I will tell you what I am grateful for: 

When I turned 20, I got pregnant.  My my mother and his father forced us to marry.  "We won't accept this baby unless you're married!" they both said to us.  They said they'd never financially help us out or even accept that the baby is their grandchild.  It was totally and completely fucked.  

But later, after I had gotten married and given birth to my son, my now ex-husband was still doing the things he did before he had had kids.  He always wanted to participate in his fantasy football leagues, go to the strip club with his best friend, spend Father's Day weekend partying with his brother at his college dorm, and participating in his dart league.  I wasn't allowed to do any of those things.  My mom was to be a mom.  When I did do things, my parents were expected to babysit, so that meant I never did things.  My in-laws babysat once on my 21st birthday when my oldest son was three months old (and it was a total clusterfuck and one of my stupidest birthdays ever).  But my ex?  He didn't like babysitting alone.  I think he didn't see himself as a responsible adult and parent, and thought he was still the same exact person as before and still just wanted to continue as though me giving birth never happened.  And it was my job to take care of everything that was different, aka everything to do with being a parent.  

But when my son was around two months old or so, we both got the stomach flu, aka gastroenteritis.  And it wasn't pretty.  He couldn't down any breastmilk and I could barely hold down water.  And when a baby can't hold down breastmilk, that's the only thing they drink or eat, so I just thought he was going to die.  But, of course, per true ding-dong fashion, my ex went to his dart league and left us home alone.  He knew damn well how bad my anxiety was, too, but he literally had no empathy or sympathy for anyone, especially me or his baby, so off he went and left us to deal with our sicknesses alone.  

So, I called my mother.  Because that's what you do when you're twenty years old (or really, any age) when nobody else is there for you, your mother is, right?  At least that's what I assumed should happen.  So I called her and asked her to come over until he got home, because I was terrified my baby was going to die because he couldn't hold down fluids.  I had called his doctor to see what to do, and they informed me to just get some in his mouth every however long and see if he could tolerate small amounts.  If so, that would work.  If not, we'd have to go to the ER so he could get an IV.  So, I called my mother.  And she laughed and said "That's your husband's job."  "Did you not hear me?  I may have to take him to the ER."  "Yes, call your husband and tell him to get his ass home to take care of his wife.  It's not my job anymore."  And she hung up.  She was less than a mile away, by the way.  It would take her less than ten minutes to come over, to her childhood home to come help out.  Also, this was 1998.  No cell phones (well, at least not the little ones that everyone could afford yet).  So getting ahold of my husband at the time wasn't easy.  I had to look up the number for the bar in the phone book and have them go find him to call me back.  And he'd only call me back if he wanted to, so I had no promise he'd ever call.  And of course, when he did call me back, he was angry that I was interrupting his game.  

I get my mother being angry at my husband for abandoning me and my baby while being so sick.   I should have been only taking care of myself in that moment and his father should have been taking care of him.  That's how parents work.  But he was a 23-year-old narcissistic man-child who didn't think of anyone but himself.  So rather than coming over and giving me and my son compassion and to help care for us, she threw me to the wolf I lived with and had to hear him bitching and being mean to us for interrupting his game.  Which we'd have been better off without him coming home.  

My mother doesn't have a nurturing bone in her body.  Did she take care of me while sick?  Sure.  She'd give me a bucket or a paper bag to throw my Kleenex in and would make me soup.  But that's the end of it.  Did she frown and say "I am so sorry you're so sick", the way I do with my own children?  Did she run to the store for me when I needed something?  Well, she'd pick up something for me, like nasty-ass Halls cough drops that turned my stomach, while she was already out. But special trips?  Never.  Last night my husband ran out and got our son (the same baby in this post) a Covid test because he's so sick.  And all day we stopped at stores to get him Gatorade and Kleenex and whatever else to help him feel better.  I even made him blended carrot and sweet potato soup (though he didn't eat it, because he was full from the rest of his dinner).  My mom only ever opened a can of condensed chicken noodle soup watered down with tap water.  Oh, and Saltines.  She'd give me Saltines.  But never did she go out of her way or do anything special for me.  I wasn't important enough for her. 

