I've always loved Cracked.com and their articles so I've decided to write about some things I've noticed in the near week since Nana's death in their style.

5. Everyone Is Sorry.

Seriously. They're sorry for your loss. They're thinking of you in this troubling time. Their prayers are with you. Sorry. Sorry. So Sorry.

And I get it. Dead is one of those things you can't really do anything about. You can offer sympathy, and that is nice. I don't mind being told these things... but at one point it was the only emotion anyone seemed capable of expressing towards my family and I. People I've not talked to in ages offered sympathy on Facebook. People are on tenderhooks around both me and my mother- I'm not sure how they were around my brother and Dad because I've barely seen my brother (as usual) and like me, Dad spends a lot of his time at home right now.

Case in point. The day I lost her, someone wished for me to have a good day. Then they apologisied for saying that because wow insensitive. And...while it probably was, I found it more amusing than anything. Yes, it wasn't likely I was going to have a good day but hey look at how ingrained that phrase is in our manners. But no one in that chat has wished me a good day since- especially not that person. And it's off putting.

People who treat me normally are brilliant. Sympathy is fine; it's when it's everywhere and it's all you get that it gets annoying.

And how the hell do you respond to the sympathy? I keep saying thanks because really... there's nothing else to say. Even thanks feels hollow because half the time it's more reflex than genuine. I've said it so many times, to so many people that it's begun to lose all meaning too.

4. Being Asked How Your Day Is Is A Landmine Question.

Speaking of sympathy, this question is awful. It's such a loaded one now. How the hell do I answer it? If I say fine or good it's lying... or it feels like I should be lying because why should I be good right now? I lost someone I adored a week ago, 'good' is not a good description. But at the same time how do you say I'm not okay without bringing your loss back to the foreground of the conversation and well... making it all about you and your grief. It's a balance that's hard to find.

And that's for those who know what happened.

How do I respond to a coworker asking how I am? A stranger? Saying you've had a loss instantly opens you up for more sympathy but also makes conversation hard- it's a real mood killer. And there's a place it's not really appropriate to mention it which is basically any place where you're only likely to see this person for the next five minutes.

But the thing is, it's always on my mind. The second someone asks how I am, it's all that comes to mind. I've basically lied my way through every occasion of this question since. Or given non-committal answers. Like a 'How's things?' gets a 'Things are thinging'. It's tough and it's not even been a week...

3. Funerals Are Hard To Plan. And Expensive. 

Nana died just under a week ago. Her funeral was today. It took my parents the full week to organise and boy was it a lot of work.

Sure they had someone come see them about all the plans on the Friday, the day after her death. At that meeting, they chose all the major details like when- though that had been sorta picked since practically the day she died- and where. How religious we wanted it (enough to please her) was picked and things like flowers and music were talked over and picked that day. She'd made her wishes clear on how to bury her (which was to not, cremation for her) so it was just a matter of sorting out the details.

But the details. Do we want it recorded for my uncle who can't make it? Do we want little booklets? Yes? Okay, now we have to pick the photos for that. Who is going to speak? They can't decide on the day because there's a little booklet to be made. Closed or open casket? What are we going to bury her in? Mum and I had to go buy clothes because none of her stuff fit anymore. And let me tell you there is worse than walking into a clothes store and trying to figure out which of the pretty clothes you think best suits your dead Nana and will be suitable for her cremation. Because the funeral is closed casket, no one is going to see it...

Of course, it seems funerals are more for the living than the dead really.

And then there's the money problem. My Nana has...had the money to bury herself with but the moment she died, her assets were frozen. So we had to figure that issue out. It's not fun to be worrying about money when you've lost someone.

Not that I would sign up for funeral insurance. That's still a rip off.

2. Flowers. So Many Flowers.

We can't sit at our kitchen table at the moment. There's too many flowers. If you sit down on one side of it, all you can see of the person on the other side is flashes of their clothes you glimpse around (beautiful) arrangements of orchids and whatever the hell those orange flowers are that were on Nana's coffin (We took the smaller bunch home, her sister in law took the largest bunch. Yes, you take the flowers from the coffin home. Who knew?)

It seems to be the best way, after a card and saying sorry, for people to express their sympathy for us. The first bunch of flowers came last Tuesday- two days before Nana died. Since then, we've had another three bunches, including the ones from the coffin.

And a part of me hates it. Because Nana hated flowers in bunches like that. She loathed them with a passion, preferring to have potted plants as they could survive more than a few days. We always brought her a little potted plant if we wanted to buy her flowers and every time my uncle (who could never remember she hated flower bunches though at least he sent her something unlike the other two) sent her flowers, they ended up at our place within a day or two. I know it's not feasible for people to know this but at the same time, a part of me still resents the fact they don't know and yeah...

Also keeping flowers like that is a bit of work. They're nice but work.

