Taking care of your aging parent is hard.  Like, really, really hard.  I know, as my parents and myself took care of my grandparents back in the 90's.  But then you add in them being a narcissist, and that makes it 100x harder (at least until dementia takes away their memories--though for some, it makes it 100x more harder).  Then you add chronic pain and/or other physical or mental illnesses of the caregiver, and it's a recipe for insanity.  

I'm not trying to say my life is harder than anyone else's or that I'm some sort of victim here.  We're all victims of our parents narcissistic abuse (and eventually we'll all be survivors).  So I'm not trying to say "oh poor me" here.  What I'm trying to say is that if you have chronic pain or anything else that makes your life difficult and are taking care of your aging narcissistic parent on top of that?  I feel you.  

I can go through maybe a month with no pain, tops.  No migraines.  No pain that's bad enough that I can't walk properly or want to curl into a ball and sleep for days on end.  About thirty days.  Then other months, I get slight pain, on and off.  Some days are worse than others, but mostly I can be functional.  I can cook dinner every day.  I can go shopping.  But then there's months like this month.  Where any amount of stress I put on my body will send me into days long exhaustion and excruciating pain that seeps into my joints and muscles that turn into migraines that never end.  These months are the months where I need my husband and kids to pitch in making dinner each night.  And they do.  My family is helpful and kind and understanding, even though I feel like a lump of farts and feel massive amounts of guilt for not being able to participate in regular life.  

But mostly, these months, I feel stressed beyond belief.  Because here is how my mother works: 

If I take charge, she backs off and acts sort of nice.  She doesn't give me as much grief, and when she does, it rolls off my back, because I am mentally equipped to handle her shenanigans.  

When I am weak and need to be taken care of, she takes full advantage of the situation and either acts out with trying to control people, yells at people, or manipulates situations to get what she wants, even if what she wants is just a fleeting idea or want.  

Before I got fibromyalgia, I suffered from severe anxiety, which would lead to depressive episodes.  I still have both of these on top of the fibro now, but before, when it was only the severe anxiety, my mother did everything she could to shame me, manipulate me, hurt me, and make everything worse on purpose.  My mother loves to see me hurting because it makes her feel good.  It's not just me though, anyone she's angry at, she loves to see them in pain.  Once, she tried to best friend in prison, just because her best friend didn't take her out to dinner when she said she would.  I am not even kidding here.  The moment she's pissed, is the moment you mean literally nothing to do her, and seeing you hurt is the only thing she cares about.  

My anxiety got so severe many years ago that I got to the point where I didn't get behind the wheel of a car for over three years.  So my mother would take me grocery shopping a couple times a month and force me to go, even on days I was not mentally well enough to do so.  Not only that, I was getting the beginnings of fibro at the time and didn't realize that her marathon shopping trips were making my pain so very much worse.  And if I ever cancelled due to having a migraine, or for whatever reason?  I would be punished and she would refuse to take me again until the next month.  And not to mention, she's be so very, very angry with me. 

At that time, my mother also controlled us with money at the time.  We were flounderingly poor.  My ex had just given up his parental rights, which included his child support payments.  Due to my issues, I've never been able to work (and was always told that I didn't quality for disability...though now after talking to the social security office, that may not have been true).  And our kids were young at the time.  So we were floundering, just trying to keep our heads above water.  And my mother knew this, so she took me each month to the grocery store.  And here's the kicker: it was always under the guise that she'd pay for my groceries, but she always made me ask her to do it.  It was a way to humiliate me.  To make me beg for it.  Because every once in awhile, I'd fill up my cart with the food my family needed, and I'd walk up to get in line and she'd say "Oh, I hope you have money, because I don't have enough to cover any of yours."  She knew damn well I had no money.  Our house payment was one of our twice monthly checks and she knew what date we'd pay our mortgage on and she'd pick that week to take me.  But she wanted me to know that she was in charge if my family had enough food that month.  She wanted to remind me she was in charge.  So I'd say "Oh, excuse me, I forgot something", and I'd go and hide until she was done, and leave my cart in the aisle and head out to her car, stating I left my debit card at home.  She knew I was lying.  But she'd just smugly sit there and knew she'd won.  

So my anxiety didn't get any better during this time. Eventually it did, but not for a long, long time.  And not because of one ounce of help she gave me.  Buying me groceries was not a way for her to help my family when we were in need.  It was a way she could exploit our hour of need and control me (and subsequently, my kids and husband, too).  She made my anxiety so much worse for my entire life, and knew she was doing it then, too.  

She regularly shamed me in front of others for having panic attacks.  This happened up until the middle 2000's, when she still had most of her faculties about her.  The only reason she's stopped is because she has dementia.  Though as time goes on, she may revert back to it, as her mind goes.  

So now, I have my anxiety (which meds don't work for), on and off depression, fibromyalgia, and migraines, all the while trying to deal with the stress of a 70 year old obstinate child who doesn't like the rules and tries to break them any chance she gets.  Not to mention that when I have a flare-up, she thinks she's in charge again and thinks she can do whatever she likes.  She thinks she can do things her doctors tell her she can't do and she thinks she can tell everyone else what to do, too.  She has bouts of rage, that can switch on and off like a light, and I have to listen to her doing this to my kids (I say kids, but it's only my oldest son she does it to).  It's like short bursts of screaming, then coupled with "joking around" as though she didn't mean it.  She doesn't do these things when I am not sick.  So I know she can control it.  It's a horrible yo-yo effect that narcs do to us to freak us out, and then make us feel like our fear is us overreacting.  Like "Oh, I was just kidding! God, don't be so silly about it!"  

When I can't cook, she will guilt me.  She will walk around and sigh and drag her feet and say in an exasperated way "I'm too tired to eat" or "I can't wait all night!".  It will be around 3:30 pm when she'll say this.  Sometimes she'll make her own food.  Sometimes my kids make dinner.  And other times, when she wants me to feel super guilty, she will grab an Ensure and say "I'll just have this, I guess."  So what I did do?  I prepacked a whole load of meals for her, her favorite garlic chicken, mashed potatoes and veggies, and froze them in single serving meals for her to microwave and what did she do?  She refused to eat them.  And when I warmed her up one the other day, she wrinkled her nose and said "Oh, I guess I'm eating that tonight."  Then she had go to the store and buy her prepacked meals, pretty much the same way I made hers.  So I gave all the ones I made to my husband for work.  And he loves them, so it worked out.  Except for the fact she still wants me to go buy her the bags of garlic chicken, even though she refused to eat them when I made them.  

Know why? Because I'm not eating with her.  It's a punishment.  Everything that's my idea is stupid.  Everything that's my choice is dumb.  Everything I do is wrong.  She used to complain about my dinners I'd make until I told her she didn't have to eat them.  And ever since, she overdoes the praise after every single dinner.  It's not real praise, not always, and it always makes me feel uncomfortable.  

I'm lucky to be able to cook most nights.  I'm lucky my pain issues don't stop me from cooking all together.   My mother cannot cook much anymore.  She forgets ingredients, and can't taste or smell anything.  So it's all on me, which I'm fine with.  My kids are amazing cooks, so I trust them when I can't do it.  But unless I'm cooking, my mother has to complain about where I am, or why I'm not cooking.  It's tedious.  

And when you mix narcissism and dementia, you can't tell which is which most days, so you don't know whether to be annoyed or just ignore it.  I know what the answer is: just ignore it, because it doesn't matter if it's dementia or narcissism.  Both don't matter when you're a caretaker, because they are not the one in charge anymore, you are.  But since they are your parent, it's hard to not take what they do or say personally, because no matter just how much you distance yourself from your childhood, it's still there and your parent is never going to admit to it or apologize.  No matter how much we want to detach from all of that, it's still there, lurking and waiting to resurface every single time they make a mean comment, a snide remark, or go behind your back and talk shit about you (though good thing that part of her life has stopped, as she knows better than to attack the person who makes her life easy).  

I feel like I can't heal my body's aches and pains because I'm too busy either dealing with her craziness or tending to her fragile ego (and her actual needs, because that part is my job, something I agreed to do a year ago).  And while you may say "Why did you agree with it, when you knew all this was possible?".  Again, it's symbiotic.  Mutually beneficial.  We both could not afford living on our own back then, and we were both scared our landlord was going to die and we'd be out on our asses from our home (I lived upstairs, she lived downstairs).  I did know what I was getting into when I chose this life.  I didn't think it would be this hard at times, though.  But deep down, I knew it was not going to be easy.  It's definitely WAY more easy than it was when we first moved in.  Her dementia has worsened since then.  But it's still hard on days like these, when my pain overcomes everything else, and all I can do is just rest.  I wish I didn't feel guilty.  I have no reason to feel guilty.  But I do.  And that stresses me out.  But I still just rest, even if it makes her annoyed or angry.   