And just like that day when I called her, me being sick always made her angry.  I am not sure why.  She was always severely annoyed with me, having to pick me up from school with a fever or if I woke up sick.  She didn't work, so what on earth was so important that taking care of me, which was her fucking entire job in life at that time, was such a nuisance to her?  Just me existing outside the norm, I guess.  When she adopted me, she had no idea what being a mother entailed.  And when she found out?  She was probably like "Aw hell no!  I ain't doing that shit!"  "But ma'am, that's the minimum you can do for this job."  "Oh yeah?  Watch me.  I bet I can do the least amount as possible!"  "Ma'am, but that's utterly unfathomable to do as a parent!"  Yet, nevertheless, she persisted, and proved them all wrong.  

As I sat there, watching my son suffer yesterday with him feeling so bad, I was reminded of my mother's inability to feel anything for me.  I love my son.  I feel bad when he feels bad.  I listened to his constant coughing and stuffed up nose, and looked at his splotchy red face, and I saw that little baby who I once held in my arms and I worried he would die if I couldn't do my job as a mother to help him keep some kind of liquid in him.  That was the first time he was sick.  And now he's twenty-seven, seven years older than I was when I had him, the same age I was when I met his now father.  And here I am, still worrying about my little boy, tending to him while he's sick.  Even if he didn't live in my home, I'd stay at his house if he asked me to do take care of him.  Because I am capable of love and empathy. And my mother just isn't.  

I never asked her for much.  She will say I was a vortex of need as a kid or some other bullshit to paint her in a good light and me in a bad one (or rather, to make her seem like she was just worked endlessly for me, the child who supposedly "sucked up all of her time").  But I just didn't.  I knew better.  I knew it would make her angry.  And I knew most of the time, she'd just say no.  She lived for and loved to make people feel guilty for asking for their needs to be met with her.  Even just basic ones.  Then if you asked her for something bigger?  Well then, that was the time she got to show just how much you mean to her.  So, if you were someone she hardly knew, she'd slap a smile on her face and do it willingly!  This meant she could look good to you, and she loved to show off.  But if she knew you well?  She will smile to your face, but bitch about it behind your back.  If you were close to her?  She'd show her annoyance, and do it, but make you feel guilty for having to do it.  And if you were her child, she'd flat out laugh at you and say no.  I teetered between the last two for most of my life with her.  She'd do the thing for me, but use it against me later as ammunition.  

She no longer tries to guilt me for not doing things for her on her time table.  She used to say "I see how I rate!"  I can't remember the last time she's said that to me.  She no longer does much of anything at all (other than steal things from the bathroom, which she's still doing).  I am the one doing all the things for her now.  And she just exists.  She doesn't ask me how I am or what I am up to.  She just asks me for the things she needs and unlike her, I get them for her.  I even make special trips to get her the things that she needs, because unlike her, I am not a monster.  

She's no longer a monster either.  She's just an old woman who needs a caretaker.  And I fulfill that duty for her.  She's not my mother, she's my client, and I treat her with the same respect I'd treat anyone who needs help.  She loved to claim she was a caretaker her entire life, but she just wasn't.  She'd go through the motions and do things that needed doing (though not always all of them), but she hated it and resented the person for needing help.  But that's what not having empathy or sympathy does to a person.  I, luckily, have both.  And I know how lucky I am to have those abilities.  I easily could have been born a monster, like her, like my grandmother (my birth-grandmother), and aunt.  But I wasn't.  I was born smart, and kind.  Two things both my adoptive family and birth family are not.  Why did I luck out?  How did I luck out?  I have no idea.  But I did.  And I was born with these blessings and so I use them both quite regularly.  With my family.  With animals.  With strangers.  Everyone.  Even with people who used to be monsters.  

I wasn't born like my mother.  And this Thanksgiving season, that's what I am grateful for.  I looked at my son yesterday, laying in bed so sick, and I knew I was lucky to be able to take care of him.  I am lucky I get to feel compassion and warmth and love for my kids.  I get to enjoy what being a human actually means.  My mother didn't get that.  She's empty inside.  And I feel bad for her.  It's not her fault she was born this way.  And so I feel compassion for her, too.  (though I am going to go allow her to do bad things to me and my family again).  I am grateful for this ability and the ability to be smart enough to distance myself from those that hurt me and my family.  I may have been born into psychotic chaos.  But I am actually the lucky one here.  Yes, they all abused me and I was their victim at one time, but I didn't stay that way.  I get to move beyond it all and feel what it truly feels like to be human.  I get to be happy.  I get to love.  I get to feel compassion.  They didn't get that.  Not for a single day of their lives.

