Today, for our Memory Nugget, we only venture to the recent past.
This past Christmas as a matter of fact.
Not surprisingly, it is difficult to shop for my mother. Birthdays, Mothers Day, Chistmas are all a stress nightmare of trying to find the gift she'll hate the least.
A couple months before this most recent Christmas she hinted that she thought a great gift for someone older would be a bunch of home-made meals, all frozen and ready to pop in a microwave.
"Ah HA!" I thought carelessly, "she has just told me what she wants for Christmas -- but she thinks I'll never do it! So I'll get to really surprise her!"
I spent the next 6-8 weeks planning meals for my family that I knew were HER favorites, buying extra ingredients, making the kids suffer through stuff they had never before tried, and carefully freezing them into single-servings in disposable Glad-wear type containers. After I had about a months worth of dinners collected, I made a list of all the meals and labeled them.
She didn't take them home Christmas day, but that was ok. I figured I could take them to her house sometime in the next week or so.
I kept asking when I should bring them over, when she suddenly declared that if I wanted to do that I was going to have to clean out her freezer for her -- cause there was no room for that food.
Experienced with my mother as I am, I could see where this was going (I thought). She had decided that I needed to come over, defrost, and clean out the freezer she surely hadn't bothered to clean out in a decade.
I wasn't going to do it.
So I said I didn't have time for that.
(Note that we aren't just talking about going over and spending 15 minutes tossing out expired containers and then wiping it down. Thinking on it, I recalled what she had let happen in the past, and I knew we were talking about an all-day event of defrosting 6 inches of ice with a blow dryer and trying to keep the floor from flooding.)
Weeks went by with the freezer never getting cleaned, cause she wouldn't do it.
(Although, to be honest, since she had been doing nothing but complaining for months about how she had no food in the house, I would like fo know what -- other than brick-thick ice, was taking up all that space in her never-cleaned appliance.)
Cut to: March of this year.
I have been disowned for nearly three months...but still her meals are waiting for her in my downstairs freezer.
Daring to speak to her on Facebook, I posted as much.
She wrote back -- in a post to my sister (cause she couldn't talk to me) -- that she didn't want any of my leftovers...that they didn't cost me anything and took no effort or time on my part.
Sigh.
My dad always used to say that where mother was concerned, unless a gift/favor "inconveniences you in some way, it doesn't count."
Right again, dad.
You'd think at my age I woulda learned.
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
Guilt du jour
Today's guilt email is sponsored by.... Chocolate: the Comfort that keeps on Comforting. Have a chocolate bar or 12 today.
And, the Mother writes.... [Kathy is my sister, I am MJ]
Kathy not sleeping and upset from Mj it seems we pass how sick I am and mn says I could do everything just wanted phone call and still do we also need help and Mj saying she is not going to help u don't think it upsets me and stresses when u won't call me or accept my call we had such a nice visit last mon I had hope u understood u girls have abandoned me and ur brother. Kathy please call me
Let the chocolate consumption begin!
*******
Here are my suggested responses (which she would promptly ignore):
(1) f*ck off
(2) mj suggested an outing to the mall with the kids,and said she hoped you would be a part of Sammy's birthday. I dont see how that is abandoning you. She simply stated we will not do things the doctors say you should do for yourself, and that we will no longer play a part in crying/screaming/obsessive drama. If you think THAT is abandoning you, then that is your decision. We didn't say that. You did. You are making the choice that we either have to do everything you want, when you want it,and how you want it -- or we are abandoning you. Your choice.
(3). F*ck off
(4). Any doctor you talk to will tell you that the only reason you are bedridden is because you have decided to be bedridden. Yes, movement may hurt....but that is part of getting older and you need to do it anyway. Everyone else does. EVERYONE has pain and various medical issues. Doctors and nurses have told you this. You just dont want to hear it, so you don't listen and remember.
(5) f*ck off
(6) how come after months of being disowned, the ONLY thing that will decrease your stress level is for me to call you? You broke contact, not me. I am not responsible for your stress level. If you need help managing your stress, perhaps you should see a therapist of some sort. I will help you find one and make the appointment if you want.
(7) f*ck off
(8). Any combination of the above
Monday, August 29, 2011
Today's Obsession Chart
Mother has been working overtime today on Facebook.
From morning to now, her concerns/obsessions are as follows:
(times are approximate)
It is also interesting to note that NO ONE commented on any of her updates. All her Facebook friends are obviously over it.
10:00am: She says she is having "health issues" again today. For unknown reasons she also declares she doesn't want to unpack her medications (you know, the ones she packed in case she had to flee from Hurricane Irene). Also "family concerns" keep her stressed. This of course refers to the fact we are no longer playing her game -- and she has no idea what to do about it.
11:00am: Time to worry about her blood sugar levels. And a reference to the fact that "other people" have made mistakes with insulin shots and, luckily for them, had someone around to call 911. This is not a simple statement. It is a warning to my sister and I that if she has a problem with her diabetes, we will be to blame -- cause we weren't there.
11:00am(ish): Now she worries that if power goes out, she will lose her landline phone.
11:00am(ish)(again): She comments on how other people are without power. Seems relatively harmless until she gets to the part about how some of those people are with family or friends. This is a reminder to us (daughters) that she was not at one of our houses during the non-event (for her) was Hurricane Irene. (She didn't even lose power.)
12:00noon: More comments on how she is afraid to unpack her meds and such, followed by a mention of an earthquake aftershock she didn't feel.
2:00pm: Since she can't obsess about not having power herself, she has decided to do it for unknown others. She says it could be weeks before they get power back, etc etc etc yada yada yada and that if gas stations are out of power people can't get gas for generators.
2:00pm(ish): She now posts several news links about hurricane damage.
4:00pm: She now needs to post about notifications she is getting that street lights in the area are out. Since it is unlikely she is going anywhere, I am not sure why this worries her, personally.