EDIT: Five. There are five bunches of flowers. I forgot another friend of the family sent flowers the day after Nana died. So many flowers...

1. It's Really Hard And It's Not Hard At All

The funeral was hard. I started crying practically as soon as I saw the coffin because that box (so small) held my Nana and that's all I'll ever see of her. While I managed to read the poem I decided to read at the funeral, my voice was shaking and beside me my brother, who had come up with me for moral support, was crying as much as I wanted to be.

It also doesn't help that my last memory of her is from a week before she died when she could barely speak and the little she did say was to cry for help. She only made eye contact with me once- and seemed to recognise me- when I kissed her forehead in farewell after holding her hand for a lot of the visit; swapping off with my mother. It's not a good memory but it's my last one. It's so hard right now to remember anything of Nana from before she got really sick.

But sometimes it's not hard at all. I don't always have her on my mind and well... We've been expecting this since sometime late last year; it's already the reason I delayed my exchange. It wasn't a complete surprise, especially not after the stroke last month. My parents didn't have to say a word when they came home and I met them at the door; one look at their faces and I knew though I managed to avoid having them say it for a few moments as I babbled on about the phone calls I'd gotten while holding the fort. Even the funeral had its unsad moments- one when a friend of the family complimented me on the knee high pink spotted black socks I had worn specifically because Nana would have told me off for wearing them (once she realised what they were) and another when my brother pointed out to my suit wearing Dad that while both his fancy shoes were black they were different shoes. Both times I laughed.

That's not to say it's not been hard at other times. I cry at random moments, when I think about something that reminds me of her. A part of me doesn't really feel it because it's such an unreal feeling, to think that she's gone. But I'm hoping now the funeral has happened it might feel realer... I don't want to be in denial about reality.

Perhaps when I go overseas, it'll be different. But for now, I guess I'll continue to take each day as it is

So...

My Nana died an hour ago. My parents were with her- I wasn't.

It's really hard when you can't stop crying and you're wearing glasses.

Faster Than A Speeding Bullet

I had surgery last night at 8pm.

I didn't know I was definitely having surgery until 6pm. It was so fast. I saw my doctor at 1:30pm and was told it was a possibility but until I saw the specialist/surgeon I didn't know it was actually happening.

And surgery is very very scary. Like, people talk over you and around you and it's really really cold. Plus you're terrified because you're going into surgery. Then well, you're in surgery and under the silver light with a needle in your hand...

But the nurse was very nice. She stood really close and stayed there until I fell asleep- something I don't actually remember doing. I went from being awake in Surgery to waking up in Recovery with a vague recollection of dreams (about a character from Homestuck oddly enough but then I've been reading fics for Homestuck a lot recently) and of having woken up before.

I was discharged this morning after a lot of running around by nurses- who took forever to take the cannula out that had been placed in my dominant hand seemingly just to make it really hard to do everything- and sent home which is where I am now.

It's My Fault, Even When It's Not My Fault

I've often complained about my Dad eating my food. He doesn't have any boundaries, if he finds it he eats it. So I hoard food. There's food in so many weird places- I've chocolate in a bag hanging on my door, there's chips hidden in the cupboard under the microwave and there's a cooler bag full of lollies that I've had over a year now. I buy junk food in large amounts, knowing full well I might lose half of it to a hungry father and if I don't, well there's enough food to last me for a looong time.

But Dad hates it. He gets pissed off every time he catches me hoarding food and annoyed when I produce food out of nowhere or when he comes into a room and realises I'm hiding whatever I was eating from him in fear of losing most of it to him. I do share, but cautiously.

So I'm trying not to hoard or at least not to be so obvious about it. But when I don't hide it and he finds it, he eats it. Like he did tonight- he found my Maltesers' show bag from the Easter show and ate half of what was in there.

But I was at work when he did it. My brother informed me of the theft when I got home, and I lost my temper over it. Unfortunately this happened in front of Dad.

And he became upset, saying if I didn't want it eaten I should have hidden it. He then went to bed without making me make him a hot chocolate, thus earning me a lecture from Mum about being understanding of his condition and him in general. And I get it, I really do. But this isn't a new thing, he's never had any respect for my property and it's so hard at the moment to know if what I'm going to say is going to piss him off or not. Sometimes it's like talking to a land mine, with a buried anger just waiting to go off at an unknown provocation. But then other times he's just like he used to be, before. And I forget about the landmine until suddenly it's back again.

I apologised to Dad when he got back up. It's just easier.

Mum said I should go talk to someone about the situation (in general with Dad) and my feelings. But... I don't do well with being open with feelings- just like Dad. I doubt it'll be of any help.

I need to go on exchange so badly. I need to get out of this house. Even if it's only for six months.

Emotional Yoyo

My Nana had a stroke this morning.

