Futility Fragment

My mom has always exhibited BPD w/narcissistic and destructive tendencies; however, ever since she has effectively hobbled herself (by neglecting her health to the point where she's pretty much housebound, and has limited mobility, and IMHO a poor quality of life), and after the passing of my dad in 2008, her narcissism has continued to increase.

At first I thought perhaps she might have Body Integrity Identity Disorder, as it seems like she is hell bent on losing a leg or two. But I guess it's not BIID, not because she envisions herself without legs, but definitely she revels in the attention that her handicap provides her. So I guess it's like Munchaussens by Proxy... but without the proxy.

Usually her health crises end up piggy backing on other crises in the family. In 2008 when my dad had his final hospitalization and was selling off his truck, and gave away all his beloved pets, and was liquidating assets, mom couldn't bear life with him any longer, and was mixing and matching medications, and had a suicidal bent to her POV. It's not like she was TRYING to kill herself, but she lost the will to live and if she died in the process, so be it. So it was bad enough to deal with dad's final hospitalization, but to do so with her in the hospital w/a blood glucose hovering around 500+, and she was in a hospital then a nursing facility, well, she demanded equal time, damn it.

This past December, my grandfather died. And due to her hobbling herself, she was unable to make the hour long drive to attend her own father's funeral and burial. And right on schedule, mom's legs were getting bad. Again. Apparently for weeks, and didn't say shit to anyone about it. All she'd do is sit and cry about it. And of course, take antibiotics that were leftover from previous bouts of cellulitis (thus proving she's not compliant and doesn't finish up rounds of medication as required). Even in her vicodin induced haze, she's in constant pain. While I can empathize about living in pain, I have no more "give a fuck" for her, as so much of this could have been avoided or managed DECADES ago, when things started to slide into the land of WTF. It's obvious, she doesn't want to do anything about it.

I recall vividly when hearing her whine about how bad her legs are, and doing it in her characteristic "Pitiful Pearl" voice as well. And I replied, "Then why are you not at the hospital getting medical attention?" And on the turn of the edge of a dime her tone got nasty and clipped, and she snarled back at me, "BECAUSE I DON'T WANT TO!"

Esprit d'escalier: Well fuck you. If all you want to do is whine and drain everyone of empathy, and have us worry if you live or die and you're not going to do the bare bones minimum to see to it that you don't lose your legs, then perhaps you deserve to lose your legs!

Seriously. What-the-actual-fuck?

It's kind of like watching someone commit suicide on a molecular level. And I have no intention on being there in her last moments to hear her snivel to me, "I was a good mother... wasn't I?" no doubt with the lower lip pooched out and pathetically quivering as crocodile tears run down her face. 

The telephone time out continues.