When I went no contact the last time,  I was going through a flare-up.  And she was stressing me out so badly that my anxiety was getting severely out of control.  So I just gave up and said that's it, I was done.  I had to choose my own mental health over her inability to get what she wanted over me.  I just couldn't stand up to her back then.  I couldn't deal with it.  So I went no contact.  I can't choose that now, so I've had to learn to stick up for myself and not let her run over me or my family.  It's not easy and not fun, but I do it.  

Eventually she'll have to be put in a home, once her dementia progresses beyond the scope of our care.  My goal is to learn how to deal with her behavior before that point.  I want to learn how to be calm and serene in the face of her childishness and lies (she loves to lie to me every single day to make points that everyone knows aren't true, but she wants to pretend she's right...it's tedious).  I want to learn to stand up to her without getting annoyed.  I want to learn to be able to tell her no without getting a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach, for fear of her reaction.  I want to be able to wake up happy and not care what her mood is that day.  I want to find a way to fit my life into the time I have on this earth, whether it be one day or a sixty years, rather than trying to hide it for fear of what she'll say to me.  I eat in my room because if I eat in the kitchen or she sees me making food, she makes comments about me eating, as though eating during the day is shameful (she treated her stepdaughters the same way back in the day when they lived with her).  I hate her comments, so I hide from her while I eat.  It's ridiculous.  Instead, I need to make my food and tell her to be quiet if she says anything to me and stop caring what she thinks.  

I can't live like a prisoner in my own home.  I just can't.  If you read my last post, you'll see what is lighting a fire under my ass to change how I've lived my life since moving in here.  I can't be afraid to open my mouth.  I can't help I have anxiety.  I was born with it (and it was made a billion times worse because of my parents' abuse).  I can't help I have chronic pain.  If I could choose to feel great every single day, I certainly would.  I would love to be normal.  I would love to feel good most days.  I have no idea what that would even look like.  But I would love it.  So I can't let her make me feel bad for things I cannot help.  And I can't let her make me feel bad for normal things like eating breakfast or lunch.  I just have to stop letting her make me feel bad, period.  It's insanity.  On my part.  

See, you can't blame a dog for licking his own ass in front of company.  That's what dogs do.  If I let that dog in to hang out with company, I have to know there will be a chance of him whipping out his butthole in front of everyone and him taking a stab at it.  There's a good chance it will happen.  So do I yell at the dog?  Or do I just choose to ignore it or maybe not let the dog in with company to begin with?  I mean, I am a dog lover and if you come to my house, know that my dog will be there, and most likely tonguing his butthole at some point.  And I will not care.  But my point is, I knew my mother was going to be difficult.  She can't help it.  I mean, I do hold her responsible for her actions, of course.  But I can't change her.  I can only change my reactions to her.  And I can change how I let her actions make me feel. I've said it a hundred times, I know, but detaching is the only way to do this.  

I've been studying Buddhism for years, and one practice is called non-attachment.  Regain.us says that non-attachment is "In simple terms, non-attachment is the ability to detach yourself from things that control or affect you in a way that's maladaptive to your wellbeing. You don't have to engage in a spiritual practice to utilize non-attachment or to benefit from it." 

You don't have to be angry to detach.  You just have to be able to let go of the outcome of a certain situation and not internalize that outcome.  Meaning to realize that the person or their behavior or thoughts really have nothing to do with you at all, it has to do with what's inside of them.  You are just scapegoat for those feelings.  It may feel directed at you, but you don't have to internalize it.  

If I could just remember this on a daily basis, I could deal with my own issues without having to place emphasis on how my mother's going to react to how I choose to deal with my issues.  It's all about the planning in advance, right?  Plan for when I can't make dinner.  Plan for all of it.  That way, when it happens, there's a plan in place, and even if she reacts badly to my plan, who cares?  Stick to the plan, no anxiety or stress.  

Uggh, I've been rambling.  But it's because I'm trying to work out how to work this all out as I write.  

Anyways, I need more tylenol.  So I should go take some and get myself some dinner. 

I hope if you're dealing with the same stuff that you're providing yourself with a lot of self care and keeping yourself safe this holiday season.  And just know, I feel you.  

Happy Holidays fellow ACoNS 💗🎄🎅🤶🦌  And keep on keepin' on. 

Okay, I'm going to tell you right now, I did not really like this woman back in the day.  I look at old pics of us together and I cringe at remembering how much grief she gave me.  I kinda sorta hated this woman at times.  And other times, she was okay, and we made sort of good friends.  It was a push and pull that always confused me.  Here's how we met: 

Have you heard of MOMS Club?  It's an international support group for stay at home mothers.  I started my local chapter and this girl showed up the first day, pissed, because I started it first.  I literally beat her to it by a couple of days.  Oops.  Anyways, she always thought the group was hers and poo-pooed everything I did and even went out of her way to join mini-groups I made just to shit on my ideas (like Recipe Club, or the Party Planning Committee--yes, this was literally "The Office"--she was an actual Angela).  I was (and still am) proud of what I did what that group.  It went from just me, to about thirty-five members, with all sorts of activities and fun for stay at home moms and their kids.  Like Lunch Bunch, Get Up and Move! Hour (something I invented for the preschoolers to come to each week at the library to dance and have fun), Scrapbook Club, Book Club, etc.  Many of those groups were run by our dedicated members and were a blast.  I was the president, but in the beginning, I was everything (the membership VP, administrative VP, treasurer, and secretary).  But we formed an executive board and eventually the other members took up the other positions, with this girl being the secretary.

Her son was between the ages of my kids.  And he was violent.  Like, very violent.  He would attack my oldest son and once, I had to bring him to the doctor to get him checked out after an incident at our Get Up and Move! Hour.  She was talked to, and she promised to keep him under control, which did work mostly.  But it didn't change her attitude.  I was late to a meeting once, and she said to me that I was being disrespectful by being late and that she thought that if someone didn't value her time, that it was a direct insult to her.  I told her to stop taking my actions that have nothing to do with her personally, because, duh, that's just silly.  But I was never late again after that.  In fact, I was early and was always the first to show up to every single meeting (there were several a month).  Why?  Because I was pissed she made me look like a jerk for being late (I have two kids on the spectrum--though even if they weren't, parents of small kids are allowed to be late--so sometimes getting places on time was harder) and I wanted her to eat her words for that.  

She was BFF's with my Membership VP, who was another horrible woman (she literally slut shamed me at our Christmas party after I shared a funny story, something everyone was talking about, but she didn't think it was appropriate I joined in as our President LMAO...like we weren't just a bunch of moms creating something to do for ourselves haha).  They'd team up together and spread rumors about me to the other women, which got me "uninvited" to a birthday party of one of my closest friend sin the group.  It was getting catty and sick and eventually made me mentally unable to handle my job with them anymore.  I was going nuts trying to be "perfect" for these woman who only judged each other and gossiped every second of the day, which made my anxiety spin out of control.  I started having panic attacks so much that I just said one day "That's it, I'm done!" and never went back to the group.  After the year and a half I worked my ass to make it what it was, I just had to walk away (which was the best choice I ever made back then LOL).  

But the woman in question showed up to every single event and just told me everything I was doing was stupid.  She wanted me to do things her way or not at all.  She hated the group thrived under my presidency so she kept telling me "You don't even get paid for this.  Why do you even do this kind of work??"  As though me stepping down would give her the ability to run the group.  I met her mother once, who was a huge narcissist (though I had no idea what that was at the time), so I know where she got her behavior from.  

But then at other times, she was so freaking nice to me.  She confided in me and stood up for me.  I think maybe I was just blinded and had no idea what narcissism really looked like, so I didn't realize she was playing me the whole time, just so I'd let my guard down so she could swoop in and try to take over.  After I left MOMS Club, her and I kept a cordial (yet very distant) relationship (I don't know why) for many years. 

But I looked her up today, as I do every few years and I found her website missing.  She has the same name as a famous singer and the singer wanted to buy her website from her and she refused.  So I always checked to see if she sold it, and usually I'd message her to see what she's been up to.  And today, it was gone.  The famous singer doesn't even have it.  It just...evaporated.  As if it never existed.  And then I googled her and found out she passed away four years ago.  

And it shook me.  She's barely older than me.  And one day she found out she had leukemia and fifteen months later she died.  She left behind her son and her shitty abusive husband that she was still married to when she died.  She spent her adult life getting an "allowance" from her husband each month, and if she spent that money, she didn't get more.  Once, her car broke down, and he refused to pay for it since she didn't have enough "allowance" so her and her son were stuck at home for a month.  He also physically abused her at times, which could be where her son got his violent streak from.  Also, she wanted her son to have more discipline, but her husband refused to give a crap and let their son do whatever he liked.  So without more consistent parenting, he got more and more out of control.  This made her angry and sad.  Back then, I saw her as a woman who's life was out of control at home, so she came to MOMS Club and took out all her frustration on us (namely, me).  I am not sure if this was exactly the case, but it seemed that way at the time.  