And so, I win.  No matter what they did to me, I win.  And that's all that matters.  

I can't eat where I want to in my home.  I am not allowed to eat at my own table, even if I wanted to (though I don't, not here).  When we first moved in with her in 2020, she tried to recreate my home life by having everyone sit at the table every single night, and she'd have both her and I alternate making dinner.  Back then, she could still drive and would go grocery shopping, even though I had just bought groceries.  The funny part was that she'd go out and buy the same exact groceries I just bought.  She'd waste so much money that way.  Anyways, dinner had to be done by 6pm sharp every single night, and we'd all cram in together at the table, and the four of us (my kids, hubby, and I) would be having fun, talking and doing whatever.  My mother, on the other hand, was just observing.  If she saw your elbows on the table, she'd literally smack them off.  If she saw you weren't eating a certain food, she'd ask why.  If she saw you were eating quickly, she'd comment on fast you'd be eating.  If she saw you were eating slow, she'd ask why.  Every little thing you'd do or not do, she'd comment on it.  And it was getting out of control.

My entire life with her was like this.  She wonders why now, at 48, I have eating issues.  Just kidding, she doesn't wonder.  Not at all.  That would mean she actually cared LOL  And we all know that narcissist don't care about anything.  But if she did, I would tell her it's all her fault.  Growing up, I dealt with this nightly.  The 6pm mandatory dinner time.  If you're late, you're disrespectful and didn't get to eat anything at all if you didn't show up.  No saving food for later (though, when I think about it, I could have easily warmed up leftovers, as there were always leftovers).  No different meal made for you if you didn't like what was made.  And she always made food I didn't like.  Always.  As a teen with a job and a license, I learned to live on fast food, because I could never eat at home.  I didn't learn how to cook until I got married, so I couldn't go buy groceries to make my own dinners.  Granted, when I did do that as an adult, my mother would stand behind me and comment on how I made my food and berate me the entire time.  When we moved in here, she'd do the same to my son.  She tried it with me, but I kicked her ass out of the kitchen.  The constant "Why aren't you eating your potatoes?"  "Why are you blah blah blah?"  "Why are you mixing your food together?"  etc. etc.  She was relentless.  Every.  Single.  Night.  

As time went on in our current house, I eventually called her out on for smacking people's arms when they put their elbows on the table.  For one meal, we ALL put our elbows on the table and laughed the entire time.  My mother was not happy.  I looked right at her and said "You will never hit anyone's arms again.  Keep your hands to yourself."  And she listened.  Since moving in here, I feel like I am reparenting my mother, because nobody ever taught her how to act properly.  (I even said that to her once "Nobody raised you right, but that's okay, I am here, that's my job now".)  

But the nitpicking while we were eating with her, it got so bad that it unleashed an anxiety in me so that I couldn't eat at all anymore.  So, I eventually decided to eat in my room.  Which upset my kids, because they had to listen to my mother bitch about it.  So, one day, I got the balls to just say "Since you need to eat so early, I am going to feed you at 6 and we'll eat later."  And the rest was history.  At first, she was pissed.  And for a long time, almost a year, she complained about every meal I cooked for her (and I cooked her real meals).  She couldn't nitpick us, so instead, she nitpicked the food.  "You know what would be better?  If you added this or made it like that...."  Every single night.  So, I started saying "You're welcome" and marching out of the room.  So, eventually, I resorted to making her "quick meals".  I wasn't going to slave over a hot stove twice a night.  Not for an ungrateful child like her, but also it was just too much for me to handle.  And much of what I make my family, she can't eat as she has no teeth.  