4:00pm(ish): Back to her health. She is getting extremely tired, and hopes it passes, she says ominously.
7:00pm: She sent an email announcing that a tropical storm could be forming in the same place Irene formed. She guesses we have 5-7 more days. Translation: 5-7 more days of a brand, spankin new thing to obsess about.
From morning to now, her concerns/obsessions are as follows:
(times are approximate)
It is also interesting to note that NO ONE commented on any of her updates. All her Facebook friends are obviously over it.
10:00am: She says she is having "health issues" again today. For unknown reasons she also declares she doesn't want to unpack her medications (you know, the ones she packed in case she had to flee from Hurricane Irene). Also "family concerns" keep her stressed. This of course refers to the fact we are no longer playing her game -- and she has no idea what to do about it.
11:00am: Time to worry about her blood sugar levels. And a reference to the fact that "other people" have made mistakes with insulin shots and, luckily for them, had someone around to call 911. This is not a simple statement. It is a warning to my sister and I that if she has a problem with her diabetes, we will be to blame -- cause we weren't there.
11:00am(ish): Now she worries that if power goes out, she will lose her landline phone.
11:00am(ish)(again): She comments on how other people are without power. Seems relatively harmless until she gets to the part about how some of those people are with family or friends. This is a reminder to us (daughters) that she was not at one of our houses during the non-event (for her) was Hurricane Irene. (She didn't even lose power.)
12:00noon: More comments on how she is afraid to unpack her meds and such, followed by a mention of an earthquake aftershock she didn't feel.
2:00pm: Since she can't obsess about not having power herself, she has decided to do it for unknown others. She says it could be weeks before they get power back, etc etc etc yada yada yada and that if gas stations are out of power people can't get gas for generators.
2:00pm(ish): She now posts several news links about hurricane damage.
4:00pm: She now needs to post about notifications she is getting that street lights in the area are out. Since it is unlikely she is going anywhere, I am not sure why this worries her, personally.
4:00pm(ish): Back to her health. She is getting extremely tired, and hopes it passes, she says ominously.
7:00pm: She sent an email announcing that a tropical storm could be forming in the same place Irene formed. She guesses we have 5-7 more days. Translation: 5-7 more days of a brand, spankin new thing to obsess about.
Email Virus
If your Internet crashed today, it is due to the Oxford Dictionary-sized email my mother just sent to my sister and I.
I would repost it here, except I don't want my friends to read it and then have a sudden desire to stick their head in the oven.
To summarize, she took 2,000 words to say:
"You and your sister are being mean to me. I need help and can't do anythig for myself. The way you have helped in the past is not acceptable. I am lucky we didn't blow away in the hurricane. I can't take care of myself. Other kids take care of THEIR parents. I need help with everything. My friend in Australia says you are going to hell for not helping me. I need full-time care. It is your fault if something happens to me. I need help and can't do anything for myself."
For the sake of clarity it should be noted that this "friend in Australia" has never met her or even talked to her in person. In fact, based on the way this "friend" enables her -- I think the "friend" might be several fries short of a Happy Meal too.
By the way... I am not exaggerating the word count. I put it in my text writer and it counted 1,881 words,
As reference: that is about 5-6 pages with normal spacing.
Ugh. I can't even talk about this anymore.
It was so "batshit crazy" (as a woman on the BPD Family Support Forum put it) that I am mentally exhausted and just want a jug of wine and a 14-hour nap.
I would repost it here, except I don't want my friends to read it and then have a sudden desire to stick their head in the oven.
To summarize, she took 2,000 words to say:
"You and your sister are being mean to me. I need help and can't do anythig for myself. The way you have helped in the past is not acceptable. I am lucky we didn't blow away in the hurricane. I can't take care of myself. Other kids take care of THEIR parents. I need help with everything. My friend in Australia says you are going to hell for not helping me. I need full-time care. It is your fault if something happens to me. I need help and can't do anything for myself."
For the sake of clarity it should be noted that this "friend in Australia" has never met her or even talked to her in person. In fact, based on the way this "friend" enables her -- I think the "friend" might be several fries short of a Happy Meal too.
By the way... I am not exaggerating the word count. I put it in my text writer and it counted 1,881 words,
As reference: that is about 5-6 pages with normal spacing.
Ugh. I can't even talk about this anymore.
It was so "batshit crazy" (as a woman on the BPD Family Support Forum put it) that I am mentally exhausted and just want a jug of wine and a 14-hour nap.
Sunday, August 28, 2011
Daily Nugget
Today's Memory Nugget is again brought to you by Sutter Home Chardonney...because I can't seem to find the Whipped Orange Pinnacle Vodka I've heard so much about.
I was about 9.
My grandparents (my mother's parents) wanted to take me to stay with them for the summer.
For two months I was to be 500 miles and 6 hours away from home.
My grandparents and I are in the car in front of my house, and we are giving our final waves before pulling away.
I looked up at my mother standing in the doorway, and she is crying...and crying.
"Why is she crying?", I thought, "...she doesn't even like me."
Memories light the corners of my mind.
I was about 9.
My grandparents (my mother's parents) wanted to take me to stay with them for the summer.
For two months I was to be 500 miles and 6 hours away from home.
My grandparents and I are in the car in front of my house, and we are giving our final waves before pulling away.
I looked up at my mother standing in the doorway, and she is crying...and crying.
"Why is she crying?", I thought, "...she doesn't even like me."
Memories light the corners of my mind.
Never Ending Hurricane Obsession
A Facebook friend -- who shall remain nameless -- just sent me the best message about how my mother has been over-obsessing about the hurricane (and anything else she can think of).
It was the best thing I've read in days. Truly. I snorted.
I may have peed a little.
"Poor [her] survived the hurricane and is praying for a tornado to pop up in DC so she can have another day to worry."
