Is it really a blessing

I often tell myself how blessed i am to have made it this far. Then I ask myself why am I more blessed than those who didn't live as many days as I. What about the quality of life. Were they happy living even though they were not healthy were they ready to go. 

My grandmother told me she did not want to live with a colostomy bag. I didn't understand at that time why not? If you not ready to die, you will improvise and continue on. Maybe my grandmother was tired of being here and didn't want to say so. I only know what she told me, maybe she felt like she was the only person with a colostomy bag and felt ashamed of it. My grandmother stood strong in her belief. She would not wear pants no matter the situation and would shut completely down if you pushed it. She didn't argue the issue for long before she turned her head and was done. 

I often ask myself why the bag was such a big problem. But again, I don't know I have never worn one. My grandmother left me with the message she would rather die than have this ole thing on her than improve her life. I'm not at that crossroad and can't began to imagine how I would feel. I just know I wanted her and her bag. No one has ever loved me like my granny, Mother, I miss those days at your house no matter how many times I was jumped around the corner, called names by my aunt's and cousins, the joy to see them and be in their company began to wear off over the years. But the joy it brought me to be in your company will last forever. Thanksgiving has not been the same since you left because I always felt welcome at your home and then you were gone and Thanksgiving changed along with the location. I have not felt welcome at a family gathering since you left. I have always been outgoing, outspoken, outrageous, outcast, left out, black sheep of the bunch. 

I try hard not to say what I want do because I have learned along the way I don't  always keep my word not even with myself. I have been a big let down to me and to others, but I'm trying and it seems I cant get any wind beneath my wings, I wanna fly again, even in my mind, I just can't seem to find my way thru all the darkness. 

My room, my den, my home, my safety net. It's getting harder and harder just to leave. And I know this and I want to feel better but I don't want to even try because I feel like it want even matter because I'm a complete failure...