So, I remembered something: growing up, my mother made us "quick meals".  Every single night.  She couldn't be bothered to actually cook for us (including herself), so she made fast and easy meals.  She didn't have a job for almost my entire childhood and she didn't actually do anything all day, other than gossip with neighbors or her mother.  But she still couldn't be bothered to cook us real meals (even though I requested them regularly).  So, I turned to those "quick meals" as a format to feed her.  And it's been working ever since.   Now, making dinner for her is very easy and non-stressful and she's learned to never complain.  I no longer feed her things she can complain about.  She can't insult my cooking if I didn't cook it, right?  And now, she will exaggerate how great my food is...deep down, I know it's meant as an insult, since when I do actually give her something I cooked, she doesn't compliment me.  But I don't care.  Though I put a stop to that too, I told her once "You don't have to thank me every single night, it's tiresome."  And so she stopped.  

Food was something my mother has always ruined, whether by cooking it, eating it, or making it, whether by her or someone else.  She is, and always was, a master of that.  But I finally put a stop to most of her complaints and nitpicking.  Thank freaking goodness.

But the damage has been done.  All those years of putting up with her, she has ruined mealtimes for me.  Most likely, for life.  Maybe one day, when I get some distance away from her, I can learn to enjoy mealtimes again.  But food itself has always been a very complicated thing for me due to her.  And I can't sit at a table without feeling sick.  Thanksgiving is coming up, and I am not looking forward to sitting at a table with her.  I think I may try something else.  I am not sure.  I just may take my food and eat it in my room.  I don't know what I'll do.  But it's only twice a year we eat with her now.  Thanksgiving and Christmas.  That's it.  Holidays were always horrible for me as a kid.  Again, due to my parents and being forced to sit at a table with tons of people.  But now it's just us.  Though my mother is enough all on her own to ruin things LOL  But hopefully it will just be chill and we can all just eat some delicious food.  *sigh*  

I can't wait to find more people to celebrate holidays with.  I am working on it.  Along with 100 other things, because my ADHD brain is always busy working on something.  But I know this is important to my family's evolution so I will be sure to make this a priority in the new year.  Building community was always my thing when I was younger, and I want it to be my thing again now in middle age.  It's time.  

I hope your Thanksgiving (or whatever holidays are coming up for you) are going to go well.  If not, don't stress yourself out.  Just do what you can and keep your sanity safe.  Until next time, my friend.  Good luck.  

I literally just had a yard sale on 11/6 and 11/7 and never told my mother about it.  My kids accidentally left a sign out on the table that had the dates and times, so she found out.  Rather than say one word to me about it, she called her BFF Christmas and said "Hey!  Shay is having a garage sale, you should come over!"  Christmas replied "I don't have any money."  My mother the said "Don't worry about it, you can come over and take what you like and then pay her later".  Actually, I don't know if she told her to pay later, or just told her take my items and Christmas may have added the part about paying me later.  

So, Christmas comes over and told me all this.  She said "Your mom made me swear not to call you first, just to come over.  What a weirdo!!"  I rolled my eyes and said "I know, she thinks she's got one up on me because I never told her about the sale and she found out by accident.  So she's playing a game."  Christmas laughed about that one.  But I wanted to ask her, but why did you come?  Why did you listen to her and not call me first?  I would have told her to come, of course.  I would never have said no, but it's always so strange that she listens to my mother's bullshit and yet makes fun of her behind her back for it. 

THEN my next door neighbor Jenny saw me out and came over, and didn't look at a damn thing.  She said on her way over "Whoah!  I know who to ask about borrowing some racks when I have my own sale!"  I just laughed, thinking "Are you fucking kidding me?"  Then she got up near me and repeated herself, I guess wanting me to confirm she's welcome to ask me for favors, which she is not.  So, I had to lie to her.  I said "Sorry, those are my mom's best friend's racks, she owns a flea market shop with her husband and I borrowed them."  She said "You'll have to ask her if I can borrow them sometime."  Yes, idiot, I will get right on that.  *hard eyeroll*  

God, I hate neighbors.  Not a single one came to my sale (not ones on my street) but the only one that did lived somewhere else in my neighborhood and stole some items from me.  A grown-ass woman.  And I live in a nice neighborhood.  People are awful.  That was my last garage sale ever.  Never again.  