It always warms the cockles of my heart when someone who knows us both truly understands.
It was the best thing I've read in days. Truly. I snorted.
I may have peed a little.
"Poor [her] survived the hurricane and is praying for a tornado to pop up in DC so she can have another day to worry."
It always warms the cockles of my heart when someone who knows us both truly understands.
Drama Infinity
For your entertainment (?), I present to you:
A timeline of "Mother drama" for the past couple weeks:
(read as if mother is talking)
* So sick...so sick...need someone to get groceries. (problem solved, when sister went)
...merged immediately into...
* So sick...so sick...need someone to take over the bills. (We ignored the request, so this begging drama went on for days and then turned into....)
* So sick...so sick...need to tell you important information about the bills. Come talk to me. Come to my house. Can't tell you over phone or in email. Come over. (Days of nagging, begging, pleading drama. My sister finally went and found mother to be energetic with no real info to tell. She had won the battle of control.)
....but....that "crisis" solved, she IMMEDIATELY started on....
*. Ohmygosh a REAL crisis could happen! A hurricane might come at the end of the week! Obsess obsess obsess....
...then distracted mid-hurricane-obsession by....
*. EARTHQUAKE!! Hysteria! Obsession!
....then right back to....
* HURRICANE COMING!!! Help...so sick...can't do things! What if windows blow out? What if a tree falls! What if the power goes out? What if the cell phone doesn't work? What if...what if...what if...
....this continued for days until about two hours ago, when she can no longer legitimately (?) obsess about the hurricane. So now we had to FIND SOMETHING to create drama about... So we have moved onto...
*. Can't stand the dust smell in the house. Need someone to change the filters. Please come...can't stand the smell...please come... (WTH? This isnt just a request, of course.... It is a new crisis. How does she come up with this stuff???)
....and
* They say trees can fall cause ground is wet. And tornados can still happen in [county far away].
What is next if/when someone changes her filters or she decides to move on to a new crisis?
It is anybody's guess.
A timeline of "Mother drama" for the past couple weeks:
(read as if mother is talking)
* So sick...so sick...need someone to get groceries. (problem solved, when sister went)
...merged immediately into...
* So sick...so sick...need someone to take over the bills. (We ignored the request, so this begging drama went on for days and then turned into....)
* So sick...so sick...need to tell you important information about the bills. Come talk to me. Come to my house. Can't tell you over phone or in email. Come over. (Days of nagging, begging, pleading drama. My sister finally went and found mother to be energetic with no real info to tell. She had won the battle of control.)
....but....that "crisis" solved, she IMMEDIATELY started on....
*. Ohmygosh a REAL crisis could happen! A hurricane might come at the end of the week! Obsess obsess obsess....
...then distracted mid-hurricane-obsession by....
*. EARTHQUAKE!! Hysteria! Obsession!
....then right back to....
* HURRICANE COMING!!! Help...so sick...can't do things! What if windows blow out? What if a tree falls! What if the power goes out? What if the cell phone doesn't work? What if...what if...what if...
....this continued for days until about two hours ago, when she can no longer legitimately (?) obsess about the hurricane. So now we had to FIND SOMETHING to create drama about... So we have moved onto...
*. Can't stand the dust smell in the house. Need someone to change the filters. Please come...can't stand the smell...please come... (WTH? This isnt just a request, of course.... It is a new crisis. How does she come up with this stuff???)
....and
* They say trees can fall cause ground is wet. And tornados can still happen in [county far away].
What is next if/when someone changes her filters or she decides to move on to a new crisis?
It is anybody's guess.
Saturday, August 27, 2011
Hurricane Homegirl
This is [one of] the text message(s) my mother sent to my sister this afternoon.
It is important to note that use of the word "homey" ....uh....I mean "honey" and references to "I love you" are brand spankin new to her vocabulary. Again, a total change of game play.
Homey I am scared I cant do stuff insane to becauth u Indian u cared iblovecu uvarevonle ones that can grab cats have suuppliesvhsve told u that but undone want us scared have virtually everything ready theyvsaid on news thing Stsrt to go downhill by 2pmhow why do I have to beg love u
Since she didn't speak Crazy today, my sister sent it to me to interpret.
I put into Google Translate and got two possible translations:
(1). Honey, I am scared. I can't do stuff. [I have no idea] [I have no idea]. you are the only one who can grab the cats. I have supplies. [I have no idea] but you dont want us. Scared. Have virtually everything ready. They've said on the news that it will start to go downhill by 2:00pm tomorrow. Why do I have to beg? Love you.
(2). Yo! Homey! I be freakin. Dis shit be insane like Indian attackin' a white boy. I be all over u wit love, but u need to git dem pussycats. I have da goods. But you be dissin' me. And I freakin'. It be gettin ghetto bad tomorrow. You my homegirl!
I think either translation is valid as they both convey panic and unprecedented affection.
It is important to note that use of the word "homey" ....uh....I mean "honey" and references to "I love you" are brand spankin new to her vocabulary. Again, a total change of game play.
Homey I am scared I cant do stuff insane to becauth u Indian u cared iblovecu uvarevonle ones that can grab cats have suuppliesvhsve told u that but undone want us scared have virtually everything ready theyvsaid on news thing Stsrt to go downhill by 2pmhow why do I have to beg love u
Since she didn't speak Crazy today, my sister sent it to me to interpret.
I put into Google Translate and got two possible translations:
(1). Honey, I am scared. I can't do stuff. [I have no idea] [I have no idea]. you are the only one who can grab the cats. I have supplies. [I have no idea] but you dont want us. Scared. Have virtually everything ready. They've said on the news that it will start to go downhill by 2:00pm tomorrow. Why do I have to beg? Love you.
(2). Yo! Homey! I be freakin. Dis shit be insane like Indian attackin' a white boy. I be all over u wit love, but u need to git dem pussycats. I have da goods. But you be dissin' me. And I freakin'. It be gettin ghetto bad tomorrow. You my homegirl!