Eventually, she moved by her parents and worked for their business so she could have her own money.  But I know what it's like to be desperate and have to move home, only to have your narc parents take over your life.  So she moved from one controlling asshole, to yet another.  Though now, she had her own money and no longer had to depend on someone giving her an "allowance" if her car broke down.  

At first, I hated her.  But as I got older, I felt sorry for her (even though she was an asshole).  She loved her son.  So very, very much.  That was one thing her and I had in common.  We were both mothers who fiercely loved their children.  She didn't seem to be toxic to him (though I have no idea what went on behind closed doors).  But she did suffer.  Greatly.  And then she got leukemia out nowhere.  And bam.  Gone.  

Just like my dad.  He got his diagnosis (a different kind of cancer) and within five weeks, BAM.  Gone.  

So I guess what I am trying to say here is that life is too damn short to let toxic assholes muck up your life.  We never know when our numbers are up.  So why do we punish ourselves by living someone's dream of who we are or what our lives should look like?  Fuck that.  Stop caring what they'll say.  What they think.  Or how they'll react.  They do not deserve our worry or our fears.   My old friend left one and went back home to another, and NEVER LEFT!  She stayed working for them AND stayed married to that jerk until the day she died.  Life is too precious to spend it feeling obligated to people who would throw us under a bus if need be.  

Let me ask you something...are you spending the holidays with your asshole family this year?  If so, why?   Don't be afraid to tell them no.  Don't be afraid to say that your health is worth more than your family getting together to celebrate a holiday.  Just say no.  And leave it at that.  I know it's hard.  But you have to put your foot down.  If you can't, have someone else do it for you.  We all have to stop giving into narcissists just to make them happy.  

Let 2021 be the year you start making YOU happy.  Not them.  

My old friend died being surrounded by those who only wanted to use and control her.  Had she left and made her own way in life, away from those jerks?  She'd have died being free.  She had have enjoyed the time she had left on this earth.  I'm not sure my father could have made any choices for himself to make him happy, other than getting a time machine and a good therapist.  But T could have.  Maybe she wasn't the nicest person.  But maybe she would have been nicer had she been happier?  Who knows.  

The only person I can make decisions for is me.  So lately, I've been standing up to the narcissist in my life without caring if she gets pissed or not.  Because my job is to keep her safe and if she's not going to listen to me (like taking walks when she's already broken 2 bones this year by doing so), I will start taking away her ability to do these things.  If she won't stop getting the mail without her walker?  I will get a locking mailbox (which I'm doing anyways).  Things like that.  I've always been afraid of standing up to her.  But lately, I've been realizing something my therapist has been telling me: this is my life, god dammit.  And I'm not taking a back seat anymore.  And today, after finding out my old MOMS Club cohort died so young, I realize that more than ever, it's so freaking important to not give someone else the keys to my life.  I mean, why would I give the keys to a senile old woman who meows at my door for five minutes while I'm on the phone (which happened the other day, btw)?  

And why give the keys to someone who only wants to control you and hurt you?  We are the drivers in our lives.  Not anyone else.  And certainly not them.  So this holiday season, start by putting your boundaries down.  And the moment you question yourself, to ask if you're doing the right thing?  Remember my friend.  I don't want the end of my life to come while I'm still wrapped up in the lives of those who get off on hurting me.  Do you?  

But it's okay if you can't right now.  Just keep this idea in your back pocket for when you can.  💗💗

(By the way, her death song is "Fast Car", the Black Pumas version...every time someone I know dies, a song will present itself to me and it will apply to their lives so well, it's almost as if the song was written just for them, and it becomes their death song.  T needed a fast car.  She needed to get the hell out of dodge, but never did.  I am sure at one point her life she was happy.  But then life happened and took a turn down a road she didn't want to be and she stayed miserable because of it.  I like to imagine her riding in a fast car, getting the hell away from all the pain of her life.  My grandmother's song is "Calling All You Angels" by Train, my ex's dad's song is "Already Gone" by Kelly Clarkson.  My friend from our anxiety support group who lost her life to depression's song is "Brave" by Sara Bareilles.  She stayed as brave as she could for as long as she could, until she just couldn't anymore.  A lady in Australia, a blogger I used to read, her son died by his father's hand and his song is "If I Die Young" by The Band Perry.  And my father's song is "Faithfully" by Journey.)

So apparently I'm a failure.  I know this is inferred by me, to take her actions and imply my own meaning behind it.  But I'm pretty sure I know my mother well by now and I know what she's thinking when she does particular things.  And then there's the fact that she's called me that before to my family members.  "I don't know why Shay has never done anything with her life" she said once at the family reunion right after The Great Awakening (which is what I call the time when I found out she's a narcissist and started this blog in 2013).  She said it because she was angry that I had told the world that I grew up in an abusive home.  She told my family I never accomplished anything in my life, then went home and told her BFF this, knowing damn well that BFF was going to tell me.  And not to mention every action she takes is to tell me "you're not good enough" or "you're a failure".  And yesterday was no different.  

So yesterday my kids said to me "Hey mom, wanna go shoot the air gun at some cans?"  Let me tell you guys, we are pandemic bored.  Now shooting is something my kids do regularly for fun (they're adults, don't forget), but usually I just watch.  But I thought this sounded like fun, as the air gun has no recoil and isn't very loud.  But as I walked into the kitchen, I saw the second bathroom's door open with the light on and I said to the kids "Dammit, why is the bathroom door open?"  and I reached in to shut the light off to find my mother on her hands and knees cleaning the floor with spray cleaner.  And it smelled awful.  

Now, here's the thing: my mother has her own bathroom.  I told her more than once to leave the second bathroom alone, that cleaning it and anything that needs to be done in it is my job.  This is because she's gone into that bathroom too many times to count and rearranged shit, removed items, put items in there, and whatnot, and I have to keep telling her to keep out.  I say "You have your own bathroom to decorate and mess with and clean, leave my bathroom alone."  But the biggest reasons is that I am allergic to fragrance (as well as cigarette smoke, bleach, and ammonia).  She doesn't give two shits and keeps on buying cleaners and using them in places that make me sick.  Not to mention her bedroom smells like kitty litter mixed with a horrible perfumed air freshener (she has both in her room, which is why it stinks like that).  She also smokes like a chimney and thinks lysol is needed to clean everything.  I AM BOMBARDED WITH HORRIBLE SMELLS ALL DAY LONG because of her.  It's horrible.  

And there she is, spraying freaking Windex on my bathroom floor (which has ammonia in it, something I'm very sensitive to).  And hot damn, if didn't smell awful in that room.  So I said "What are you doing?  You know you're not supposed to clean that bathroom with your cleaners!"  She replies "I know, but the floor is freaking filthy!"  Now, I use a cleaner (non-scented) on the floor that if I don't wash up quickly, it will dry sometimes and leave a tad bit of residue that attracts dust and dirt.  So even though it was just cleaned, it may look dirtier than it should in a couple of days.  Usually I remedy this, but forgot this time.  I said "If you want to see filth, go look at your own bathroom."  My mother leaves fecal matter everywhere in there.  I'm not trying to be gross here, but we're constantly cleaning the walls, the floor, the toilet seat, the side of the cabinet, because for some reason when she poops, it explodes?  I have no idea how it's happening, but it happens (and yes, her doctors know all about this).  And she will leave it that way when her physical therapist comes over and then act like everything is cool.  Yet, she spends two seconds in our bathroom (because my son made the wrong choice to use her bathroom instead of ours and she had to use ours) and all of a sudden she's like a maniac, acting like I never clean our bathroom.  Hence me saying that I am a failure in her eyes, because she can leave her bathroom looking like a truckstop of diarrhea but mine has a "dirty floor" and it's a HUGE deal now.

She kept going on and on and on about how gross it was (it really wasn't), trying to make me feel like a terrible housekeeper or whatever and all I could do was think about growing up in a home where all the floors would turns your feet black and how our walls were stained with two things: 1) third-hand yellow cigarette smoke and 2) our 120lb dog would rub his back up and down the hallway walls to scratch his back and there was a line down our hallway where you could clearly see where the dirt was caked in.  She never washed those walls buy maybe once a year.  It was disgusting.  I grew up in total filth, and now my mother wants to shame me because a tiny part of my bathroom floor was dirty?  Hahaha okay. 

The issue really had nothing to do with shaming me, though.  She can't shame me because I honestly don't care what she thinks.  What this was about was her lack of respect for me and my body and how it reacts to things in my environment.  I am very, very sensitive/allergic to strong chemical smells (my sinuses become inflamed, even the smell of vinegar bothers me, as does almost all artificial fragrance).  She's the type of mother that if I were allergic to shellfish as a child?  She'd have cooked it once a week just to prove I can't control her.  My parents used to leave garden fertilizers and pesticides in my son's reach when he was very little (like one and half years old) on purpose just to prove to me that I could not tell them what to do in their own house (and once, he did get into them and they blamed him for it--who blames a baby for things?).  They always put me (and eventually, my children) in danger because keeping us safe meant we were controlling them.  

