oooo, rebel

I broke up with Ian in the early morning of Sunday past.
My grandmother is in hospice.

I'm amazingly okay with both of these things. It has to do with my "healthy" attitude towards death. My old age has lowered my tolerance for bullshit and people who don't want to deal with their problems. There were a million reasons to leave, and only one to stay. Love generally is the only reason I need, but it became "not enough". I became sick of not being able to talk to him for fear of a blowup. A comment he didn't like, would resort in escalated anger and "shut the hell up". It happened one too many times. The stupid straw that broke the Jill's back was trivial and may have been overreacting on my part. His response was so out there it was planetary. This is better. Yet I miss him, terribly.
I would only go back if he agreed to therapy. He won't. And there you have it.
I'm a firm believer in working through your past if you've been abused. If you don't, you're hurting yourself and those you love. You'll never get right, you'll never find lasting happiness. And p.s. he should spend some fucking time alone. He never has and I'm a firm believer that that isn't a good sign either.

My supervisor is talking to me, so I should go.