I moved out of her house soon after I turned 18, I was still in high school.
Our battles were getting frequent, daily even. Between 17 and 18 I was kicked out on a regular basis. I could never figure out why I made her so upset. I had been working since I was 15, helping out around the house and with my brother, got good grades. The only conclusion I could draw was that I had a stable boyfriend (now my husband) and she was not the center of my world any more.
My boyfriend's parents were kind enough to let me stay with them during the times I was kicked out. Even when she called them, harassing them and calling them names. After months of this happening, John surprised me with a key to our own place. I never went back home.
I had to sneak back into her house to retrieve some of my things. I was always jealous of my friends. I didn't have one of those typical move out experiences. The ones where mom helps you pick a place and then helps you make it home. Stocking you up with food and bathroom supplies. Bringing you casseroles to make sure you were eating healthy. Nope, that wasn't in the cards for me. She never even came to my first apartment, or my second.
I always tell my husband that he saved me. He freed me.
I had never felt so good. So content. Even though I was now solely responsible for my living expenses, she wasn't on my back telling me how stupid I was. She wasn't there to ridicule me.
She told me once that she had hoped I would fail. That I would come crawling back.
I never went back. I never asked for help of any kind. I made it. We made it.
Thursday, November 10, 2011
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
Teenage Angst
I think a lot of teenagers experience boughts of depression. It just comes with the territory. I admit I was very depressed from 15 through 17, on and off. Having her as a mother didn't help.
We fought. Often. Maybe even daily. There were weekend blowouts, screaming matches and her total destruction of the house. There were times I wished I was dead because that would have felt better than living with her. I would tell her this. I would scream this. I needed her to see she was hurting me.
She would often call the police on me. A couple of times she tried to have me committed to a mental institution. At around 15 she took me to a mental hospital and tried to make them take me. I remember sitting in the waiting room. Lying to the nurses to make me look worse than I was. Maybe she was trying to scare me. She succeeded. Maybe she was scared. I really wished to be dead because of how miserable she was making me. I'd never do it though. She never thought it was her though. Never thought she could be the source of my depression. Or at least an accomplice with teenage hormones.
They never took me of course. I was a teenager fighting with her crazy mother. I wasn't a threat to anyone and I'd never actually attempted suicide. Maybe I did. I tried to cut my wrists. Not in a serious way but for the purpose of feeling something other than the veil of depression and the weight of her cruelty.
We fought. Often. Maybe even daily. There were weekend blowouts, screaming matches and her total destruction of the house. There were times I wished I was dead because that would have felt better than living with her. I would tell her this. I would scream this. I needed her to see she was hurting me.
She would often call the police on me. A couple of times she tried to have me committed to a mental institution. At around 15 she took me to a mental hospital and tried to make them take me. I remember sitting in the waiting room. Lying to the nurses to make me look worse than I was. Maybe she was trying to scare me. She succeeded. Maybe she was scared. I really wished to be dead because of how miserable she was making me. I'd never do it though. She never thought it was her though. Never thought she could be the source of my depression. Or at least an accomplice with teenage hormones.
They never took me of course. I was a teenager fighting with her crazy mother. I wasn't a threat to anyone and I'd never actually attempted suicide. Maybe I did. I tried to cut my wrists. Not in a serious way but for the purpose of feeling something other than the veil of depression and the weight of her cruelty.
Monday, November 7, 2011
Left Behind
I have this reoccurring dream. Well, actually, it's a real memory that comes back to me through a reoccurring dream. Not a lot but often enough to notice it must be something that damaged me or at the least, still bothers me.
I was young, maybe around 4 or 5. We were staying with her mother. It was just her and I, so we slept on the sofa that folded out into a bed. I woke up in the morning to find myself alone. I got up trying to find her and she was gone. I run out the door to find her walking with a suitcase along the road. I run to her crying and asking why she is leaving me, where is she going? She's getting on a bus to go back to California. Why aren't you taking me with you?
No questions get answered. I have this horrible pain in my heart and lump in my stomach. This feeling of terror and emptiness. She's leaving me. I'll be all alone with her mother is a cruel and terrible person. She doesn't want me anymore. She gets on the bus and my body won't stop convulsing with the sobs that are tearing through it. I can't get my breath.