What kind of fucked up parental logic is that?  

So today, I'm going to throw out every single god damned cleaner in the house.  All of it.  I don't care if she just bought it or not.  Then I'm going to replace them with my "Shay Safe" cleaners that I make myself.  They are just as effective and be scent-free and contain no harsh crap like bleach (which I am super sensitive to).  I'm also going to throw away her gross air fresheners.  It's going to be a clean air home when I get done.  I feel like every single damn day I am battling the constant smells of whatever grossness she wants to subject me to. 

Here's another thing: I fought her tooth and nail to not put a damn kitty litter in her room.  Her bedroom is right next to mine and she refuses to keep her door shut.  So 1) my dogs get into her room and rifle through her dirty kitty litter and 2) it fucking smells like horrible horrible-ness.  But she won (though when she goes in a home for a month or more after surgery that cat litter will be gone), for now.  I keep shutting her stupid door so I can at least walk into my room without having to smell hers.  

Also, she smokes, and smells awful after coming inside after having a cigarette (and I don't know how many times we've argued about her not smoking in the house...I am allergic and my son has asthma, and who wants their house smelling like that nasty shit?).  She stinks so bad after smoking because she loves to break off the end of it with her fingers to save half of it.  I used to smoke a long time ago, and for some reason when you do that to a cigarette, it stinks like horrible shit.  Worse than just plain smoking.  And she leaves these "half cigarettes" on the ledges by both the front and back doors, which make it smell awful when you go out either door.  So I always flick them off into the grass or into the canisters I give her to but her butts in.  

When she's not smoking, she's cleaning the entire house (very seldomly though) with her damn cleaners.  Like Lysol and whatever else she has (like using Windex on everything).  I used to use disinfectant wipes a lot when we first moved in, because we had lots of a workers in our house and I didn't want anyone in our house to get Covid-19.  But now?  We are literal hermits (per my orders).  Nobody comes in our house but us.  And only in the past two weeks has my husband started working again after being laid off due to the pandemic from the beginning of summer.  So there's no reason to have to use stinky anti-bacterial sprays all over the damn house.  I use anti-bacterial soap to wash our masks in.  And I use wipes to clean the car every so often.  That's it.  But my mother goes out and has an obsession with buying all the cleaners she can get her hands on.  Where was this person when I was a child and living in probably the dirtiest house I'd ever known?  Oh yeah, she was drunk back then.  Too busy buying beer, drinking beer, and thinking about drinking beer to clean anything at all.  

So I grew up in a stinky house because my mother let our pets shit on our carpet and never got our carpets cleaned, and now I still live in a stinky house because she creates ways to make it smell bad.  I have horrible allergies and chemical sensitivities and she just doesn't care and thinks I'm being an over reactive baby.  

For every little thing I need in life from her I'd had to fight for.  She makes me out to be the bad guy in everything because she acts like a disrespectful little baby when I ask her to do anything that she may view as me trying to control her (like she has ODD or something).  She refuses to acknowledge my needs in life, always has, so here I am, feeling constantly exhausted because I am sick of fighting for things that should just be a given. 

I also want to be able to relax.  I just want to be able to walk through my house without always plugging my nose or having horrible sinus pain if I don't.  I just want her to respect what I ask of her, but she never will give me that.  I know this.  So instead, I have to take drastic measures, like always locking doors (like my bedroom door, otherwise she comes into room without knocking every single day), hiding mail from her (she will get catalogs and go on online shopping sprees regularly), and now I have to throw away all her cleaners (this isn't the first time I've had to do that).  I hate having to be on top of everything she does.  She's like a toddler with a debit card and credit card and she's always making selfish or stupid decisions (like not taking her cat to the vet because that cat isn't her favorite cat--she only takes her favorite cat to the vet--she has SIX fucking cats and only one gets medical care).  

I am not her mother.  I raised my kids better and smarter than how she acts.  She's like my adopted misbehaved jackass that the farm couldn't handle anymore so they forced me to take her in.  She's always braying and kicking things and slamming her door when she doesn't get what she wants.  I didn't ask for this.  But then again, I am not in a position to walk away from it either.  So I have to endure.  

I just wish I had a better outlet for my annoyances.  Our house is so freaking tiny that we have zero space for creativity or creating.  Unless I want to use the basement, where her cats go and destroy all my stuff with their pee.  More stink.  And ruined stuff.  

I swear to god, I am not ever getting another cat in this house for as long as we live here.  As hers die off (we've already had two die), we are not getting any extra.  Geezus.  

Okay, I'm done ranting.  I'm going to go and throw away her cleaners now.  Here are the recipes for homemade ones instead: 

1. Baby Wipes. No, they are not homemade.   But they contain no harsh shit and do not smell.  I get the Family Dollar unscented brand (the blue bags) and they work just fine.  I use them for wiping down the outsides of toilets and baseboards and whatnot.  I use them clean up pet accidents (not pee, that's what paper towels are for, though I'll use a baby wipe to clean the residue off after soaking up with a paper towel).  I eventually want to go zero waste (or as zero waste as I can go), but we have so many pets, I have no idea how that will happen. 
   
   Oh, and the best way I use these?  Is for glass cleaning.  The trick is scrub the shit out of your window or mirror, and then dry off with a microfiber towel.  Works amazingly well, and no stinky ammonia smell from Windex or vinegar smell!
   
2. Half water, half vinegar, a squirt of Dawn.  I know it still smells, I know, but I can go less on the vinegar if need be.  And it dissipates faster than other smells.  I hate the smell of vinegar, but I will put up with it in case of really dirty stuff.  But, you can create a citrus scented vinegar so it will remove the smell (thank goodness).  Get some citrus rinds, rosemary, and cloves (I luckily grow rosemary in my garden): fill up a quart mason car with all that jazz half full and then pour hot vinegar into the jar, and let it sit 24 hours (or pour it all in cold, and let it sit for week).  Voila!  Non-stinky vinegar.  I have some on my counter right now that smells amazing! (lemon and lime rinds with a stick of cinnamon).
   
3. Baking Soda and Peroxide.  I think peroxide is a type of bleach, but it doesn't smell and is safe to use on your skin.  Wonderful scrubbing agent AND is a germ killer.  
4. Peroxide.  Put in a spray bottle and use as a cleaner all by itself.   You can use this on your kitchen counters, in your fridge, on your toilet, etc.  Spray and let it sit for five minutes before scrubbing.  Just make sure the spray bottle is opaque (or else it will ruin it).  Rinse clean with wet paper towels after scrubbing, just like you would any cleaner. And, the best part?  It's a disinfectant and kills H1N1 and Covid (and everything else).  So bye-bye Lysol!  You can still find peroxide at the Dollar Tree for a buck, but good luck finding Lysol anywhere!
   
5. Rubbing Alcohol.  I cut up paper towels and put them in a baggie and pour in the rubbing alcohol and bam!, non-bleach cleansing wipes.  They do dry it out, so don't do a lot of paper towels at once.  And yes, this is stinky, but the scent evaporates quickly.
   
6. Olive Oil.  I use olive oil as a way to revitalize my wooden spatulas and my cutting boards.  The trick so it doesn't go racid on your stuff is to make sure it's thoroughly removed after applying.  I also have used it as a furniture polish, again, removing completely after applying.
7. Laundry Soap.  I used to make my own laundry detergent.  I only had to make it twice a year and it would last that long.  It was great.  But after using it for YEARS on end, I found it doesn't clean quite as well as I like.  So I'm back to buying it.  Perhaps I'll make it again one day.  But here's my recipe (not mine, the one I use): Laundry Soap Recipe.  Though, I'd always add one container of OxyClean to it, as well, and use the OxyClean scoop.  Fels Naptha bar soap?  Smells freaking amazing, btw.  Also our vet said he uses that bar soap straight on his clothes when a cat pisses on him to get out cat pee smells.  And it works.  So there ya go :)  Now I need to make a spray out of it to clean cat pee out of things that aren't clothes.  Because my mother's cats piss on everything.  Yuck. 
8. Stove and Floor Cleaner.   I just recently found this recipe and WOW.  This makes cleaning my stove EASY and keeps my laminate floor thingies from warping.  I also use this on everything else, so it goes fast in our house. 
       1 cup Water
       1 cup White Vinegar (again, use scented vinegar as I stated above)
       1 cup Alcohol (rubbing)
       2-3 drops Dish Soap
      

Oh and I did shoot the airgun after her little meltdown.  And I shot a can on my first try about a quarter of an acre away!  I always tell the kids "I was a pro at Duck Hunt on Nintendo.  So I think I'd be a great shot if real guns just didn't have so much damn recoil!"  To find out, I was right! ha!  LOL 

First of all, I did not read the book.  Not yet.  And I'm not too sure that after watching the movie I want to (just kidding, I need to read it to know if it's better).  I was so excited when I saw that Netflix had a movie version of this book that everyone was talking about.  And Amy Adams and Glenn Close was in it?  Score!  