Today, after spending hours with her, my Dad told my brother and I to prepare for the worst then took Mum, Nana's daughter, out for coffee while we did the shopping.

Nana has lost control over the left side of her body. She can talk but not swallow, and well it's not like she was making a lot of sense talking before this stroke with the dementia. While she might improve, she might not and that's what we're preparing for.

I woke up so excited this morning and I'm still excited when I think about it. But it's so weird to have people congratulate you when you're seriously upset.

Here We Go Again...

So the day before yesterday my Mum told me some bad news, and then Dad confirmed it yesterday and added even more bad news to it- about my grandmother (who is my Grandma and not the woman currently in a nursing home due to Dementia)

My Grandma has both Cardio-Vascular Dementia and early onset of Alzheimer's disease.  The first one is pretty awful, it basically means that she's at a high risk of dying and there's bugger all they can do for her- the operation to help her is more risky than the disease itself. But there's no timeline for it, she could die tomorrow or live until her 100's. It's just more risk.

It's the Alzheimer's that is mostly upsetting me. I don't remember him, but I've heard stories of my Poppy and what the family went through when he had Alzheimer's. It wasn't pleasant, it wasn't fun and it took a lot out of everyone. By the end of his life, he didn't remember most of his children, including my mother and only randomly remembered one of his granddaughters. As I was two when he died, I doubt he even realised my brother and I existed or if he did I doubt he realised who we were to him. But for the most part, what happened to him is a sad story for me, not a reality.

Grandma will be a reality. I remember staying the nights with her, I remember visits with her and how she speaks, how she lives, what it's like to be loved by her. I know her and the thought of what happened to Poppy happening to her terrifies me. Alzheimer's progresses over a looong period of time, it's just a awful and slow process of losing a loved one.

A part of me is also worried about my travel plans, how this might effect them and then feeling guilty for even worrying about those. There is a plan in place for me regarding if something happens to Nana, for whom there is also fears regarding health. It will have to apply to Grandma too...

For now, it's mostly a minor problem. The people who run all the aged care services and Grandma's doctors are keeping her at home so it's mostly a thing to worry about in the future. But it's a future I don't find myself looking forward too.

I once said that both my grandmothers were going to live to see my 21st. I wonder if that was a good thing, or a bad thing?

I'm Sick

Firstly, I am literally sick. My inconsiderate Dad gave me his cold after he refused to cover his mouth when coughing or sneezing. Somehow I am still getting no sympathy- Mum is all about not letting it get me down and fighting through it, which is stupid when all I want to do is stay in bed and not do anything; while Dad keeps trying to make me go do physical activities when I can't actually breath through my nose.

But I am also sick of my parents. I know they're awesome, they do things for me most other parents don't seem to and they never rarely complain but I am really getting tired of them. Dad is home all the time and while I know it's helping him, he can be a bit of an arse sometimes. He loves getting rises from people, never changes his very closed mind and is near impossible to beat in a debate. He's the sort of person who will make sure you don't buy biscuits in the weekly shop then complain that's there's nothing to have with his coffee. Dad will do anything for a friend but he expects so many things to be done for him- and sometimes I can't see the balance. I am his daughter, not his personal slave but occasionally I can't tell the difference.

And Mum. Mum, Mum, Mum. I love her but she's impossible sometimes. She's more open minded than Dad but only to a certain degree and with the idea that her ideas are always right. She's the type of person to watch a heavily dramatised 'reality' t.v show on an issue and think that makes her an expert on it with no one able to call her out on it. Mum's also got a hair trigger temper which does not help anything- I hate having to ask her things because I'm terrified of setting her temper off and I sometimes wonder if it's because it's me? Is that why she yells, because I fail? But then she yells at the computer and I feel better because it's not me. Plus she loves to talk at me about whatever she is watching- often shows I don't like- or things I am not interested in and I have to pretend to listen or risk her anger.

I know I'm being a bit petty but I have to deal with my parents every day. I'm not allowed to hide in my room like my brother did when he was on holidays because that's antisocial so I have to sit in the lounge room and be in the firing line. I know I should go out more, get away from them but I don't want to. I can't make myself go out...there's really only one or two people to go out with and I can't spend every day with them.

I need to go back to uni.

Before I go nuts.  

Family?

As I first write this, I'm all but asleep; kept awake only by the fact it's too early for bed. Just a warning. I'll hopefully review it for typos later but really this is sleepy musing. On family.

Well more on wondering why extended family matters.

I make no secret of the fact I'm not close to my extended family (for this entry, I'm going to consider extended family anyone beyond parents, siblings and grandparents). It's not like my extended family is small, there's four children on Mum's side of the family and a total of 15 grandchildren and 6 (and another on the way) great-grandchildren. Dad's side is much smaller, only two children and five grandchildren. My brother and I are included in those grandchildren counts on both sides. Keeping that many names straight is hard and I do not even bother trying to remember the names of partners- I know one partner's name and that's only because he's seemed to make the effort to be at family gatherings and to talk to me (or Dad who sits by me). While Dad's family lives nearby, Mum's family lives up in Sydney bar her mother who lives five minutes walk away.