She left me behind.
I was young, maybe around 4 or 5. We were staying with her mother. It was just her and I, so we slept on the sofa that folded out into a bed. I woke up in the morning to find myself alone. I got up trying to find her and she was gone. I run out the door to find her walking with a suitcase along the road. I run to her crying and asking why she is leaving me, where is she going? She's getting on a bus to go back to California. Why aren't you taking me with you?
No questions get answered. I have this horrible pain in my heart and lump in my stomach. This feeling of terror and emptiness. She's leaving me. I'll be all alone with her mother is a cruel and terrible person. She doesn't want me anymore. She gets on the bus and my body won't stop convulsing with the sobs that are tearing through it. I can't get my breath.
She left me behind.
Friday, November 4, 2011
Birth of the 1st Grandchild
She missed it.
We hadn't been speaking . Maybe for a couple of months. There was a blow up about my not being supportive and my selfishness. It was also my fault that she lost her job 3 years ago.
So, she missed the labor and delivery of her first grandchild. Most people, I think, want thier mother's to be there. I was glad she wasn't there. A bit sad at first but moving through the process I knew I was much better off without her. If she had been there I'm sure there would have been a temper tantrum because the focus was not on her. There would have been some dramatic scene. I didn't want this important milestone to be stolen away just like all the others.
I contemplated not calling her. Why should I let her be a part of this experience when she clearly doesn't care? I called the day after he was born. It was the right decision. That's the point I learned to trust my instincts about her, to not let guilt cloud my judgement.
Now I'm pregnant with the 2nd grandchild. She is missing the pregnancy and will probably miss the birth. I'm okay with this. It's for the best. In the current episode, she has stated she doesn't care that I am pregnant, when I asked her why she is treating me this way while I am pregnant. I've stated many times that I cannot handle the added stress right now, it's not safe for the baby. She doesn't care.
I have to protect myself and my family. And I don't feel bad about it. Setting these limits and not letting guilt eat at me is very liberating.
We hadn't been speaking . Maybe for a couple of months. There was a blow up about my not being supportive and my selfishness. It was also my fault that she lost her job 3 years ago.
So, she missed the labor and delivery of her first grandchild. Most people, I think, want thier mother's to be there. I was glad she wasn't there. A bit sad at first but moving through the process I knew I was much better off without her. If she had been there I'm sure there would have been a temper tantrum because the focus was not on her. There would have been some dramatic scene. I didn't want this important milestone to be stolen away just like all the others.
I contemplated not calling her. Why should I let her be a part of this experience when she clearly doesn't care? I called the day after he was born. It was the right decision. That's the point I learned to trust my instincts about her, to not let guilt cloud my judgement.
Now I'm pregnant with the 2nd grandchild. She is missing the pregnancy and will probably miss the birth. I'm okay with this. It's for the best. In the current episode, she has stated she doesn't care that I am pregnant, when I asked her why she is treating me this way while I am pregnant. I've stated many times that I cannot handle the added stress right now, it's not safe for the baby. She doesn't care.
I have to protect myself and my family. And I don't feel bad about it. Setting these limits and not letting guilt eat at me is very liberating.
Thursday, November 3, 2011
Home Alone
She's a single parent. That's tough. It's tough on the kids and tough on the parent.
I was home alone a lot, after school, weekend nights, summers and winter vacations from school etc. My responsibility was to watch my brother, even when he was 2 and I was 8. Occasionally we did have baby sitters on the weekend nights but not consistently. I watched my brother from 8 until I was 18.
It was lonely and hard to keep entertained. Hard to pass the time. I think it's how I got into music, reading and writing. My brother and I fought, a lot, made up games, watched tv and did chores. We were bored, most of the time.
It seems normal enough to me for me to help her out with childcare (even when I was a child), housework and meal prep. There was no one else. Like I've said before I was her partner.
I do feel like a lot of that repsonsibility on my shoulders as a child kept me from participating in activities like sports or camps or clubs or even the chance to hang out with friends. I feel like it robbed me of some childhood experiences. It also forced me to grow up very quickly.
Anyway, being home alone with my brother, after school and during breaks from school, was one thing. I could accept that there was no other way. But. BUT being left while she partied with friends and men into the early mornings of the weekend, was something entirely different.