And it was really good.  For the most part.  Then it neared the end and both my husband and I were like "Um, what are they trying to say here?"  When it ended, we had no choice but to give it a "thumbs down" because honestly, what the fuck?  

Have you seen it yet?  If not, I am sorry, but I'm going to spoil the of the ending for you: 

It's a patronizing piece of shit.  

"Oh lookie, my mom was abused so therefore it's perfectly okay she abused me!"  

Oh goodness.  Really Ron Howard??  That's the message you went to send to viewers?  To the world?  Here's the deal, dumbass: abuse is always generational.  So that's a big fat "duh" when it comes to the revelation this movie is giving us.  An abusive person has usually always been abused themselves.  That's a given.  But what's not a given is that you, as their child, as their victim of abuse, never need to give them an excuse for it, as the children in this movie were continuing to do upon their "enlightenment".  

Can you forgive your shitty parents one day?  Of course (but only if you want to).  Having empathy for them and how they grow up doesn't mean they get to keep on using you or abusing you anymore.  That doesn't give them the right to keep on being toxic.  

Sure, the end of the movie said his mother had been clean for like 5 or 6 years.  But what does that even mean?  Does that mean she's not verbally abusive anymore?  That she's not actively taking out her own insecurities on her kids anymore?  That she's mentally better?  It doesn't say.  So it's safe to assume it's just some kind of "happily ever after" movie ending, and in real life, she's still probably abusive.  

Maybe the book is less about his mother and more about his grandparents who raised him?  Maybe the book ends better?  I'm going to start reading it after posting this review (and it's not really much of a review, maybe it's just a rant?).  And I'll come back here and update my post when I'm done.  But the movie?  Save your two hours and watch something better, like "Ladybird" on Amazon Prime (another movie about a narcissistic abusive mother, which is way more realistic).  

The only good thing was the acting.  Everyone did a bang up job.  And Glenn Close's character looked practically identical to person she was playing.  That was kinda neat.  And Amy Adams was amazing as the mother.  And the kid was great, too (not sure of his name).  But all that great acting can't erase the patronizing idiocy that was the ending.  

Ugh.  

Shame on you Ron.  You are so much better than this. 

I don't know why it's taken me this long to figure this out.  I mean, I've always known, ever since that day.  But I never actually sat down and worked out exactly how much it was.  Now that I have, I kind of wish I hadn't.

My father died in the year 2000.  It's been twenty years since his death.  He didn't have a will, so everything went to my mother.  Which really sucked, because I've been super poor for all of my adult life, except for one year when my husband was literally working almost every day of the week, due to him being the only employee.  That year was great financially, because we could afford our son's braces payments, as well as not play the whole "put off this bill to pay that bill" game we usually played each month.  Then, after about a year, his boss then hired more employees, and we went back to being so poor that we had to have our son's braces removed early.  And the only reason his braces payments were so high was because my mother had said to us beforehand "I'll pay for half of his down payment, so that way your monthly payments will be lower".  So we made the appointment and got them put on, and lo and behold, she refused to pay for half.  So we had to pay for the cheaper down payment, which made our monthly payments more than double what they were supposed to be.

Let me make something VERY clear here: I've never once asked her do these things for us.  I've never came to her and said "Hey can you pay for half of whatever?"  No, she offers.  She literally comes up with the ideas to do these things in the first place.  We were going to wait to get our son braces, even though several dentists told us he needed them so badly that if we didn't, his bottom teeth would eventually be gone.  We just couldn't afford it.  So she heard about what was going on and said "Look, he needs those braces, I'll pay for half your down payment and then you can actually afford to get them.  So go do it!"  So we did.  And then it came time for payment and she acted like she had never offered to begin with.  That was the last time we let her offer to pay for anything.  The only reason now we allow her to pay for half of everything (we all live together in the same house) is because I am in charge of the bills.  So she can't stiff us anymore (though she does try).  

None of that has anything to do with the money she owes me, other than the fact I'm trying to paint you a picture of what she's like with money.  If it doesn't benefit her, she won't do it.  If it does benefit her, she will do whatever she can to keep it.  And I mean whatever she can.  Including stealing it from me.

So that brings us back to 2009.  My father had been dead for nine years by then.  My mother did not have to get a single job during that time.  Read that again.  NINE.  FREAKING YEARS.  She literally lived for all that time on my father's insurance money.  She had so much money, she had no idea what to do with it all.  So she spent it.  And spent it.  She first off renovated the house.  Like months after he died.  Then when that didn't get the money out of her pocket fast enough, she ran to QVC and spent and spent and spent, so much so that QVC would call her if she went a single day without buying from them.  When that didn't work, she invested and lost a ton of it.  When that didn't work, she bought a cruise to Alaska for her and her neighbor.  Ah.  That did it.  That got that last little bit out of her pocket.  

And during this entire time my family and I were struggling with poverty.  We lived in a dump, in an unsafe neighborhood and tried not to get shot or robbed each and every day.  We had our heat shut off more years than I care to admit (we became pros at living without hot water or a stove to use).  We were at the food pantry regularly.  Most of the time our food stamps didn't last enough for us, even though we had a "no frills" life.  We just couldn't make our money stretch.  All the while my mother just couldn't burn a hole in her pocket fast enough, as though she was allergic to all that money.  And yet, it still took her nine years to burn through it all.  

Can you imagine living for long without having to work and be so well off that you can't spend it fast enough?  None of those life insurance policies were in my name.  Not one.  And in our state, if you die without a will, your spouse gets everything.

Except one thing.  

The house.  

So nine years goes by and she decides she can't live there anymore.  She ran out of money and can't afford it.  The house was paid off in 1994.  But in 1998 my parents got a loan to buy a car.  I think my father took out a second mortgage?  I'm not sure.  But it wasn't a small loan.  And it was definitely more than than for the the car, as my parents took a trip the Black Hills in South Dakota right after buying it.  

Apparently, my mother did not pay off that loan with any of the insurance money.  Because when all of a sudden she didn't have anymore money to live, she still needed money to pay off that loan.  So what did she decide to do?  Move in with her brother and sell the house. 

Now, I assumed it was my parents' house.  It wasn't.  It was my father's.  His was the only name on the house, because all of a sudden, out of the blue, she says to me "Shay, I need you to come sign some papers.  I can't sell the house unless you do."  

I was dumb back then.  I didn't question her.  I didn't think she was capable of horrible things yet (though, I was aware she could do terrible things...I just chose to forget about them back then).  I didn't think anything of it.  I figured it was just legal shit that I was too dumb to understand at the time.  I had no idea how house sales worked.  I had no idea how anything worked.  Yes, I was in my early thirties.  I should have known these things.  But I didn't.  Even though we just bought a house two years prior, I still had no idea what I was doing, as our house was only in my husband's name, too.  It wasn't until this year, in 2020 when we bought this house I finally even understood  any of it.  I am still having a hard time figuring out what escrow means, but I think I kind of get it LOL  But back then I just thought "I have to sign papers, must not mean anything at all."  Today? I would say "Um, why do I have to sign anything?  What do I have to do with any of this?"  But no, early 30's Shay was dumb Shay and I just showed up and did what I was asked to do.

But also, back then?  I was still under my mother's spell.  I hadn't even started this blog yet.  I didn't what narcissism was.  I didn't get it.  And I sat down at the table with the buyer (a house flipper) and put my pen to the paper.  But then something crazy happened.  He touched my arm to stop me before I finished and said:

"You do realize you're signing away your half of the house, right?  That you're legally entitled to half of this money?"  

I just stared at him.  What??  What did he just say?  Um, no, I had no freaking clue at of this at all, sir, and thank you kindly for informing me because, um, nobody else did.  I didn't say anything to him though, I just stared at him.

I then turned to look at my mother, who quickly looked away from me and then looked up at me and widened her eyes as though to say "Do this, or else."  So I slowly nodded and turned back to the paper.  I numbly signed my name as my heart started feeling like it was beating out of my chest.  What was my mother doing here?  Why didn't she tell me?  Why did she lie to me?  She was duping me out of my rightful money and I just sat there, thinking "What am I supposed to do now?  Say no?"  How could I?  I was put in that position on purpose so when I found out, she knew I would not back down.  

But had I known how much it was??  I would have taken that money and not looked back.  Fuck it if she was mad at me.  Fuck it if that messed up her chance to pay back a loan that was going on for NINE FREAKING YEARS that she could have already paid off probably ten times over.  I could have had a car that worked.  My husband could have even had his own car.  We weren't the type of people who bought extravagant things.  We would have stretched that shit out as far as we could have and would have been blessed by it.  Unlike crazy woman over here buying silly shit on QVC daily she'd LITERALLY USE ONCE AND DONATE IT!!! 