Still following? Good, you're doing better than I am some days.

This entry is mostly about my Mum's side of the family. I'm not close to my cousins on Dad's side but that could be more about them being ten years older than me and I've a somewhat decent relationship with my aunt and uncle.

Not so much Mum's side. Until 2011, I hadn't seen them in fives years or more. All those people...and we hadn't seen another in half a decade.

It wasn't always like that. I do recall getting gifts from Uncle P and Aunt P when I was little but it was always the same gift- one of those stationary kits. I have a half dozen of them I never used fully because I had no one to send letters to. Uncle G used to pass down old books from his six kids to me and both he and Uncle R had children around the age of my brother and I (who are the youngest pair of cousins, if only by a year or so). There was a pool party once and a family reunion with dozens of distantly related family members (I met and hung out with the grandchild of my mother's aunt. Or something distant like that.)

Then it stopped. Barely a Christmas card exchanged, maybe a mention of them visiting our Nana who lived down here but nothing for us.

Fast forward to 2011. We have a more limited family reunion. Discuss how everyone has lost contact, realise it's probably Nana's fault with her attempts to drive us apart. And my uncles and mother decide to try and get everyone back into contact and for us all to get to know another.

And I want to know why. Yes, they are my family. But we've not talked for years, and even in the last two years only Mum and her brothers have had any sort of extended contact. Us cousins have seen another maybe, three times. Or the ones who live in Sydney have seen me maybe three times, I think they're closer to another than my brother and I are to them. We're all so different in terms of our personality- I'm going to University, none of the others my age have done so and not that many of the older ones have (if any). They're into sports in one family and the rest of us aren't sporty.

Should we be friends? Why? Does family instantly mean you're supposed to like and hang out with them?

I've got to go to all these parties and events now. I make no secret of the fact that most parties bore me. I'm going to end up just eating your food and hiding in a corner. Yes, sometimes the conversation is fun- like today's lunch included a discussion on the inheritance of blood types- but it also tends to include them discussing people or topics that do not interest me (like the best time to go the zoo in Singapore or soccer).

I'm still not sure if I should be over joyed at the thought of finally having an extended family. If this continues, and the baby shower next month seems to indicate it will, I might actually have to learn their partner's names. And how to tell the twins apart.

Written Later:

Rereading this, I'm not finding much (anything) I disagree with. I know it's probably selfish or something and my cousins do seem to be nice people I'm just...not interested? I'm uncomfortable in big social situations and any meeting with my cousins is basically going to be big just because there's so many of us. And I expect so little of them... I invited my cousins on Dad's side to my eighteenth dinner and had to hide my shock when all three actually showed! And gave me presents! I didn't expect anyone beyond my aunt and uncle...

I guess... I guess I just don't know what to think. I think I rarely do.

Morbid Thoughts

I've not posted in a while. Mostly because I'm the most productive when I have other things to do and being on holidays meant I had nothing else to do; but also recently because my Nana was hospitalised.

And I have no clue how I'm supposed to feel about it.

She's physically fine (well, not really but it's not the reason she's in hospital), which could be a part of the reason I'm having trouble knowing what to feel. Offically, my Nana suffers from Dementia. There might be an underlying mental issue but it's not been diagnosed and it's too late to tell because of the Dementia. It causes her to be really paranoid, often cruel, forgetful (ten calls a day to ask the same three things...) and just really hard to have a conversation with.

Anyway. A week and a bit ago, she threatened to jump off the balcony of her nursing home. The nurses had her hospitalised. She's been moved from one hospital to another and is looking to move to a different nursing home capable of caring for her once they sort her medication out and a place is available.

And I don't know how to feel about it.

This is not the first time she's been hospitalised for talking of suicide. It's not even the second time she's talked of killing herself. Mum is stressed beyond belief but I'm just...not caring? I'm beyond caring at some points. She's still my Nana, I still love her but I'm tired of her drama. Even though I know it's not her fault, I'm tired of it all the same.

A part of me just wants it to end, one way or the other.

Another part wants my Nana back. Not this woman who hates my Mum and is barely functioning as a person. My Nana who we visited as kids and was a loving, generous woman (Though fond of complaining).

And a selfish part of me doesn't care what she's like, just wants to know she's still there. I don't want her to go, she's a constant in my life and I really don't want to lose it. Like I said before, physically she's not in that much danger but there's signs she's lost the will to lie (signs like her saying it) so this might not be the case for much longer.

Hence not knowing what to feel.

(I wonder if I'm even supposed to know what to feel)