I think either translation is valid as they both convey panic and unprecedented affection.
Friday, August 26, 2011
Alternate Reality
Still in the grips of prime hurricane Irene obsession mode, my mother is posting Facebook updates and/or concerns approximately every 8.2 seconds.
(It's possible I might be exaggerating this time frame. Every 10.9 seconds is probably more accurate. *cough*)
So...today she writes that she hopes her windows don't blow out.
[insert eye-roll emoticon here]
Ok. If a trim limb falls the wrong way a window could break.
But nothing is going to "blow out". Her area will not be evacuated. It is unlikely she would even be flooded.
Of course, this isn't the best part.
The best part is that she wrote she is afraid of a power outage (ok)...and that....(wait for it) she remembers "being without electric for years."
Really?
Years?
When was this? That decade during her formative years when the family lived in a remote shack in the back woods of Ohio, and cooked their self-shot squirrel using only sticks and rocks as fuel?
Please.
She was born, raised, and has always lived in a suburban home with full electricity and indoor plumbing.
(It's possible I might be exaggerating this time frame. Every 10.9 seconds is probably more accurate. *cough*)
So...today she writes that she hopes her windows don't blow out.
[insert eye-roll emoticon here]
Ok. If a trim limb falls the wrong way a window could break.
But nothing is going to "blow out". Her area will not be evacuated. It is unlikely she would even be flooded.
Of course, this isn't the best part.
The best part is that she wrote she is afraid of a power outage (ok)...and that....(wait for it) she remembers "being without electric for years."
Really?
Years?
When was this? That decade during her formative years when the family lived in a remote shack in the back woods of Ohio, and cooked their self-shot squirrel using only sticks and rocks as fuel?
Please.
She was born, raised, and has always lived in a suburban home with full electricity and indoor plumbing.
Thursday, August 25, 2011
Today's Nugget
Today's Memory Nugget is sponsored by Sutter Home Chardonney.
The go-to inebriation of choice for poor folk with crazy mamas.
It has never been advisable to have my mother deal with anything truly important. She would either panic, or (purposely, it seems) say the EXACT wrong thing to either piss the other person off...or attempt to garner more "poor her" attention.
In fact, it got so bad, that my dad would never let her deal with utilities phone calls or bill collectors. If the caller wanted to talk to her specifically, he would say "my wife is an invalid, I handle all her business."
The prime example of her needing to be seen as "poor her" rather than meeting the immediate goal, is when she had to speak in court years ago regarding a traffic accident.
Someone ran the light at the intersection, totally the van she was driving. She then had back pain she was being treated for, that she said was new pain due to the accident.
The attorney thought she had a good case due to the fault of the other driver...and simply wanted medical reimbursement for the back injury.
When on the stand, the opposing attorney asked "have you ever had back pain before?"
Well...my mother...always wanting to seem the sickest in the room...and needing everyone to feel sorry for her...responded: "ohhh yes, I am always in pain. For years and years...."
Case closed.
The go-to inebriation of choice for poor folk with crazy mamas.
It has never been advisable to have my mother deal with anything truly important. She would either panic, or (purposely, it seems) say the EXACT wrong thing to either piss the other person off...or attempt to garner more "poor her" attention.
In fact, it got so bad, that my dad would never let her deal with utilities phone calls or bill collectors. If the caller wanted to talk to her specifically, he would say "my wife is an invalid, I handle all her business."
The prime example of her needing to be seen as "poor her" rather than meeting the immediate goal, is when she had to speak in court years ago regarding a traffic accident.
Someone ran the light at the intersection, totally the van she was driving. She then had back pain she was being treated for, that she said was new pain due to the accident.
The attorney thought she had a good case due to the fault of the other driver...and simply wanted medical reimbursement for the back injury.
When on the stand, the opposing attorney asked "have you ever had back pain before?"
Well...my mother...always wanting to seem the sickest in the room...and needing everyone to feel sorry for her...responded: "ohhh yes, I am always in pain. For years and years...."
Case closed.
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
And Now We Have to Obsess About,,,,
....hurricane Irene headed towards the east coast.
Thank goodness for the hurricane, though, or she would still be posting constant facebook comments about yesterday's earthquake.
Any disaster is a good distaster, in her opinion. A prime reason to get excited and obsess. Not that she wishes people ill....that is not it. It is...THE DRAMA. Drama is the best way to live. I think it is the only way she truly feels alive.
She checks all the weather forecasts, finds the one that predicts the most severe conditions -- then obsesses on the possible damage.
Out of nowhere, apparently, she suddenly has several hundred dollars ($500 to be exact) to buy a generator. And, naturally, she wants my sister or myself to go out and buy it for her.
She knows we are likely to say no (due to recent "disowning" events), so she added in that she hoped $500 could mean she could buy one for us too.
Now..it is true I'd like a generator. Losing a fridge full of food is never good. And, being an Internet junkie...I think the router might "accidentally" get plugged into it too.
But accept one from her? No. It comes with too many conditions.
If she has $500 she needs to pay a bill and stop constantly posting on Facebook that she is too poor to keep utilities on or buy food.
Thank goodness for the hurricane, though, or she would still be posting constant facebook comments about yesterday's earthquake.
Any disaster is a good distaster, in her opinion. A prime reason to get excited and obsess. Not that she wishes people ill....that is not it. It is...THE DRAMA. Drama is the best way to live. I think it is the only way she truly feels alive.
She checks all the weather forecasts, finds the one that predicts the most severe conditions -- then obsesses on the possible damage.
Out of nowhere, apparently, she suddenly has several hundred dollars ($500 to be exact) to buy a generator. And, naturally, she wants my sister or myself to go out and buy it for her.