I was at the food pantry several times a month at that point in our lives.  We were living on fumes.  And I never even saw the check.  So I had no idea how much money she even got until yesterday, when I looked at the sale of our house in 2009 and how much it sold for.  $56,0000 she got handed that day.  She had already blown through hundreds of thousands.  And now she had fifty-six thousand more.  All the while her only child and only two grandchildren and her son-in-law stood in line at the food pantry each week and our house was falling apart.  During this time also, my ex had given up parental rights to our boys, so we had no more child support from him.  

I don't want you to get the wrong idea here.  I don't want you think I'm playing the victim here.  Like, "Oh poor us, we're so poor, and we think that my mother should just give us all her money!"  No way.  that money was plain and simple not hers to keep from me.  What I'm trying to say is that knowing jsut how poor we were, she used that against us.  She didn't want me to be well off.  Because how could she control me or my family if we were?  Money was her only way to feel powerful in life.  She's not too smart and has never once been able to join in complicated conversations that us four have, and can't really add to a whole lot of conversations in general with anyone for that same reason.  Which I get makes her feel powerless in life.  All she's ever had really to offer in life are: 

• Gossip
• Money
• Cooking (though she's really bad at it for the most part, even though she prides herself on it)
• Smoking and drinking (though she doesn't drink anymore, thank goodness)
• Stories about her cats (I have to hear one more time about the cat who tried to bite her nipple, I swear to god...)
• Guilt and denial (she's an expert at the latter, but the former never really works out for her)

That's it.  So if she can keep my family in poverty, it benefits her greatly because she couldn't hold me hostage with her smarts, but she certainly could with money. 

I know our poorness was, and still is and always will be, my fault.  I have a severe anxiety disorder and hadn't worked since my kids were little and even then, holding down a job was always hard due to this anxiety disorder.  So I don't have enough credits for disability (and plus, you need to earn those credits in a span of 10 years, and I was busy raising my kids, all the while with my panic disorder, so I didn't work for over 10 years).  And I can't take meds for my disorder since I have horrible (and I mean horrible) side effects to SSRI's and other anxiety meds.  So my family is and always will be fucked by my inability to work.  This I know.  And I don't expect handouts in the form of "Oh mommy, give me money!"  This is not what I am talking about here.  (Also, let me add that I wish I would have known this is how it would have turned out, I would have gotten on disability back then when I had to quit my last job due to my anxiety...I just held out hope I'd get better...I never did.) 

What I'm talking about here is the fact that I legally, and rightfully had money in my name that could have made my life, and the lives of my family, easier.  Maybe not for nine entire years, but for at least some time.  This fact was hidden from me and I was lied to about it and then put in a position to have to give it up without a fight.  I could have said no.  Sure.  I could have looked at that guy and said "What?  No way, I want my money!"  But I assumed my mother would be fucked without it.  I had no idea how much it was. I had no idea how much she owed.  But today I realize that she wouldn't have been fucked at all.  She wouldn't have been homeless.  Not much would have changed for her.  She would have had bad credit, that's it.  She still would have moved in with her brother.  And she'd still have her car.  What she would have lost by not paying her loan back was nothing in compared to what my family could have gained by us getting that money.

$28,000 may sound like chump change to someone people.  But for people who are poor?  It could mean the difference between keeping a job or not.  If our one car would have broken down?  My husband would have not been able to get to work anymore.  And he'd have been out of a job.  And if he was out of a job, we'd have lost our house.  And since my mother had sold my childhood home, we'd have nowhere to live.  That means, if my ex hadn't given up his rights, I could have lost custody of my kids.  It's amazing just how much of a poor person's life, who lives check to check, hangs in the balance of such a simple thing as a car.  Something we all take for granted when our cars are working well.  

I will never see that money.  Not a single cent of it.  And I am okay with that.  Not because I think it's okay what she did.  Obviously it wasn't okay at all.  But I can't change it.  I can't go back in time and do one thing about it.  And if I had taken that money, and she got fucked on her loan, maybe we wouldn't have been able to all move in together right this year?  Maybe her credit would have been completely messed up?  Getting this house wasn't easy.  I was in charge of all of it.  And I had to really work my ass off to get the mortgage company to even let the loan go through because of my mother's messed up rent history.    She paid rent, but she had ZERO ways to prove it since she rented from a friend and never thought to get receipts.  So I can't be super angry about this because we may not have a place to live right now had anything else been different in our past.  

BUT.  

But but but.  

That doesn't change what she did to us.  But then again, I'll just add it to the list of all the ways in which she's tried to fuck my family over: like the one time she called had my food stamp card canceled because she was mad at me back in 2013, or knowing my family came back from being homeless in 2018 with only the clothes on our backs and refused to take us to the food pantry and was going to let us starve, all because she was pissed I was no contact with her for eighteen months, or maybe how she was angry with us years ago and bought my youngest son over $100 worth of Christmas gifts and then spent $1 on my oldest son as punishment for calling her names (which he didn't do, her stupid friend lied to her and said he did).  It was always money, too.  As that was the only control she had over our lives.  That's the only control she's ever had over my life.  Even as a child.  My mother doesn't have hobbies.  She doesn't have viewpoints.  She doesn't have anything of her own.  She will assimilate whatever you are or whatever you think (or the opposite, if she hates you).  The only thing she's ever had in life is other people's money.  My dad's or her second husband's.  She even knowingly stole money from the government just so her stepdaughters wouldn't get it.  And she will act all high and mighty about how much money she has (the more she has, the more horrible her personality gets) as though somehow she earned it herself.  It's actually quite hilarious, because everyone around her knows the truth.  

Now, like I said, I don't work.  But I know very well the money we have isn't earned by me.  I don't lord it over anyone else or use it to hurt others.  We don't have much, but what we do have extra of we always give to homeless people.  My husband and I will take out cash when we can, just so we have something to give to anyone who needs it.  It feels so good to know that that person may get to eat dinner that night.  I know how it feels to be hungry and to find $5 in a coat pocket and say "Oh my god, we can actually feed our family tonight!"  So I know that $5 can stretch pretty far, so whenever we can, we give that much or more to someone who's hungry.  

My mother, on the other hand, would tell a homeless person to get a job and fuck off.  As though my mother has had a job in over forty years.  No, she was married twice to dying men who left her all their money.  And now she collects her second husband's social security, as well as his agent orange payments.  

I'm not shaming her for not working.  I'm shaming her because she thinks the world owes her everything.  I don't think the world owes me shit.  I think she does.  I know she owes me twenty-eight thousand fucking dollars.  And I know I'll never get it.  Instead, I have to find a way to make my own living in life that doesn't require me to marry dying men who will leave me their life insurance policies.  We can't even afford to have one.  So if my husband dies tomorrow?  For so many reasons, I don't even want to think about that (most of all, because I love the shit out of him).  

Maybe my memoir will take off?  I'm almost done writing it.  Well, I am done, but I'm almost done editing it.  Kinda.  I'm ADHD so it's hard to stay on task.  But I'm getting there.  I also write fiction, so maybe that'll take off?  Well, probably not, but hey, it's something to try, right?  I need to do something though, because the idea of living in my ex-husband's barn without him knowing if something ever happened to my actual husband?  Is just to terrifying to think about.  *shudder*

Our future plan includes buying RV's because if we ever became homeless again, at least we'd have somewhere to sleep (in 2018 we faced the prospect of living in a tent...I never want to be that close to the edge again, ever).  

Anyways, it's better to live for the future than think about the past when there's nothing you can do to change things.  That's called Radical Acceptance.  I can't ever get that money back.  It's not possible.  So all I can do is look towards the future and find a way to do better.  Now, I was pissed when I found this out.  I was angry as fuck.  But today? Not so much.  I can't care about it because if I do, I will make myself sick.  And I deserve better than that.  I can't hurt myself when she's not actively hurting me, just because I am so used to being hurt I don't know how to live otherwise.  I have to learn how to live otherwise.  I have to learn to let the bullshit go and move forward.  My rule in life lately is let something make me angry for a day at the most, and then let it go as much as I can.  Otherwise SAD will catch up again with me this year and I don't want that.  Not again.  I am determined to enjoy this winter.  Even with all this pandemic shit.  

I think I'll get one of those fake checks from The Secret (the movie) online somewhere and write myself one for $28,000 and see what happens.  Who knows, maybe the universe will step in?  Can't hurt, right?  

Happy Thanksgiving, my friends.  I hope your holiday is boring and pandemic free (just like I hope mine is!) 

So my mother bought a shirt online and got it today.  It says "Mama Bear" on it.  And it irritates me to no end.  Now, my mother does not consider herself a "mama bear", which is better than if she did.  She bought it because she has a cat named Bear she's obsessed with (she has 8 cats and he's the only one she obsesses over, though this could be because of dementia....my grandmother obsessed over her cat, too, but she only had 1).  But it still irks me, because of what "Mama Bear" really means.  I've never experienced having a mother love me so much that she'll fiercely protect me whenever I needed it.  Not once.  Not when I was sick.  Not when I was hurt.  Not when others were hurting me.  Never.  Yes, she stuck up for me at times, but only when she absolutely had to (meaning when she had no other choice).  That's it.  She doesn't care about me the way she cares about her cat.  Though I wouldn't want her to.  It's a little obsessive and over the top.  She walks around all day and yells for him out front and back, like really, really loudly.  Like the poor cat can't have a life of his own.  He has to conform to what my mother wants for him, every minute of every single day.  If he was a human, I'd feel really bad for him.  As a cat, though, he just does want he wants anyways (I have some respect for his rebellious nature, he reminds me of me when I was young).  

