I have such a nice family. They didn't go ballistic or tell me how I could possibly die within a few years when they found out I had to take preventative medication for Tuberculosis. Some kind of wonderful, really. I found out about a day ago that my grandmother knew I was smoking the whole time. I thought if she ever found out, she'd die from a heart attack but I guess she's actually been really nice about it by not bringing it up at all. Still, my heart broke when I told her the doctor thinks I might have TB and she just couldn't hide her fear and all that worry building up on her face. But she's been cool about it since, amazingly enough. And then, there's Damian. He found out via my livejournal post and called me up only to yell at me and explain to me in utmost detail, how stupid I was for letting myself keep mum and watch him throw my meds into a drain near my house while singing along to my generation, on repeat at 5 in the morning. Because I don't feel the least bit remorseful for what I let him do, to something that could possibly turn my piss orange, yellow my skin and the whites of my eyes and possibly damage my liver, just to name a few side effects. That boy should just be like my grams and calm the fuck down, I'm not going die ok, deal. I feel so vulnerable now; anyone can easily attack me and I'll be stuck in this demoralizing dimension of my current life for weeks. Fucking loco, sé.