She knows we are likely to say no (due to recent "disowning" events), so she added in that she hoped $500 could mean she could buy one for us too.
Now..it is true I'd like a generator. Losing a fridge full of food is never good. And, being an Internet junkie...I think the router might "accidentally" get plugged into it too.
But accept one from her? No. It comes with too many conditions.
If she has $500 she needs to pay a bill and stop constantly posting on Facebook that she is too poor to keep utilities on or buy food.
Shaking it up
Crap.
She is being nice.
And I think I am not disowned anymore.
In short...the earthquake scared the shit out of her.
She called minutes after it happened. And, in those moments when I was cuddling my upset 4-year-old, I would have felt truly heartless to ignore her call.
I knew she would be hysterical...and she was.
I limited the call by explaining (truthfully) that my son wanted to talk to daddy, and we were still trying to get through to him.
But now she is again responding to posts on Facebook and such.
(Uhg....I hate talking about Facebook like that. I feel like I might as well be a 14 year girl arguing about who loves Justin Bieber more.)
Crap, crap, crap.
Being disowned is so much easier when she is being a bitch.
She is being nice.
And I think I am not disowned anymore.
In short...the earthquake scared the shit out of her.
She called minutes after it happened. And, in those moments when I was cuddling my upset 4-year-old, I would have felt truly heartless to ignore her call.
I knew she would be hysterical...and she was.
I limited the call by explaining (truthfully) that my son wanted to talk to daddy, and we were still trying to get through to him.
But now she is again responding to posts on Facebook and such.
(Uhg....I hate talking about Facebook like that. I feel like I might as well be a 14 year girl arguing about who loves Justin Bieber more.)
Crap, crap, crap.
Being disowned is so much easier when she is being a bitch.
Monday, August 22, 2011
A Battle in the War
And the winner is........
....my mother.
After DAYS of bugging the shit out of my sister, INSISTING...DEMANDING...via sobbing voice mails and dozens of pleading text messages that she/we come over because she needed to tell us things "before she went" and/or "before the authorities took her away"....my sister finally gave in and went.
My mother had about 30 seconds of info she told her. Info we already knew.
She also seemed energetic and clear-headed.
She also managed to get in criticisms of "if only you girls would clean this house" (never mind that we have...many times...and it is trashed again in a week because she won't clean anything. Literally.)
Her goal was clear.
She wanted to see If she still had manipulative control over either of us.
My sister gave in and went.
So she does.
And she won.
Someday she will actually need help...and we won't go.
Because, again, the Wolf wasnt there.
She didn't need saved.
....my mother.
After DAYS of bugging the shit out of my sister, INSISTING...DEMANDING...via sobbing voice mails and dozens of pleading text messages that she/we come over because she needed to tell us things "before she went" and/or "before the authorities took her away"....my sister finally gave in and went.
My mother had about 30 seconds of info she told her. Info we already knew.
She also seemed energetic and clear-headed.
She also managed to get in criticisms of "if only you girls would clean this house" (never mind that we have...many times...and it is trashed again in a week because she won't clean anything. Literally.)
Her goal was clear.
She wanted to see If she still had manipulative control over either of us.
My sister gave in and went.
So she does.
And she won.
Someday she will actually need help...and we won't go.
Because, again, the Wolf wasnt there.
She didn't need saved.
Online Support
I found a website for family members of people with BPD.
FINALLY I will be able to talk with people who truly understand the insanity that my mother creates. (Someone other than my father (who has passed) or my sister, that is.)
The site is www.bpdfamily.com, and they seem to have busy message boards and lots of helpful info.
In fact, the first thing I read told me I was in the right place:
(from the "Symptoms ad Diagnostic Tests" page)
(The list is a bit longer, but I have copied the bits that obviously applies to my mother's behavior. Alas, this is still 2/3rds of their list. I can't speak to the other third -- because I don't know everything that goes on in her head.)
So here is my mother in a nutshell (via bpdfamily checklist):
* Other people are evil and abuse you;
* If someone fails to keep a promise, that person can no longer be trusted;
* If I trust someone, I run a great risk of getting hurt or disappointed;
* I will always be alone;
* I can't manage by myself, I need someone I can fall back on;
* There is no one who really cares about me, who will be available to help me, and whom I can fall back on;
* I don't really know what I want;
* I will never get what I want;
* I'm powerless and vulnerable and I can't protect myself;.
* Other people are not willing or helpful.
To the family members, BPD behavior is often very frustrating can feel unfair and punitive - something like this:
* You have been viewed as overly good and then overly bad;
* You have been the focus of unprovoked anger or hurtful actions, alternating with periods when the family member acts perfectly normal and very loving;
* Things that you have said or done have been twisted and used against you;
* You are accused of things you never did or said;
* You often find yourself defending and justifying your intentions;
* You find yourself concealing what you think or feel because you are not heard;
* You feel manipulated, controlled, and sometimes lied to.
Damn.
Everytime I start to think "Well, maybe it isn't BPD... maybe I am just exaggerating" ...I come upon information like that.
Bingo.
FINALLY I will be able to talk with people who truly understand the insanity that my mother creates. (Someone other than my father (who has passed) or my sister, that is.)
The site is www.bpdfamily.com, and they seem to have busy message boards and lots of helpful info.
In fact, the first thing I read told me I was in the right place:
(from the "Symptoms ad Diagnostic Tests" page)
(The list is a bit longer, but I have copied the bits that obviously applies to my mother's behavior. Alas, this is still 2/3rds of their list. I can't speak to the other third -- because I don't know everything that goes on in her head.)
So here is my mother in a nutshell (via bpdfamily checklist):
* Other people are evil and abuse you;
* If someone fails to keep a promise, that person can no longer be trusted;
* If I trust someone, I run a great risk of getting hurt or disappointed;
* I will always be alone;
* I can't manage by myself, I need someone I can fall back on;
* There is no one who really cares about me, who will be available to help me, and whom I can fall back on;
* I don't really know what I want;
* I will never get what I want;
* I'm powerless and vulnerable and I can't protect myself;.