In the 90s, it was something that happened every weekend. It was about a 5 year period where going out to clubs and bars was the normal thing. I didn't spend the night at friend's houses because I was the baby sitter. I spent those nights drawing, writing, listening to music and watching tv.
There were some times she didn't come home until the next day. My brother and I would wake up to an empty house, scared that she had been raped and murdered or stolen or in an accident. No doubt about it, she always came home drunk. I could hear her stumbling around in the house and falling into bed. It hurt my stomach. It made me sick if she brought somebody home. It hurt to know she'd rather be out than with us. As I got use to her being gone, I got over it. I could handle it on my own. If my brother woke up scared in the middle of the night, I could handle it. We were fine.
I was home alone a lot, after school, weekend nights, summers and winter vacations from school etc. My responsibility was to watch my brother, even when he was 2 and I was 8. Occasionally we did have baby sitters on the weekend nights but not consistently. I watched my brother from 8 until I was 18.
It was lonely and hard to keep entertained. Hard to pass the time. I think it's how I got into music, reading and writing. My brother and I fought, a lot, made up games, watched tv and did chores. We were bored, most of the time.
It seems normal enough to me for me to help her out with childcare (even when I was a child), housework and meal prep. There was no one else. Like I've said before I was her partner.
I do feel like a lot of that repsonsibility on my shoulders as a child kept me from participating in activities like sports or camps or clubs or even the chance to hang out with friends. I feel like it robbed me of some childhood experiences. It also forced me to grow up very quickly.
Anyway, being home alone with my brother, after school and during breaks from school, was one thing. I could accept that there was no other way. But. BUT being left while she partied with friends and men into the early mornings of the weekend, was something entirely different.
In the 90s, it was something that happened every weekend. It was about a 5 year period where going out to clubs and bars was the normal thing. I didn't spend the night at friend's houses because I was the baby sitter. I spent those nights drawing, writing, listening to music and watching tv.
There were some times she didn't come home until the next day. My brother and I would wake up to an empty house, scared that she had been raped and murdered or stolen or in an accident. No doubt about it, she always came home drunk. I could hear her stumbling around in the house and falling into bed. It hurt my stomach. It made me sick if she brought somebody home. It hurt to know she'd rather be out than with us. As I got use to her being gone, I got over it. I could handle it on my own. If my brother woke up scared in the middle of the night, I could handle it. We were fine.
Wednesday, November 2, 2011
Digging Deeper
As I said in my previous post, I think she is bipolar. Mentally ill. Something's not right and hasn't been right for the majority of her life. Thinking about this for a decade or so, I finally did some real research this year.
The shoe fits.
I also found sites and forums where others tell their stories. They all sound just like mine. I'm glad I'm not alone in my thinking and experiences but I'm also really sad. Sad that this exists and tears families apart, sad that she won't get help.
She's been through so many horrible things in her life: abuse, neglect, more abuse. But, that's not my story to tell. I'm sure I only the half of it. No one can escape those experiences unscathed.
According to the mayo clinic, there are 3 different categories of bipolar disoder: bipolar I, bipolar II and cyclothymia. I believe she is bipolar II with a touch of bipolar I: mood swings, hypomania and depression. The striking similarities in symptoms that we observe:
During the hypomania stage:
The combination of these things makes it very hard for bipolar people to keep relationships.
I believe there is hope. If she'll just get some help. Get on some medicine that can help her live a more normal life. We might have a chance at a relationship.
The shoe fits.
I also found sites and forums where others tell their stories. They all sound just like mine. I'm glad I'm not alone in my thinking and experiences but I'm also really sad. Sad that this exists and tears families apart, sad that she won't get help.
She's been through so many horrible things in her life: abuse, neglect, more abuse. But, that's not my story to tell. I'm sure I only the half of it. No one can escape those experiences unscathed.