I think what bothers me is that I've always been a "mama bear" type of personality.  You don't fuck with my family (my hubby, kids, and pets) because I will fiercely stand up for them when I need to.  I also don't let people fuck with the poor, with animals, or with kids.  I will fiercely protect anyone I see being abused or mistreated.  I grew up without a single person every protecting me (though that's not entirely true, as my mother did do some things to protect me when I was really little, though not enough) so I feel this innate need to protect everyone else.  And I've come to realize, that not all people want my protection, so I've had to learn to back off at times.  

As for my kids, as a "mama bear", I've had to learn to back off as they age, and let them fight their own battles.  That's so very hard, because I hate seeing anyone shit on people I love.  Same goes for my husband.  I've had to bite my tongue more than a million times with his parents (though not anymore) back in the day because I didn't have the right to take over someone else's pain and act as though it was my own.  I think that's what it is in life, with us "mama bears".  Every time someone hurts someone we love, it reactivates our own inner unhealed pain and we get a little over the top with our protection. 

Once, I saw some assholes in line with my kid at the food court at the mall, whispering about him and pointing.  So I got real close to them and stared at them until they noticed and they got super uncomfortable and left LOL  My son said I embarrassed him.  And I did.  I didn't mean to.  But I was beyond livid that someone would treat my child that way.  I love my kids, fiercely, though maybe a little too fiercely at times.  I think deep down I act the way I wish someone would have acted for me.  Though I used to be worse with it, because not only was the incidents reactivating my own pain, but now you're fucking with my kid, too.  So I'm double mad.  

I've curbed that behavior, thank goodness.  I found Buddhism and I'm much more chill.  I now don't overreact, but just respond to those types of things.  If I could go back to that food court, I'd just have cleared my throat at those young people to let them know I saw them being jerks, rather than make them scared of me.  I used to say "Why are people so scared of me?" to my husband.  I kind of realize now why.  Angry people are unpredictable.  I know, I've seem people literally go insane over nothing (esp. with road rage).  

So maybe being a "mama bear" is just being overreactive and not something to proud of?  Granted, you can be a "mama bear" just being an advocate for your child, and not his/her fierce protector.  You can stand up for someone without being angry.  Being a "bear" suggests you are angry.  I don't want to be angry again.  I want to be "mama zen" instead.  A mama (and wife and friend and stranger) who advocates for people who need me to with kindness.  Yes, you gotta get angry sometimes (or rather, forceful, not actually angry).  You have to push when you need to (like my son needs a specialist and his doc is being an ass about getting him one).  But you don't have to tear someone's face off about it.  

So ma can have her shirt.  She can be a mama bear for her cat.  I don't need her to be my mother at all anymore,  I am my own mother (and she hasn't been my mother since 2012 when I found out she has NPD).  I advocate for myself.  I take care of myself.  I always have.  Not that well, in the past, but nowadays, yes.  I don't have to let the pain of my childhood dictate what type of parent I am.  I have the full ability to heal myself without my mother's help or apologies or acknowledgement of her abuse.  I can be Mama Zen, if I choose it.  I don't have to be angry anymore.  At her (though that's hard, because she tries relentlessly to anger me LOL).  At my past.  Or at myself.  Or at others for triggering me.  I can't just "let it all go" (like people like to tell us to do).  But I can work with it, heal it, and transform it, as I've been doing for the past two years.  

This shirt issue triggered me more than it should have.  But now I know why.  And I can move on from it and not take offense about it.  Because it has nothing to do with me at all.  Though, that's kind of what triggered me to begin with.  But even so, I don't need a "mama bear".  I never did.  I needed someone to love me.  And now I don't need her love to feel complete anymore.  So that's what matters.  I need to remember that when I get angry about stupid things like this.  I am complete even without her love.  

Now, I'm going to go high-five her cat for defying her every single day, because I love his little rebellious soul LOL

One of my favorite bands made this song and it really gets me every time I hear it.  Story of my childhood and teenage years.  She'd completely given up on the notion of leaving him by my teenage years though.  Content to live within the chaos.  Content to place the blame on me, instead of him.  

 In 2018, just two years ago, after we came back from being homeless and having to break no contact, my mother said that "Your father drank because he had to put up with you."  

It's so hard not to be angry at that.  At any of it.  At all of it.

Fight for me

We can leave him 

Begging please

On my on my knees......

Have I talked about this before?  I am not sure.  Maybe?  If so, sorry about that.  But my mother has an issue with locked doors.  When we moved in, the bathrooms didn't lock and my son immediately took the one doorknob in the house with a lock on it and traded it with the bathroom's.  He likes his privacy.  As do I.  

But mother hates privacy.  She thinks she has the right to do whatever she likes whenever she likes, and fuck if you don't like it.  Granted, that bit has calmed down some since we moved in together, but still, I had to live my entire life with her thinking she had every right to my space.  Even when we lived in separate houses!  At my first apartment, she'd barge right in and walk around and tell me what to do with my own house and then scream and complain about how messy it was and how dishes needed to be done and blah blah blah.  I had a new baby back then, my first, and I wasn't in any position to be doing anything other than trying to figure out this little human and meeting his needs.  I have ADHD (though I'm not hyper, so I have ADD, but the term is ADHD no matter whether you have inattentive or hyperactive) and it was hard enough just trying to keep my mind on one thing: my son.  And I was a kid.  When I didn't do what she said, she'd get belligerent and start berating me, saying that "I guess you don't care if your house burns down and your child dies!" and shit like that (that one was because I had a very lightweight couch over our forced heating vent, even though there was a large gap between the couch and the floor).  

As a child, she kept a metal skewer above the bathroom door so she could pop the lock anytime she wanted.  I had a nightmare I was in the bathroom and a monster tried to shove the door open and I had to hold it shut.  The next day, I was peeing and my mother tried to open the door on me and I immediately jumped and shoved my body up against the door, thinking my dream was coming true.  And it kind of was, because most of the time, she was a monster.  It became a shoving match, as though she HAD to get into the bathroom, even though I was using it.  

As a teen I installed a lock on my door that you needed a key to open it with.  No more popping locks with a skewer!  Ha!  So she removed my doorknob completely.  And I subsequently moved my bedroom down the basement.  I then removed the door from our laundry room and placed it on my room and then bought another locking doorknob and installed it.  They left me alone after that.  

As an adult, I moved back home after I left my ex-husband (he wasn't my ex at the time though) and I had my old upstairs bedroom as my room.  At first, the kids had my childhood bedroom, which eventually became our "guest bedroom", but later, they moved into my room, because they were terrified sleeping alone in a room they weren't familiar with.  They were 3 and 6.  So, once, I locked the door (they reinstalled that old doorknob they stole from me after I moved my room) because of some reason, not sure why (I was either on the phone and didn't want to be disturbed or was getting dressed, or something) and my mother tried to open the door and couldn't.  She threw the biggest fit about "no locked doors in MY house!" and I said I was almost thirty, I could do what I want.  After that, I locked it quite frequently because I was too old to have her invade my privacy for any (and no) reason whatsoever.  

When we moved in, she had a fit about my son changing the doorknobs because "Oh god, why do you guys need to lock the bathroom doors?? (eyeroll)".  I said because unlike you, we all like privacy.  

So recently, I got a new doorknob for my bedroom.  As mine had no lock and it made your hands smell like metal every time you touched it.  Gross.  So I tried to install it quietly, but this house is older and the knobs were original so the holes didn't match up to the new knobs.  So I had to drill the fuck out of the hold to get it to fit and make a huge show about it.  I didn't even want her to know it was done, as she opens my door quite frequently without knocking (and at other times, opens it with LOUD knocking to make my dogs bark while I have a migraine, she's so sweet and considerate).  So now I have a lock on my door and I don't think she knows about it, but I am excited to have her try to open it sometime and have it just not turn and see how she reacts.  I would laugh really hard if she actually got angry.  Though I think we're at the point that she would be just like "Oh" and knock instead.  But you never know.  