* Other people are not willing or helpful.
To the family members, BPD behavior is often very frustrating can feel unfair and punitive - something like this:
* You have been viewed as overly good and then overly bad;
* You have been the focus of unprovoked anger or hurtful actions, alternating with periods when the family member acts perfectly normal and very loving;
* Things that you have said or done have been twisted and used against you;
* You are accused of things you never did or said;
* You often find yourself defending and justifying your intentions;
* You find yourself concealing what you think or feel because you are not heard;
* You feel manipulated, controlled, and sometimes lied to.
Damn.
Everytime I start to think "Well, maybe it isn't BPD... maybe I am just exaggerating" ...I come upon information like that.
Bingo.
Daily Nugget
Yet another memory nugget to prove I am not crazy when I say she is crazy:
Many years ago, my mother decided she was dying again/still.
Not getting enough attention with her usual moans, groans, and pleas for help...she decided to raise the stakes.
It was about 1993, and she was on yet another kick about my dad being a workaholic.
(Never mind that his work paid for the extravagant things that she insisted she needed.)
For whatever reason she decided she was not feeling well that day (read: not getting enough special treatment).
When my dad was getting ready for bed, she informed him that she'd had several small strokes during the day, and that THE BIG ONE would probably come during the middle of the night. Therefore, would he check on her during the night to see if she was unconscious.
Because it was late, and he was afraid of getting yet another "Nobody-notices-how-sick-I've-been-for-years" lecture, he agreed.
THEN she says... "and if in the morning I am unconscious or dead, please call the ambulance. But you don't have to stay. You can go on to work. All I ask is that you leave the door unlocked so the paramedics can get in."
Yep... life with Mother was never boring.
Sunday, August 21, 2011
Drama du jour
My mother has decided she is dying.
Again.
Or maybe I should say "still."
She has been to two doctors (primary and gastrointeroligist) in the past week....both of whom say she has a stomach virus, and gave her antibiotics.
When she pushes them (making their staff so crazy that they know her instantly) the doctor says "I can't do anything else for you." and then, when she pushes more, they then say: "go to the ER."
She has been texting and leaving melodramatic voice mails for my sister, saying how sick she is, and how she needs my sister's help with....something.
Every Facebook post in the last several days has begun or ended with "so sick" and gone on to talk about whatever she thinks will make her sound the most helpless.
(A mutual friend actually wrote to me yesterday asking if my mother was really as sick as she kept saying. "She sounds so pathetic" she said,)
My sister keeps offering to take her to the hospital if she thinks she is that sick.
My mother flat out won't respond to offers to take her to the hospital...she acts as if it was never said.
Why? Because that isn't dramatic enough....and someone might not remember to bring her laptop -- meaning she wouldn't have constant Internet access.
("I just want to go to a hospital with cable and Internet" was a recent declaration by her. However, whenever someone offers to take her to the hospital, she won't answer....cause a trip to the hospital is not in her current manipulation agenda. It also shows that she is basically thinking of a hospital like a hotel. Cause let me tell you...anyone who is as sick as she is pretending to be, isn't gonna give a crap if there is cable and Internet. They'd just want to be treated, sleep, and get well.)
So...anyway....she is leaving messages (voice mails and texts) every couple of hours or more....begging for my sister to come over and "talk" about stuff that, frankly, my sister either has no information about...or that doesn't need decided right now.
Today's voice mail:
(Note: it is important to read this as if it is being spoken in the most melodramatic way possible. Imagine someone who is working really hard to sound like they are hysterical and panicked...and is forcing out sobs to sound like they can't stop crying.)
"Kathy...please please come over. I need to talk to you about the bills and the IRS and stuff cause even if I don't go right away we need to talk about what will happen with the bills and your brother and the cats....please come Kathy, please come..."
In other words, she wants to give a dramatic presentation.
At this, my sister again offered to take her to the hospital. She ignores that. It is not part of today's agenda.
Again.
Or maybe I should say "still."
She has been to two doctors (primary and gastrointeroligist) in the past week....both of whom say she has a stomach virus, and gave her antibiotics.
When she pushes them (making their staff so crazy that they know her instantly) the doctor says "I can't do anything else for you." and then, when she pushes more, they then say: "go to the ER."
She has been texting and leaving melodramatic voice mails for my sister, saying how sick she is, and how she needs my sister's help with....something.
Every Facebook post in the last several days has begun or ended with "so sick" and gone on to talk about whatever she thinks will make her sound the most helpless.
(A mutual friend actually wrote to me yesterday asking if my mother was really as sick as she kept saying. "She sounds so pathetic" she said,)
My sister keeps offering to take her to the hospital if she thinks she is that sick.
My mother flat out won't respond to offers to take her to the hospital...she acts as if it was never said.
Why? Because that isn't dramatic enough....and someone might not remember to bring her laptop -- meaning she wouldn't have constant Internet access.
("I just want to go to a hospital with cable and Internet" was a recent declaration by her. However, whenever someone offers to take her to the hospital, she won't answer....cause a trip to the hospital is not in her current manipulation agenda. It also shows that she is basically thinking of a hospital like a hotel. Cause let me tell you...anyone who is as sick as she is pretending to be, isn't gonna give a crap if there is cable and Internet. They'd just want to be treated, sleep, and get well.)
So...anyway....she is leaving messages (voice mails and texts) every couple of hours or more....begging for my sister to come over and "talk" about stuff that, frankly, my sister either has no information about...or that doesn't need decided right now.
Today's voice mail:
(Note: it is important to read this as if it is being spoken in the most melodramatic way possible. Imagine someone who is working really hard to sound like they are hysterical and panicked...and is forcing out sobs to sound like they can't stop crying.)
