CW/TW: EDs, emotional ab*s*, verbal ab*s*, and all like topics
Note: I actually wrote this yesterday, but I completely forgot to post it.
I cried listening to “Praying” by Kesha in the shower this morning for a myriad of reasons.
- It reminds me of my mom because she loved this album.
No, seriously. Whenever people were getting to me or I was going through a rough patch, she would text me, “Don’t let the bastards get you down like Kesha says!!!”
- I think we all just forgot how genuinely good this freakin’ album is.
- My second (and only other) abuser died this morning.
For those who aren’t aware, my grandmother wasn’t a great person, at least not to KP or myself.
She said some of the worst things anyone has ever said to me. And believe me, I’ve had pretty nasty things said to me on multiple occasions.
(To be fair, some of the nasty words from others were probably deserved, especially during the height of my drinking.)
However, much like Rick, she was a completely different person in public, and even to other people in my family.
Over the years, my grandmother only showed me love when I was starving myself and/or working out until I almost fainted.
Outside of the times I was in the throes of ED, she was cutting.
Over the years, she told me I was “strange,” “would never find a husband* with all of my tattoos and piercings,” and made sure I knew that “because [my] mother chose to have me so late in life that [my] sister would always have more time with her than I did.”
*My grandmother didn’t know I was queer.
So, much like Rick, I felt relief when she passed. I felt relief for myself, and I felt relief for my sister and brother-in-law, who are having to deal with all of her poor decisions.
I truly don’t know what to say when two abusers die within a couple of months of each other, especially when her passing marks the end of my abuse in a way.
I still have the trauma, and I still work through the lingering effects of the things she and Rick told me every single day, but it just almost feels like I can breathe a little easier.
I hadn’t spoken to her in almost two years because when I tried to stay with her so that I could spend the holidays with my sister and brother-in-law the year KP died, she ran me out of her house by purposely disrupting my work, sleep, and mental health.
She left me a voice mail a few days before she died that popped up in my blocked messages because her number was blocked.
The voice mail wasn’t one of love or apology; she was calling me to tell my sister to call her because she couldn’t get in touch with her. She told me she loved me, but it was sandwiched between demanding a favor and making a point of telling me to pray for her.
I never had a chance with my grandmother because I look and act just like KP, who she emotionally and verbally abused for her entire life.
In fact, immediately after KP died (we’re talking hours after), she started criticizing her decision to be cremated, among other things.
I’m sure that my grandmother did good things for people.
She tithed, and she bought gifts for underprivileged children at the holidays.
There were times I know she helped us out financially.
I do have some happy memories with her, especially when my grandfather was still alive.
But, as I’ve mentioned before, two things can be true.
She also constantly made comments about everyone’s appearance.
When I started gaining weight back while recovering from anorexia, she told me she could “definitely tell [I] was eating again,” and patted my stomach.
She tried to turn me against KP on multiple occasions by telling me my mother said horrible things about me that I knew weren’t true.
She kicked me out of her house once and threw several things at me because I wouldn’t rehash details of my father’s abuse with her.
I don’t know what to or about my grandmother, so I’ll let Kesha say it for me:
“I’m proud of who I am
No more monsters, I can breathe again
And you said that I was done
Well, you were wrong and now the best is yet to come.”
Nobody puts baillee in the corner 
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