I then listed a bunch of stuff from the sale on Marketplace and made more money with that than I did my sale.   From now on, that's what I am going to do.  No more yard sales, ever.  All that work for $7 LOL  AND fuck-tons of pain (my body revolted and went into hyperactive pain mode afterwards).  

Oh, also, I am not allowed to tell my mother that Christmas is going to pay me for the items she took from me (she didn't "take" them, she purchased them, just on credit LOL).  Which also tells me that my mother told her to just come take things.  When we used to have chickens, she would call C and tell her to come get free eggs.  I am like, bitch!  Who bought these chickens?  Who raised them from tiny babies?  Who buys their chicken feed?  Who feeds them every single day?  Who lets them out and back in again every single day?  Who protects their pen so they can't get out and animals can't get in?  NOT YOU!!!  Giving away MY things is not okay.  I charged at the time $5 per dozen....there are NO discounts for friends.  Especially not without asking me first!  You crazy old bat! LOL  Ugh!  

Christmas always showed up with an empty carton expecting free eggs, and I'd have to lie and say "Sorry we don't have enough to give away for free!"  Even though we had oodles of eggs.  And another thing, the things Christmas "bought" on credit at my sale?  Were items I paid for!!  Not her.  So, she can just stop with that bullshit.  

She did ask me later "Oh, how did your sale go?"  I just answered her like I knew that she knew.  Because I did know.  And I never mentioned Christmas coming over.  I hate playing games with her.  It's annoying.  But sometimes you just have to pretend like it's not happening to win.  

Sigh.  

But I know it won't be.  

Mother called shitty cousin yesterday.  The shitty cousin that started this entire blog.  The shitty cousin I owe everything in my life to.  She made a shitty choice to be a shitty person and ended up changing my life for the better.  Funny how that works out, eh?  

Karen.  Let's call her Karen.  Her real first name starts with a K as well, but she's more of a "Karen" personality.  Karen is a bully.  An ugly bully at that.  She's homely, yet thinks she's cute, and tries to pretend to be more than what she is.  She's a raging narcissist who controls every aspect of her husband's and children's lives.  Her oldest, from a different husband, was my little buddy when he was little.  I loved him so much.  I wish I had a pic of him.  Let me check to see if I do.  I do, but they are of him as an adult.  I do have some kid pics of him, but I don't have them scanned into my computer.  Anyways, he was a silly little kid who had type 1 diabetes and wanted to grow up to be a doctor to cure diabetes.  And he ended up being a pharmacist, because his mother made the choice for him.  I heard her bragging about it to her friend.  "Oh, we chose being a pharmacist over being a doctor because it was cheaper and less schooling.  I told him that was the only choice we'd pay for, so he chose it."  (insert rich person laughter here).   She's not rich, she just pretends she's something she's not.  Like usual. 

Anyways, she was a bully in high school, and probably all the years prior as well.  She was never nice to me.  When we were kids, I was sleeping over and she has a FIT that I wet the bed (I remember this) and her sister, let's call her Taren, since her name starts with a T and she's a version of her sister no, was so nice to me about it and helped me change my clothes and change the sheets.  I wasn't a bedwetter.  So why this happened the one time in my life at their house...one can only imagine.  I will say their father?  Was a gigantic fucking asshole (I even wrote a song about him on my YouTube page) who liked to hurt people and do bad things to kids...like take their worst fears and phobias and shove them in their faces.  So, did he do something else?  I don't know.  He was super touchy feely with children and when he got dementia, he tried to feel me up and told me not to tell my husband (wtf?).  So maybe.  But all Karen cared about was that I was her shitty little cousin who was a nuisance and I wet the bed.  

When I called her out for abandoning me in my home with my abusive alcoholic father and never telling anyone to come and save me, all she did was whine about her own life and how she couldn't help me because she was too busy with her own life.  Yet, why was she the one who, when she lived with us as a young adult, told me when I was a kid that my dad was an alcoholic?  I had knew what one was, but I never realized my dad was one.  She could have called CPS on my dad for what he did while she was there, but nope.  She did nothing.  But leave me behind to rot.  My entire family did.  My aunts, my uncles, my grandparents.  Everyone.  Not even my parents' friends or our neighbors or the parents of my friends, ALL PEOPLE WHO WITNESSED the abuse that went on in my home, they all did nothing.  Like, not a damn thing.  So, I called them all out on it in a blog post on a private blog.  And my cousin's shitty daughter got ahold of it (she is just as bad as her mother) and showed it to her mother, who then went to my mother's house and showed her the blog.  That blog had hundreds of hits on it.  From my cousin, her sister, my mother, and my aunt.  And probably my other cousins too.  

