Over it!

So, my relationship with my family is weird. Strained, disjointed, and weird. I have a brother 3 and a half years older than me, I haven’t seen or spoken to him in over 13 years.

My mother and I, oh my goodness I don’t know where to start. Basically, every once in a while, we kind of function. The rest of the time, she is either trying to make me feel guilty for not doing what she wants me to do for her, or is putting down my husband (who, by the way, is really pretty AWESOME) or my father. She also likes to spout off about how whatever I think or believe is wrong. She is seriously crazy. Very unpredictable, and sometimes quite scary.

M’s aunt and uncle have been in the picture quite a lot lately, have taken quite an interest in Sam. I’m quite surprised by our relationship with them. It is so easy. There is no constant drama . His aunt actually called to check on me this week, just once, not enough to worry me about invading my privacy, to make sure I was doing okay with M out of town. I’m speechless really when I try to convey to them how grateful I am.

I think they think I am joking, they just can’t imagine that I’ve never had someone with whom I didn’t have to constantly be a diplomat, trying to pick out the correct way to say something so that it couldn’t be twisted against me. I had to take a “personality” analysis for my employment here, and my top skill was diplomacy. They were quite impressed at this, as I guess it was a fairly rare skill to have in the technical field. I wasn’t surprised at all.
Since about 7 years of age, I’ve had to carefully construct anything I had to say, or it would be used against me. She could be tender, loving at times, but you never knew when. Some days, she would wake up, push my brother and I out the door, and say “I don’t want to be a mother today, get out and don’t come back!” I’m not exaggerating.

Luckily, we lived on a bit of land, and my brother and I would explore for a while. Sometimes we could come back and listen and tell if she was asleep, so we could sneak back in and get lunch. I became so afraid of making her mad that I lost the ability to show anger. About anything. When I went to drug rehab at the age of 16, they tried everything to get me to show anger, even falsely accusing me of doing something against the rules that resulted in my losing privileges. I just couldn’t do it; I didn’t realize how weird that was at the time.

When I was about 11 or 12, and my father moved out, my mother quit being a mother completely. My brother, who was disgusted by my very existence, and dealing with the trauma on his own, was no comfort or help, nor should he have been. I started cooking, doing laundry, cleaning, etc. I dreaded when I would have to tell her that we needed groceries. She was the only one with a driver’s license, so I didn’t have any other options.

It was a horrible time. I felt lonely, abandoned. I couldn’t do much socially, as she would get so angry if I asked her to pick me up from anywhere. I’ll never forget a slumber party I attended once. She got lost on the way there, and had to call for directions. When she got there, all the girls from the party and the parents were standing out on the front porch. The other parents that had come to pick up their children came up and introduced themselves to the party giver’s parents, and thanked them. I was waiting for her to do the same, but instead, she rolled down the window and said, “Get in the Godd****d car!”. Everyone shuffled around nervously and avoided eye contact as I made me way to the car, dreading the verbal assault that awaited me.

I think that lasted about three years? My father wasn’t any help, he was newly married with a new baby, and really didn’t want anything to do with his old kids. It probably didn’t help that our mother had us call him to ask about the alimony payments if they were a few days late.

When she finally decided that she was ready to come out of her bedroom, she wanted to be the Mom again. It ticked me off. It still ticks me off. She left us to be on our own for years, and then suddenly, we’re supposed to respect and obey her again? Maybe that is the crux of my problems with her; I’ll never fully forgive her for it. I feel guilty because I don’t feel any real love for her, and she is a pitiful person. So, I try to act the part even though I don’t feel it.

And since then, she’s “sick”, which translates to her doing nothing but smoking, sitting on the couch playing video games, and collecting money on disability. And complaining. This has gone on for years. Every time she doesn’t want to do something, she’s “sick”. She didn’t attend my wedding or my college graduation. She was “sick”. Maybe that should be my excuse for not dealing with her. I’m “sick”. And tired of her!

I haven’t spoken with her for almost a month now, and this has been one of the most peaceful months I can remember.

I remember being worried about being a good parent for Sam, before he came along. And now I know that it won’t be hard to outdo my childhood.