According to the mayo clinic, there are 3 different categories of bipolar disoder: bipolar I, bipolar II and cyclothymia. I believe she is bipolar II with a touch of bipolar I: mood swings, hypomania and depression. The striking similarities in symptoms that we observe:
During the hypomania stage:
- inflated self-esteem (demanding respect at the cost of losing relationships, everyone else is messed up and she is normal and fine)
- poor judgement
- rapid speech
- agressive behavior
- agitation/irratability
- spending sprees or unwise financial decisions (buying unecessary things, obsession with craigslist, filling home with hobby supplies that go unused, unable to budget money)
- increased drive to peform or acheive goals
- inability to concentrate (jumps from subject to subject quickly, during an argument or conversation)
- careless or dangerous use of drugs/alcohol (not any more but was a major problem in the 90s)
- poor performance at work or school (hasn't held a job for more than 3 months in last 4 years)
- sadness
- hopelessness
- suicidal thoughts or behavior (often when I was very young, still talks about it now or brings it out in an argument)
- anxiety
- sleep problems (wakes in the middle of the night and can't go back to sleep)
- loss of interest in daily activities
- problems concentrating (jumps from subject to subject quickly, during an argument or conversation)
- irratability
- chronic pain without a known cause (always in pain or discomfort, takes a lot of motrin/tylenol, digestive issues etc)
- poor performance at work or school (hasn't held a job for more than 3 months in last 4 years)
The combination of these things makes it very hard for bipolar people to keep relationships.
I believe there is hope. If she'll just get some help. Get on some medicine that can help her live a more normal life. We might have a chance at a relationship.
Tuesday, November 1, 2011
Wedding Crasher
A girl dreams about her wedding. How perfect it will be. Everything in it's place, people smiling and laughing, celebrating the couple's love. I had that dream, too.
She began throwing her temper tantrum early the day of the event. I got my makeup done by myself and my hair done by myself. I got ready at the church with the help of my friends. She sat in the common area with an angry face and arms crossed. The day wasn't about her, so of course this behavior was to be expected. In the middle of my getting ready, I think I should go see if we can make this better so that we can enjoy this experience. I sit down and ask what's wrong only to get a slew of rude comments and angry words. I ask her to put this aside until a later time because this was my wedding day, after all. This isn't fair. She clams up and ignores me. I walk away to finish getting ready.
A dark cloud attempts to cast it's shadow over me. Tears well up behind my eyes. Anger burns its fire in my stomach. I decide to choke it all back, push it down, ignore it. This is my wedding day. If I let her get to me, let her ruin this, let her have control of my feelings, I will regret forever. That's what I did. I ignored her. It was her choice to behave so badly. I was marrying the best man there ever was and I was going to focus on him, on our love, on this joyous day. She wasn't going to rob of this.
The wedding went on and I was happy. Truly happy. I didn't give one thought to her and her feelings. I didn't have guilt or concern for her. It was great.
Then. Then she made it public.
At the reception she drank too much. Grabbed the microphone and gave a speech. Saying some nice things but also adding in some bitterness and complaints through slurred speech. It was tough to get through. She thought it was funny. Thought it was funny to be drunk in front of my friends and family and my new husband's family.
She made her mark.
I can't get that day back.
She began throwing her temper tantrum early the day of the event. I got my makeup done by myself and my hair done by myself. I got ready at the church with the help of my friends. She sat in the common area with an angry face and arms crossed. The day wasn't about her, so of course this behavior was to be expected. In the middle of my getting ready, I think I should go see if we can make this better so that we can enjoy this experience. I sit down and ask what's wrong only to get a slew of rude comments and angry words. I ask her to put this aside until a later time because this was my wedding day, after all. This isn't fair. She clams up and ignores me. I walk away to finish getting ready.
A dark cloud attempts to cast it's shadow over me. Tears well up behind my eyes. Anger burns its fire in my stomach. I decide to choke it all back, push it down, ignore it. This is my wedding day. If I let her get to me, let her ruin this, let her have control of my feelings, I will regret forever. That's what I did. I ignored her. It was her choice to behave so badly. I was marrying the best man there ever was and I was going to focus on him, on our love, on this joyous day. She wasn't going to rob of this.
The wedding went on and I was happy. Truly happy. I didn't give one thought to her and her feelings. I didn't have guilt or concern for her. It was great.
Then. Then she made it public.
At the reception she drank too much. Grabbed the microphone and gave a speech. Saying some nice things but also adding in some bitterness and complaints through slurred speech. It was tough to get through. She thought it was funny. Thought it was funny to be drunk in front of my friends and family and my new husband's family.
She made her mark.
I can't get that day back.
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