So my story for this journal, this first journal, is my current situation. My grandfather passed away last year, on September 13th, Friday the 13th. He was everything to me. My dearest, closest friend. He was there for me after I was put up for adoption, twice. He was the one who was my role model, and listened to me. It hurt me so much when I had to watch him slowly start to go. He had fallen, delivering everyone's newspaper to their door at the crack of dawn, and fractured his hip. After that, he started to lose his ability to walk, and then move altogether. The pain caused him so much grief, he would yell and scream at all hours of the day. This was over the course of a little over a year, from fall, to death. A month before his passing, he got demented, and forgot my face. He forgot his best friend. On the 13th, I didn't get any sleep, but that's not special. Not to sound special, but I have a hard time sleeping anyway. He wouldn't stop crying out and I walk in, and he looks scared and panicked from the pain, and we tried everything to calm him down. Finally, we decide to call my not-mom, Alyssa, a registered nurse, to look at him and see if we should take him to the hospital. I hate her so much. She was the woman who adopted me, ignored me, played favorites with me and my not-sister, Lexa, abused me, traumatized me, and took all of my child support money, and used it on her nails, and hair. Still, I was worried about grandpa. She said he definitely needs to go, so we call the hospital to send an ambulance over. Alyssa decides to try to take me to her friend's, where she was gonna go before this, and take me swimming to get my mind off of this. Later we get a call from Misa, the woman I consider the closest thing to a mother I have, and she's sobbing and tells Alyssa that he died. I went into shock, I didn't have time to cry or freak out. Alyssa starts screaming and crying, and I am forced to comfort her. We get there, and Misa is crying. I am forced to comfort her too. They yell at me for not crying, and it is because I feel too scared to be vulnerable, and cry in front of them. I ask to see the body. He has a tube taped into his mouth, and his eyes are staring straight ahead. I ask to be alone with him and I start crying, talking to him, about what happened, about Misa, begging him not to go, confessing everything I needed to to him. I get interrupted from my grieving by a nurse who walks in, and comes looking for a missing syringe. She opens his robe, and there's a syringe lodged under his armpit. I tell the nurse who tried to revive him and she says she'll look into it. It turns out someone shot a bubble into him, because he died of a major heart attack. I tell everyone at home, and they tell at me, asking why I'm lying and why I won't just let him rest in peace. Lexa asks me why I'm wearing grandpa's livestrong band, and I told him I took it off his body so he could always be with me. In all that time I haven't grieved, and now, the band snapped, and I have no relic of him in the physical world. Now whenever I hear Louie Armstrong, and see him, I start crying, singing to it. Grandpa looked like, sounded like, and loved Louie. He also sang in the navy to rat pack music. We got kicked out of our house because at the time I was borderline pneumonic and they said the paint fumes would surely hospitalize me. So we have to haul quickly into my significant other's mom's house. She was abusive to him his whole life, mentally and sexually, she's a hoarder with a "there's a pill for that" mentality, a list of mental disorders longer than the charge put on Charles Manson, who's bloated and sexual towards everything that walks, two faced, tried to use him and I for her own income by getting put on disability, and tells us to stay there and take care of her for the rest of her life. The house is so messy and run down, we're always locked in our room, and we have to lock my two babies, my cats up in our bedroom because she's an animal hoarder with pit bulls and hounds, that have already killed my boyfriend's old cat that I had to clean the corpse up for because he and his brother were too traumatized to do it. I can tell that I'm getting depressed being here, but... Here's where I turn the mood around.

We're getting jobs, and we're planning on moving to Boerne right next to the river. I've been there a good number of times now, and I can say that I feel so peaceful and healed whenever I go there. I'm surrounded by nature, and what seems to be kind folk there. I'm hoping it isn't too long now... I'm also hoping I can be openly transgender and representing of my furrier side there. It is a small town, but I hope it won't be too bad. The place doesn't seem to be overly judgmental, as opposed to say Comfort, but I'll take it in baby steps. I want to go back to Boerne sometime soon.