Once, she asked me for a key to my old house (we used to live a block away from her in a big house at the top of our block).  I had to stifle my giggles.  I said "Sure!  I'll try to remember to make a copy".  But I never did and kept saying that every time she asked.  Eventually, she stopped asking.  I knew damn well what would happen if she had a key to my house.  And that was never going to happen.  And now look...she not only has a key to my house but lives in the bedroom next door LOL  Yay!  But I keep putting up my boundaries when she crosses them and I remind her that they are there.  And it's working, to a point.  It helps that she's feeble, because she knows she needs me and that I do most everything for her (though today she's cooking dinner...except not for me because I hate pork and I still have to cook for myself, the one time she decides to cook...though it's not like anyone wants her to, she can't smell or taste anything and always over salts the food or makes it taste off in some way, shape, or form) so she can't treat me outrightly like total crap, because if we move out for any reason, she'd be royally screwed with a mortgage she couldn't afford.  We'd never ever do that, but in her mind, she thinks that's an option, so she has to play nice as much as she can.  Which is a good thing.

My mom used to collect keys.  Which I don't get, because she hates locks.  Maybe by owning the keys she had control over the lock?  I have no idea.  At my first apartment, the one my mother used to barge into on a regular basis, had doors with skeleton keys and locks.  Nobody had a key though and our one door was permanently locked since my grandmother lived there.  Then, at a flea market, I found a whole set of skeleton keys and bought them.  And lo and behold, one of the keys fit our locks!  And then when I moved, many, many years later to the house a block away from her, I found another set of skeleton keys at a flea market and one of those keys fit our doors in that house.  I love locks.  I love keys.  And I love to have the ability to lock my doors.  There's something to be said about the security you get from locking a door to keep unwanted people out of your domain, whether it be your entire house, the bathroom, or your bedroom.  And growing up without an once of safety, locked doors were the one thing that could make me feel safe.  

Not my mother.  When I was growing up, she refused to even shut the back door and left it open so any vagrant could just come in and rape and kill us.  When I was really young, we only had one car for awhile and my mother used to drive my father to work at three in the morning, and I'd wake up and wander around looking for her, only to find the back door wide open.  I'd run to my room and hide in my closet until she got home, terrified of people abducting me or hurting me (which was a real thing that actually happened to people, something my mother refused to acknowledge).  Back then, she made me watch two movies with her regularly: Kramer vs. Kramer and Without a Trace.  So I was well-versed on divorce and child abduction.  And yet she still left that fucking back door wide open all day and all night.  I actually have no idea why we even had a back door.  Why not remove it?

And she used to berate for me shutting and locking it when I moved back in with her as an adult, too.  I used to also shut our picture window (we had the largest picture window in town) to the forest preserve across the street when we'd (my kids and I) slept in the living room (which we did every single day).  She used to get angry at me for doing that, too.  But anyone could be out there.  And I wasn't keen on having them watch me and my kids at night, thank you very much.  I had constant nightmares about this, from childhood to adulthood, all while living in that house.  All because my mother refused to not only not respect my privacy, but also refusing to keep our family safe from people outside who may have wanted to hurt us.  Boy, house burglars and rapists and serial killers sure missed out on an opportunity with my family back then.  They could have just walked into the back door and done whatever they liked.  Well, before my childhood dog ripped them a part.  But our second (and much bigger) dog that I had a teenager would have just licked them.  And we'd all have been dead meat.  I mean, my dad was like 5'6, 130lbs, what was he going to do?  And we weren't protected with any weapons at all.  

Now?  Our house has weapons stashed in every corner of the house.  I mean like maces and shit (our kids are into medieval weaponry).  Though we also have four big dogs and we all know how to handle guns (even though with SPD I hate shooting them...though my oldest also has SPD and he also used to hate the noise, too, and everything about shooting, but he said he just had to keep doing it, and eventually, it became easy and now he loves it...so I guess if I just pushed past my issues I could eventually enjoy it too, or least tolerate it better).  And then there's the fact we are five grown ass adults, mostly men (I know, that's sexist, but if we were five women?  I'd feel a little less safe).  So I feel pretty safe.  I am not stupid, bad things can still happen, which is why we are smart about stuff (well, we, minus my mother).  

My issues with safety now are more about financial reasons (after being faced with homelessness, you really change your priorities on what's important in life and how you can keep your family safe with shelter and food).  And that's weighing heavily on us at the moment due to pandemic layoffs and getting around 30% of our pay.  It used to be 80%, what happened?  Oh yeah, our government pissing away money.  So our goal right now is to make enough money to start saving again and have enough to live on without fearing all the time for our safety.  

I feel that people who don't make safety a priority in life are, well, just playing a game of chance with their lives.  If you aren't prepared for losing your pay, losing your car, losing your ability to purchase food, or for personal safety?  You're just hanging on by a thread, hoping it doesn't break, whether you know it or not.  Just hoping something bad doesn't happen isn't enough.  Yes, it makes you feel comfortable, but it doesn't make you wise.  I know, I used to be that person due to the way I was raised.  My kids changed my outlook on life.  As did our life experiences.  We know what's it's like to have that thread snap and have everything come crashing down.  And by luck, we had a teeny tiny little safety net precariously perched at the bottom.  Had I had siblings?  I guarantee you that net would have been removed.  Had one tiny thing been any different at all, same thing.  It was pure luck.  And my willingness to push past my horrible fears of contacting her again.  And even so, it was still luck.  And I never want to feel like that again, to have my family's safety be in the hands of a person who hates us (though she doesn't hate us anymore...well, as much LOL).  

Safety is very important to me.  It isn't to her.  But my life isn't about her.  It's about my family.  It's about me.  And her safety is also important to me, even though she doesn't give two squats about protecting herself (which is why she's broken two bones this year).  But that's what I am here for.  To protect the crazy lady even when she can't protect herself.  Even when she didn't protect me.  But luckily, I am not her.  Something I am grateful for every single day.  

Let me give you some history on birthdays around our house.  Mother controls them as much as she possibly can, and now that she can't, she tries to ruin them in other ways.  And this almost goes for all parties she's involved with, not just birthdays.  Here are some examples:

• My baby shower for my second son (which is sort of a birthday party for their birth, right?).  She tried to take control of it and told me she'd throw me one, but then as it turned out, she didn't plan a single thing.  I had to take over and plan and buy everything.  "We don't need games, that's stupid." is what she said to me when I asked what games she planned.  She didn't even make plans to make food or do anything at all.  So I had to plan my own, which I don't think that's how it works, but it did for me.  And we all had loads of fun (I am a good party planner, btw).  
• Every birthday I ever had as a kid she ruined.  I am not even kidding here.  Her and my father would get wasted and start a fight with each other.  Sometimes even bringing my friends into it, or taking me out in public and humiliating me.  
• The only party that they didn't fuck up?  Was their 32nd anniversary, when I planned it all by myself when I was 12.  I had their friends bring beer (because they were all drunks and had beer on hand anyways) and I provided all the snacks (my friend's mother took me to store to get them).  And I send them to my grandparent's house and filled the house with around 30 of their friends and had them all hide their cars and not once did they even guess there was a party going on, until they came home to all the lights turned off.  Of course their friends were already drunk and one of them said something as they walked in and my parents almost called the police.  Then everyone screamed surprise and they both almost had heart attacks.  To this day, my mother will probably lie and say she knew about it the entire time or even helped me plan it (she LOVES to make up shit that never happened).  But neither of my parents had a clue and the party went amazingly well.  I was 12 and gave them something they never gave me: a party that went off without a hitch.  It was perfect.  Well perfect for a white trash anniversary party. 
• When I was turning 29, my birthday consisted of police escorts helping me getting my stuff out of my house because my mother went psychotic and hit me and tried to beat me more (but I ran away with my kids).  She knew my birthday was the next day so she had to fuck it up the only way she knew how: get drunk and beat your daughter.  It's so funny how much she pretends like she was never this trashy piece of crap chain smoking drunk who used to party every single weekend while nobody watched her kid.  Now she's all proper and shit and acts like everyone else is trashy.  Goodness.  She's still a chain smoker though.  So there's that. 
• Every single birthday for our family she takes us all out to dinner.  Her choice.  She pretends we have a choice but we always end up going somewhere she wants to go.  And usually, in the end, she just outright chooses.  The last time we went out, my husband wanted to go to Famous Dave's and she had a fucking fit.  We went out and she was being insane, screaming at us how to drive and stuff (to my husband, no less, which was so out of character for her) and then bitched the entire time and then on the way home yelled "You know what?!  From now on, I will pick the restaurant."  I replied "Then nobody will want to go anywhere, ma.  You never have to take us out again."  She loves Famous Dave's.  And it was cheaper than most places she wants to go.  But we all hate the places she picked and I pressed that for once, that my husband got to choose for himself.  And then my oldest son's birthday was next and we said "No thank you" when she asked where we wanted to go.  We finally broke the hold she had over us on our birthdays.  Nothing bad even happened at Famous Dave's, she was just being horrible.  And we never went out with her again.  And here's the kicker (as my father used to say), I hate going to eat.  And she knows this.  So that's the only reason she takes us out.  It's a direct combative move against me on her part.  Because once my son said to her "Why do you make mom go out to eat on her birthday?  You know she hates it?"  She replied "Because she can learn to like it."  I only ever agreed to go because it was a free meal for my family and I can't pass that up being poor as fuck.  And she knew this.