Anyways, you already know all this if you've read those past posts from way back when.  

So, my mom calls her (I thought she called, but I checked our phone, my mom called her) and she spills all the tea about her children's mental health struggles (which is NOBODY'S BUSINESS but her children's) and then proceeds to say "I drive by there all the time and was thinking about stopping by but I don't know if I should."  My mom then proceeds to tell her not to unless she calls first, because we have "too much stuff"...which is weird, because our kitchen is very empty, but whatever.  So basically my mom was telling me this, and asking "Can she come over and play?"  

I normally don't say shit to her about anything.  But I looked her straight in the eye and said "That woman is not allowed anywhere near my house.  Absolutely not."  She asked "why?"  She knows damn well why.  Though I explained it all over again to her.  Not nicely.  I told her most of it was HER fault, that she was the one who started all this shit by lying about me and my childhood.  About how she did all these terrible things.  And she didn't even bat an eye and said "So why did you move in with me here then?"  No apology.  Nothing.  Then she started talking about her brother and ignoring me and slapping a smile on her face.  She also kept saying over and over again that she didn't remember, YET she remembered everything else that happened at that time.   She also knew 100% to tell her not to come over without calling first.  If she had "forgotten" like she said she did, she would have said "Sure, let me ask Shay when would be a good time for you to visit" or "Here is my address!  Come over any time you like!"  

So we all know she's lying about how much she forgot, especially since if I bring up something else that someone else said or did during the same incident, she totally remembers.  Weird, right?  She can remember everything in her past EXCEPT what she did wrong to me.  

At one point she said "Boy, I can't remember anything."  I said "I sure wish I could forget these things.  But I'll never forget.  I have to live with them forever."  She then changed the subject and pretended like we weren't just having an intense discussion about her shitty past.  

Sigh.  

Well, I know it does no good, but I can't let her keep getting away with pushing me to let my cousin come visit.  And it felt good to remind her that I will never forget all the shit she's done.  And I never will.  

Long, long, after she's gone, I may be able to let it all go.  But for now, I have to live with it.  And move through it like it's a cramped attic filled with dusty memories.  Sometimes I bump into little things.  Sometimes I knock a whole stack over (like this moment).  But mostly, I walk through it with ease, because I know the paths I've carved like the back of my hand.  It's just days like this the mess gets to me and I have to address it.  So I go through the boxes and put them back onto their pile, hoping they won't avalanche down again anytime soon. 

Growing up, my mother didn't allow me to choose anything.  If it was my turn, my item, she would stand over me and choose for me.  Playing Yahtzee, she would choose all my turns for me and what to do with my dice.  We played it regularly, most likely because I had a hard time with math.  Aww, right?  You'd think that would bring to mind the idea that when your daughter has a learning disability, you turn what they have hard time with into a game and work on it with her, right?  Not my mom.  She saw my weakness and decided to use it as a way to make her VERY limited knowledge of math look like she was a genius.  Plus, she didn't just get to lord her her second grade math knowledge (I am for real, her knowledge stops at that age, because third grade you learned multiplication and she didn't know that, much less spell it), she got to shame me for my learning disability at the same time, which made her feel good. 

She tried doing it again when we moved in here five years ago, and I put a stop to it immediately.  But then I made this huge sign that looked beautiful for once (I make pretty shitty signs) that said "meals and memories made here" for the kitchen.  And she grabbed it from me and immediately tried to decide where it would look good in the kitchen, rather than let me decide, the person who made it.  It's been five years it's been sitting in my garage and now I am going to sell it because I can't even bring myself to want to put it up because it makes me angry AF to look at it.  It's just a reminder of all the choices that were stolen from me by her.  She chose to cut my oldest son's hair for the first time.  She chose how my birthday parties would go and who I would invite (one time, in sixth grade, she chose to invite my entire girl half of my class for a sleepover, even girls I HATED...she also chose for my sixteenth we'd do absolutely nothing).  She even chose how my entire wedding was going to go to my ex-husband.  Anything in my life that was important, or even minor, she chose for me.  