"Kathy...please please come over. I need to talk to you about the bills and the IRS and stuff cause even if I don't go right away we need to talk about what will happen with the bills and your brother and the cats....please come Kathy, please come..."
In other words, she wants to give a dramatic presentation.
At this, my sister again offered to take her to the hospital. She ignores that. It is not part of today's agenda.
Saturday, August 20, 2011
Nuggets
I often worry that someone will stumble upon this blog, read a random post, and -- without knowing context -- wonder why I am such a heartless bitch to my mother.
To remind myself I am not totally crazy for wanting to break away from her.. I offer the following memory nugget:
I shall tell the tale of the day my dad and I spent all morning, afternoon and evening pulling up a tile kitchen floor, scraping and scrubbing at the old adhesive and dirt, and then putting down new, shiney tile.
It was night. We were 98% done, and pretty proud of ourselves.
My dad, not exactly known being a wiz at home projects (in other words, he sucked at them and also tended to end up in the ER), was especially pleased. We looked at the shiney new floor and thought "wow, we did that! And it looks good!"
Cue: My mother walking up the stairs, and making her first appearance at the project site.
Dressed in a caftan, with a cigarette to her lips, she lowered her glance to look at the floor.
My dad said something like "Looks pretty good, eh?!"
Sneeringly, she took a brief pause to puff on her cigarette, exhaled, and said: "Most people wouldn't put a new floor down on top of dirt."
Naturally, we corrected her and explained how we had scraped and scrubbed,
It didn't matter, of course,
Her point had been made.
In her mind what we had done was shit, and we didn't even try to do it right. She would never admit to liking it, and would -- no matter what -- ever, EVER dare to say it looked good.
The biggest surprise about all this, is that we were surprised.
My mother never admitting to ever liking anything...and it was well known that my dad and I were useless losers....so how could we possibly have done a nice job?
Looking back, her response should have been completely expected,
To remind myself I am not totally crazy for wanting to break away from her.. I offer the following memory nugget:
I shall tell the tale of the day my dad and I spent all morning, afternoon and evening pulling up a tile kitchen floor, scraping and scrubbing at the old adhesive and dirt, and then putting down new, shiney tile.
It was night. We were 98% done, and pretty proud of ourselves.
My dad, not exactly known being a wiz at home projects (in other words, he sucked at them and also tended to end up in the ER), was especially pleased. We looked at the shiney new floor and thought "wow, we did that! And it looks good!"
Cue: My mother walking up the stairs, and making her first appearance at the project site.
Dressed in a caftan, with a cigarette to her lips, she lowered her glance to look at the floor.
My dad said something like "Looks pretty good, eh?!"
Sneeringly, she took a brief pause to puff on her cigarette, exhaled, and said: "Most people wouldn't put a new floor down on top of dirt."
Naturally, we corrected her and explained how we had scraped and scrubbed,
It didn't matter, of course,
Her point had been made.
In her mind what we had done was shit, and we didn't even try to do it right. She would never admit to liking it, and would -- no matter what -- ever, EVER dare to say it looked good.
The biggest surprise about all this, is that we were surprised.
My mother never admitting to ever liking anything...and it was well known that my dad and I were useless losers....so how could we possibly have done a nice job?
Looking back, her response should have been completely expected,
Friday, August 19, 2011
Small Validation
A Facebook friend that was our neighbor 20-odd years ago (uuuhg, how I hate being able to say that) sent a private message to me today saying, in short, "Is your mother really as sick as she says? She sounds so pathetic."
Making a long story long, I responded with several paragraphs about BPD, and how my mother is insisting that she be waited on and served 24/7 despite doctors saying that she needs to take care of herself...and how her insistence on acting as if she is bedridden will shorten her life.
The neighbor wasn't really that surprised to hear any of it, it seemed. And, she provided some tidbits that, as a child, were so normal to me I hadn't even noticed them. She mentioned that it seemed to her my dad was the only one who ever got anything done. Even going to the grocery store. My mother made my dad do everything. She said: "It is just pathetic that she won't do a damn thing for herself - and now with Facebook she is posting all this stuff that one minute makes you think that she is deathly ill and the next minute it makes you crazy because she is complaining about not being able to write out her bills because she is so weak. However - has the strength to play games and post things on FB. Really?? Now I understand why you and Kathy distance yourself - kinda like the Peter and the Wolf story. One day she is really going to need help and nobody will be there. Sad."
Validation.
Even though I have two different therapists, numerous family members, and her own doctors explaining to me that Mother is irrational, demanding, and thriving on treating those closest to her like feces... It is still validating and comforting to hear other people state they have always seen her as unreasonable.
Maybe I am not a crap daughter after all. Maybe I have just finally learned self-preservation.
Oh, snap!
ME, TO MY HUSBAND: "How come you are the only one I know that doesn't think I am 'effin hysterical?"
MY HUSBAND: "Because I am the only one you know who doesn't drink."
Damn.
Harsh, dude.
Childhood Memories
Because my mother has been on a roll recently, I have been thinking what early life with her was like.
I have one good memory with her.
I was 18 months old. It is a lovely, gauze-covered vision of standing up in my crib and looking out my window. Outside my bedroom, two kids had built a snowman for me. The kids tried to hide, but also wanted to watch my reaction...so their heads kept popping out.
After years of thinking this was a recurring dream, I finally told my parents the story and learned that the snowman-sculpting "kids" hiding from me were my parents.
The next memory is a bit different.
I was about 4 years old.
It is of me, running down the hall.
Running from my mother.
Running as she chases after me, screaming like the proverbial fishwife -- arms and hands raised in a literal claw-like position, as if she was a furious Tyrannosaurus Rex. I hide behind the living room recliner -- too young to understand that peeking my head up meant discovery.
