Today I made a sandwich.  And all I could think about while doing so is when the time when my mother's deceased husband (who was alive at the time) picked on me because I made a single piece of bread with peanut butter on it when I showed up for my work.  See, I used to work for my uncle, who lived downstairs from my mother.  She would pick me up every day, and when she got a boyfriend (they weren't married at the time yet), all of a sudden, I was a nuisance.  I kept hearing his voice as I made my sandwich "Don't you ever eat at home??!"  Like, what I was taking from her was greedy, or selfish, even though it was just a small piece of peanut butter on a single piece of bread.  Back then, my anxiety was through the roof because my ex had taken me to court to put my kids in school (as they had been homeschooled up until that point).  I was alone all day, and the only thing keeping my sanity together was leaving the house to work for my uncle.  When I didn't, I would collapse into a pile of despair and sleep as much as I could.  I was also verging on being suicidal, due to how bad it got.  Not like making a plan or anything, but I wanted no not wake up from one of my many naps, so I didn't have to feel that way anymore.  

And all my mother did was scream, yell, and complain she had to drive me every single day, as though she had anything else to do.  

It was all over him.  Because she wanted to maximize her time with him, even though he could come over afterwards and soon after, he moved in with her.  She would yell at scream about me to him in front of me.  And I would just sit there, trying to breathe, because it was all I could do.  

I couldn't stop hearing his voice today.  And I had to keep reminding myself "This is my food. I paid for it.  I shopped for it.  I cook it.  It's fucking mine.  Nobody has a right to tell me I cannot my fucking food."  Because it's not just his voice I heard, it's also hers.  When we first moved in, I treated this house like mine.  I did what I wanted, where I wanted, like a normal person.  But my mother, little by little,  cattled me into my room.  Meaning, I had to stop doing stuff outside of my bedroom if I wanted to get anything done.  On top of that, if I made food for lunch in front of her, she always had a comment for me.  "Oh, you're going to eat now?"  "Oh, that's a big salad, geez!"  "Oh, you're making something to eat?  Make me one too!"  "Oh, you're eating again?"  "Geezus, you're going to eat now?  That's crazy!  No thank you!" (it was noon, normal lunch time for most of the world).  Last year, she even had to nerve to tell me I was fat...though that part was more than likely her dementia (but then again, who knows).  She's always saying something to me, and my oldest son, to shame us for wanting to eat.  She shames him for eating too quickly or how much he eats.  Or just eating anything at all.  And it wasn't like we ate all the time or massive amounts.  We eat like normal people.  But she has her scapegoats (my oldest son and me) and apparently us ever wanting to eat at all was just too much.  And it was getting out of control.  

Then she went away for a few months to rehab, and when she came home, her mind wasn't the same.  So, we stopped eating around her.  All of us.  I make her dinner first, around 5:30pm.  And she eats alone.  Because if she doesn't?  She will nitpick every little thing everyone does at the table.  How much we're eating.  How much we're not eating.  Though that's been getting better, too, since we've stopped eating with her.  

But during the day?  I have to sneak out of my room to get food before she sees me.  Why?  Because I don't want to hear her comments on my food.  And I don't want her to ask me to "make one for her", as she knows perfectly well how to make her own lunches.  I could just not care and tell her to shut the fuck up if she says something stupid.  And I probably should.  But it's a huge issue with me.  Eating around her.  Before she went to rehab, I was getting to the point I was going to stop eating dinner with my entire family at all.  All of my food anxiety was coming back, something plagued me for over thirty years that I finally got rid of.  But now, living back with her?  It's all coming back.  And it's not fucking fair.  But thank goodness my hubby works nights and the rest of us eat later, because that changed the dynamic so we don't have to eat with her at all.

But as for sneaking lunches?  I really need to stand my ground about it.  And not care.  But easier said than done.  I would much prefer to not have my food anxiety and be able to eat my lunch without a stomachache.  Sounds stupid, I know.  But I guess it works.  Kind of.  

As for hearing his stupid voice again?  Like I said: I bought the food.  I picked out the food.  I made the food.  Nobody can tell me, not even in my own head, I can't eat the food.  

If she'd just stop making constant comments on every fucking little thing.  "Oh, I bet your feet are cold!" or "I like your shoes!" (both said if I am barefoot).  "Oh, I like your shirt!  It's so bright and loud!  I could find you in a crowd if you were wearing it!" (she said this today to me, actually). "Oh look, it's a party now!" (said every single morning when I let the dogs out).  Every thing a person wears, looks like, is doing, etc. HAS to be commented on by her.  Every.  Little.  Thing.  I think I will just say "Oh wow, this is fun.  Captain Obvious is back again!" until she shuts up.  Or "Thanks for pointing out, ONCE AGAIN I am not wearing any shoes.  So much fun hearing your comments on every little thing I do."  It will piss her off.  But it will piss her enough to get her to stop.  

Maybe.  

Anyways, I ate my ham and cheese sandwich in peace in my room while watching "On Becoming a God in Central Florida".  Which is funny, because I had just watched LuLaRich on Netflix, which is a documentary about the stupidity and horribleness of pyramid schemes.  I am assuming the other show is making fun of Amway.  Which I didn't even know when I started watching it.  Funny.  Pisses me off that I didn't get in on the LuLaRoe tidal wave back in the day, but then again, I am not a salesperson and I probably would have squandered the money I made (though I know better now).  Oh well.  Money doesn't last, because that's the nature of it.  It's meant to be constantly passed around.  Kind of like my mother's comments.  She just keeps passing them as though they are payment for whatever it is she thinks you did to ruin her life, or something.  

I wish my memories didn't bother me anymore.  I wish I could let go of the hurt they still cause me.  The guilt I feel while making a simple sandwich.  I am forty fucking four.  I can eat any damn time I want to.  Yet I was so scared she'd find me and say "Oh, you're eating now??  At four pm?  You know it's almost dinner time!"  Whey do I care if she says that?  Why do I give a flying fuck?  She's a horrible person and has no idea how to be a human being, much less a mother, so why do I care what she says?  Her judgment of me means nothing.  Yet, I let it mean everything, that I am willing to hide from her just so I can eat.  Geez.  I just want to be able to break free of this mindset.  I just need to do it.  Just go out there, and make food, and who cares who sees me.  And then I need to correct her when she says stupid things.  I don't like standing up for myself.  I don't like being seen as rude.  But why?  Sometimes you need to be a little rude to keep someone else from being ruder to you.  

Ugh.  Well, it's dinner time for her, so I better go make her food.  At least she doesn't knock on my door to remind me to cook for her anymore, as she used to.  Good grief.