When we moved in here, she told me "I get to decorate the entire house, even outside.  You get your bedroom.  When I die, you can do what you like with it all."  I was going to get no choices once again.  It's funny, I am the only child.  She has a brother and a sister.  Yet, I know how to share.  She doesn't.  Because with her, it's all or nothing.  And so when she went into rehab back in 2021 (less than a year after moving in) after surgery, I decided "Well, if it's all or nothing, it's either me or her.  And I can't do this, I need to take my power back".  And so I did.  I redecorated the entire house and put everything that was hers in her room, including the cat tower that was taking up all the space in the living room.  I moved the cat litter to her bedroom as well, as the cats were no longer allowed in the basement (I had all sorts of things I had made for my store that her cat went downstairs and pissed on).  I also went through all her stuff in the basement that she's been holding onto for years that she never touched and donated it (my stuff too).  I took her old wedding dress (which was my old wedding dress too....remember when I said she made all the choices for my first wedding?...well, she forced me to wear her old wedding dress rather than let met buy my a new one) and my grandmother's wedding dress, both preserved in boxes for no reason.  And my shitty narcissistic cousin at one point asked my mother to have my grandmother's wedding dress.  And that wasn't going to happen on my watch, so I donated them both.  My cousin is the reason I started this blog...she's the catalyst for all of this, so yeah, no, my cousin hated my grandma and her child who she wanted the dress for didn't even know my grandma.  So yeah, no.  Let strangers have them both.  

When she got home, it took her YEARS to get over it.  Only dementia stole her memories of what happened and now she acts like this the way it's always been.  Or she just accepted it and moved on.  Who knows.  I hated having to choose me over her...not that I wanted to choose her, I just wanted a mother who could share with me.  Who would allow me to be my own person.  I am drowning in my own bullshit because of making that choice because I have hard time keeping things organized.  My mother used to call me  "packrat".  Which I find horribly derogatory.  But that was what she called me.  I just have horrible executive dysfunction due to my ADHD/ASD and I get overwhelmed and everything turns to shit.  My mother is better at keeping things straight.  We'd make a great team, if only she knew how to work on a team.  I think most of her jobs she lost due to the fact she had to be the boss or nothing.  Just like at home.  

And now I get to make all the decisions again.  Well, not all.  I let my kids and hubby make decisions, too, but mostly it's me.  And I am bad at it.  But what I can do?  It was either me or her and I had to choose me, because my entire life I was drowning a sea of her.  And here I am 48, trying to find out to be an adult because I was never allowed to be one before.  Funny, neither was she, but she pretended to be one.  She was and is just a five-year-old kid in an seventy-eight year old body pretending to be her age.  Maybe her mom didn't allow her to be an adult either?  I would have to say that's most likely the answer.  My grandmother hardly ever visited our house growing up, we had to go see her.  When I grew up, my mother hardly ever visited our houses, we had to go see her.  And my mother wanted keys to my house so she could come and go as she liked, which I didn't give her.  But visiting? Never.  She only came over to tell me what to do with my own house.  Which I am sure my grandmother did to her.  But unlike my mother and her mother before her and so on, I eventually became wiser.  Maybe they didn't have the ability to?  I do know it takes a certain level of IQ and EQ to do so.  My grandmother had zero EQ, but had a high IQ and my mother has a certain level of EQ....though in a warped way, but a very low IQ.  I have both intelligence (130), and a very high EQ (almost too high, it's called "hyper empathy").  So I have the skills to be able to break generational curses. Plus, I don't have their DNA, though I do have my own dumbass DNA I inherited from narcissists and assholes and weirdos, so in a way, my DNA doesn't really matter.  I was just born lucky, with the abilities they didn't and don't have.  