I don't remember what happened next. But I will assume it was similar to what happened the rest of my pre-adult life when she decided she was mad. A spanking.
No.
Not a spanking.
A furious flurry of uncontrolled hands, arms, fists and screaming sounds directed at whatever body part she happened to hit.
I do remember my crime, though.
She had some decorative mini-seashell bath soaps.
I thought they were pretty.
I put some of them in water and watched beautiful rainbow colors being made.
Mother was NOT happy.
I have one good memory with her.
I was 18 months old. It is a lovely, gauze-covered vision of standing up in my crib and looking out my window. Outside my bedroom, two kids had built a snowman for me. The kids tried to hide, but also wanted to watch my reaction...so their heads kept popping out.
After years of thinking this was a recurring dream, I finally told my parents the story and learned that the snowman-sculpting "kids" hiding from me were my parents.
The next memory is a bit different.
I was about 4 years old.
It is of me, running down the hall.
Running from my mother.
Running as she chases after me, screaming like the proverbial fishwife -- arms and hands raised in a literal claw-like position, as if she was a furious Tyrannosaurus Rex. I hide behind the living room recliner -- too young to understand that peeking my head up meant discovery.
I don't remember what happened next. But I will assume it was similar to what happened the rest of my pre-adult life when she decided she was mad. A spanking.
No.
Not a spanking.
A furious flurry of uncontrolled hands, arms, fists and screaming sounds directed at whatever body part she happened to hit.
I do remember my crime, though.
She had some decorative mini-seashell bath soaps.
I thought they were pretty.
I put some of them in water and watched beautiful rainbow colors being made.
Mother was NOT happy.
Thursday, August 18, 2011
Revisionist History
My mother tossed out another little gem of info today (again, via my husband, cause I don't exist).
It seems that, when HER parents were sick (back in 1977 and 1985) that she took care of them. Also, apparently, she often cleaned their house for them.
My mother is truly talented.
Why?
Because she was able to achieve these feats while living 6 hours and 500 miles away. Yet, according to her current brain cells, she was (I guess) able to frequently magically transport herself to 500 miles to care for her ailing parents.
My own, feeble memory had told me that my Aunt took care of them when they were dying, cleaned (or hired cleaning people), and spent their last moments with them. For some reason, my brain has also tricked me into believing that we went to visit each grandparent maybe once during the illness...and then went back for the funeral.
At learning this today, I sent my Aunt a note and told her I was glad to know she'd had this help during that time. After no doubt vomiting in her mouth, my Aunt surely let out a scream heard by all neighbors within a nuclear strike zone.
For some reason neither I, nor my Aunt, nor my sister have any memory of my mother cleaning anything while visiting. In fact, my sister's thoughts are filled with images of my mother living at the kitchen table...iced tea and cigarette in hand...playing penny blackjack for hours on end with whomever was around.
Obviously, we must all be wrong. Because my mother is ALWAYS right.
It seems that, when HER parents were sick (back in 1977 and 1985) that she took care of them. Also, apparently, she often cleaned their house for them.
My mother is truly talented.
Why?
Because she was able to achieve these feats while living 6 hours and 500 miles away. Yet, according to her current brain cells, she was (I guess) able to frequently magically transport herself to 500 miles to care for her ailing parents.
My own, feeble memory had told me that my Aunt took care of them when they were dying, cleaned (or hired cleaning people), and spent their last moments with them. For some reason, my brain has also tricked me into believing that we went to visit each grandparent maybe once during the illness...and then went back for the funeral.
At learning this today, I sent my Aunt a note and told her I was glad to know she'd had this help during that time. After no doubt vomiting in her mouth, my Aunt surely let out a scream heard by all neighbors within a nuclear strike zone.
For some reason neither I, nor my Aunt, nor my sister have any memory of my mother cleaning anything while visiting. In fact, my sister's thoughts are filled with images of my mother living at the kitchen table...iced tea and cigarette in hand...playing penny blackjack for hours on end with whomever was around.
Obviously, we must all be wrong. Because my mother is ALWAYS right.
The Irony
The ironic thing about trying to discuss life with a BPD person is that, by time the "crisis du jour" is over, you are so emotionally exhausted you lack the strength to tell the story.
Even though I apparently remain disowned by my mother, she is now asking (via my husband) that I handle all her bills for her. Now, if she were a normal person, this would not be a big deal. But I know how this would play out.
All it would take is one phone call from me saying "You can't go to McDonalds every day this week, because I just sent out your bills and you have $50" for her to go ballistic.
She would scream about her financial problems as if I caused them...and then...within weeks...would start accusing me of stealing from her.
I could patiently itemize where every single one of her dollars went -- and she would still decide I had stolen money from her bank account.
Needless to say, even though this is a task I would do for her if she treated me with a shred of decency...since she persists in referring to me as "the other daughter who won't help me" (if at all), it is fair to say I am not going to jump at the chance to interact with her on a semi-daily basis.
There are only so many times I will volunteer to get into a boxing ring and stand frozen while someone beats the shit out of me. And this ain't one of them.
Even though I apparently remain disowned by my mother, she is now asking (via my husband) that I handle all her bills for her. Now, if she were a normal person, this would not be a big deal. But I know how this would play out.
All it would take is one phone call from me saying "You can't go to McDonalds every day this week, because I just sent out your bills and you have $50" for her to go ballistic.
She would scream about her financial problems as if I caused them...and then...within weeks...would start accusing me of stealing from her.
I could patiently itemize where every single one of her dollars went -- and she would still decide I had stolen money from her bank account.
Needless to say, even though this is a task I would do for her if she treated me with a shred of decency...since she persists in referring to me as "the other daughter who won't help me" (if at all), it is fair to say I am not going to jump at the chance to interact with her on a semi-daily basis.
There are only so many times I will volunteer to get into a boxing ring and stand frozen while someone beats the shit out of me. And this ain't one of them.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)