So I get it.  They can't help but be narcissists.  They can't help that they don't know how to love.  That they don't see us any different from a stranger.  Though since they know us so well, we are different, but not in the ways it counts...we're just easier to manipulate and they feel more comfortable with us.  And if they feel comfortable, that means they will use us to get what they want in life.  But they don't see us any different than a stranger when we do something wrong.  They will just drop us like a hot potato, because what we mean to them is no different than a stranger.  And they can't help that.  I just wish that we, the non-narcissists, didn't have to be subjected to their abuse and bullshit.  I wish there was a narcissist gene that they could see and test for and if they test positive, they can't adopt or keep their babies.  I know that sounds insane, but because we don't do that, is why we're all so fucked up as humans.  Narcissism is everywhere.  And will always be everywhere.  

We live in a world without choices because all those choices are being made by narcissists.  I want to start a non-narcissist community, to give the choices back to people who deserve to have control over their own lives.  

I got my choices back.  It's not easy to live without a mother's input or help.  But if we want control over our own lives, that's what we have to give up.  I just wish it didn't have to be this way.  Life isn't fair.  But why do we have to learn that lesson from our own parents? 

She's been annoying ever since her meds have changed back to normal.  Why did her doctor even lower them to begin with?  He met her for the first time and said "How are you feeling?  Good?  Then we'll just lower these meds right here..." without even asking her if she wanted to.  And when we went back and I said she needed her meds back up to normal, he said "Why did I lower them to begin with?"  I was like "Your answer is a good as mine.  I have no idea.  They were working and you just decided to do it."  This doctor is soooooo weird.  He can't remember anything and never writes anything down.  And he agreed with me that AI is great for diagnosing.  I was like...I sure hope you're not using it in your practice, or, if so, please be checking the sources LOL  I didn't say that, but uh yeah.  

Anyways, she's been annoying, getting angry a couple times, which is now unheard of for her.  It's nice she's so quiet about stuff.  But the other day she had a doctor's appointment with the same doctor...we JUST went to see him less than a month ago, so I cancelled the appointment.  Not only that, there was no way we'd get to his office by the time we'd drop my hubby off to work, so yeah.  She had a fucking meltdown.  Why?  We JUST saw him.  She was like "THIS IS THE APPOINTMENT WHERE THEY CHECK MY A1C!!!!"  She gives ZERO shits about her health.  ZERO.  She's just making up a reason to be angry.  I said "Ma, you don't need a doctor's appointment to check your A1C, they can just order that."  That seemed to calm her, but god, why does she get so pissy when she feels good?  She's also been pissy lately about her medicine, screaming "AM I GOING TO GET MY MEDS TODAY???"  from the dinner table.  I said "They're right there."  She screamed "WHERE?!"  I said "Look behind you."  "Oh, you left them up there!"  I replied "Ma, that's where I always put them, every single week."  I am not prepared for this level of her dementia, if that's what's happening.  She's either reverting, because she feels good, or her dementia is getting worse.  Last night she did the same thing, asked me for her meds.  I said "Don't you have any??"  "No!"  I said "Well, every week, you take out the night meds and leave me your med container and I refill them in the evening and and put them out for the morning.  Why did you give them to me today, and not yesterday?"  "Because there were meds in them!"  I said "But that's what we do every single week."  She ignored me and said "Am I going to get my meds tonight??"  I then explained how she needs to give them to me the day before again, and ignored her question.  I have no idea if she understood me or not, but I gathered her pills together and had my husband give her her nightly meds, and she said "Oh, this isn't necessary, you didn't have to do this right now."  Good grief, I wanted to scream.  

But this shit bores me.  Her behavior getting bad when she feels good.  I am tired of it.  Who the fuck on earth acts like an asshole when they feel well, but acts sweet as pie when she feels horrible???  That's so weird.  I swear, this woman is a backwards alien and makes no sense.  I want a life where I can talk about the good stuff and the amazing stuff.  Granted, good and amazing things have been happening, too, but I just need to make my life be more of that instead of this.  Because this shit is getting old and I am just so bored of people treating me like shit.  

I just want a break.  When my mother feels bad and acts good?  My son's BPD acts up and he acts bad.  When he feels better and acts good, my mother feels better and acts bad.  I AM SO TIRED.  I need a fucking break.  My hubby is off work this week, so we can go places to relax a bit.  Our anniversary is in a week, so maybe we can do something fun.