I saw this image this morning on FB (somewhere, don't recall where), and it triggered the memory that my grandfather (mom's abusive prick of a father), in true stereotypical Italian-old-man-fashion, he used to raise pigeons (specifically, carrier pigeons).
Many years ago, he used to compete.
One of my first memories of my grandfather, we're in his basement of the old family house (not the house described later in this post), and I'm maybe 5 years old? And there I was, holding a pigeon chick... which promptly shit all over my hand.
I think back to the stench of dog shit and dog piss for the German shepard they kept down there, tethered and in the dark, antisocial motherfucker, who one day bit me, and forever has left me with a fear and reluctance towards German Shepards.
I think back to about a year after my grandmother died (perhaps longer?), in preparing my grandfather's house for sale, the entire family was expected to go there and help pack. I, of course, had my boundary in full effect. I stopped doing anything for the old man, after the last good deed I did for him, rather than thank me, he insulted me to my face. So, no, I was not one of the lackeys there, digging through his filthy stuff.
I think back to my dad telling me of how everyone had bundled up outright trash to go to the curb, broken shit and such, and how when they'd return the next day, all that broken shit had found its way back into the garage.
But wait. There's more.
Approximately ten years, perhaps fifteen even, prior to the sale of his house, he stopped raising pigeons. He had an elaborate system of coops in the garage. And it was expected that ALL HANDS ON DECK were to go in there, and clean out the coops. Yes. For 10-15 years, those coops sat as they remained, full of feathers and petrified pigeon shit, and bugs and old seed, and no doubt mold and who knows what other types of inhalation hazards. Fuck all of you people, clean that shit!
I think of how unacceptable all this was (mind you, the old fuck's birthday was three days ago), and how every last person that helped that old, miserable, thankless fuck, had endangered themselves with who-knows-what they were inhaling, but also in doing so, enabling more of this self-centered, overly-demanding, narcissistic bullshit, which would continue on for another 22 years until his ultimate passing.
I think back to the last winter my mother worked. Her car up and died. No cell phone handy. Somehow a cop happened by, and drove her to her father's house, where she asked him if she could borrow his car. "No."
I think back to how cold that night was. I remember my dad driving to the old man's house, and then struggling to get Audrey into his truck. A comedy of errors no doubt, but in freezing temps, it took my dad all winter long to shake that bout of bronchitis as a result.
I think back to when my dad was in the hospital dying, and Audrey's roof sprung a leak, and she merely asked the old fuck for a loan. To which, his response was, "Go to the bank like everyone else."
I think back to the crocodile tears that piece of shit old man cried when my father died. It was utter bliss to know he would not show up at the funeral. Because like Audrey, he was too hobbled and handicapped (though, in his defense, it was rheumatoid arthritis, not mobility issues due a combination of obesity and related co-morbidities like Audrey--who, was unable to attend her father's funeral four short years later).
I think back to the old man's funeral. There I was, playing the part fate had cast for me. And there we all were, being there, some on our own accord, some because Audrey couldn't be there herself. Yet another example of others do do doing for Audrey, thankless tasks that are quickly forgotten.
I think of Audrey. I think of all those years of abuse. Every last hateful word. Every last heart string manipulated.
I think of the expectation/demand that my sister manually disimpact her.
I think of those filthy fucking syringes in her box of books.
I think of all that, and then some, and cannot help but think of how outrageous all this is, all this has been, and knowing my sister has employed some boundaries, and knowing and hoping that the never-ending cycle of expect, demand, abuse, might be coming to a close when Audrey ultimately passes, whenever that happens to be.
I think of what a huge waste of time all of this, this family life, such as it is, such as it was, has been.
35 or 36 Years ago Audrey informed all three of us kids (after being KIDS and being loud or playing at our aunt's house) of which form of contraception failed:
"You! (Me) YOU were a condom that never was." (*Allegedly my dad had the mumps as a kid and thought he was sterile.)
"You! (Little brother) YOU were a diaphragm that didn't work!"
"You! (Sister, middle child) YOU were the only one I wanted and look at what I got!" (Totally dripping with disgust and disdain).
This was par for the course during a childhood of a never ending stream of invective like this, peppered amongst the regular standby's, one-size-fits-all invective like, "I hate you," and the golden chestnut, "I wish you were never born." This was a childhood where we all took to hiding to ride out the worst of the abuse. To this day, the smell of fresh, clean linen is the most soothing of scents to me, as the linen closet and under beds were my ideal hiding spots.
Pan forward to 2008, when both parents had taken ill. One in the hospital dying, the other (Audrey) in the nursing home, in the process of having her bowels manually disimpacted by my sister. Audrey decided while my sister was doing an archeological dig on her ass, that THAT was the right time and place to inform my sister of how she's got a different relationship with each of her children:
"Oh yes. Maven is my friend. And (name redacted) is my baby. And I love you because you're my daughter."*
This is a stunning example of lack of boundaries, of Audrey expecting my sister to manually disimpact her, despite the obviousness that she was in a nursing facility and there were staffers there for MEDICAL CARE such as that; as well as my sister's participation in the lack of boundaries by OBLIGING Audrey in this most unpleasant of tasks.
Another gem from summer of 2008 was when Audrey was in the hospital, by dad's bedside, roughly two weeks after his surgery, him attached to the ventilator and mute, she exerted her power by introducing me to dad's day nurse:
"This is Maven, my husband's daughter."
The pendulum continues to swing radically, still to this day, as is evidenced by the wild vascilation to the left, which took place on Saturday of Easter weekend with Audrey in full on manip-u-mode, hysterically crying "I am sorry, I'm sorry. I thought you were made at me!!" to present day snarling at my sister, "Don't ask me if I've heard from Maven. It's like you're stabbing me in the heart!" Clearly, she's unhinged,in denial that any of us (siblings, and now the extended family) talk, and she's in full on Kermit Flail to anyone she thinks she might get a rise out of, or a modicum of sympathy at the very least.
And when I say that the pendulum continues to swing radically, I do not mean it goes from "good witch" to "bad witch," I essentially mean going from shitty, to something even more inconceivably shitty... as well as the obvious, her going from "Victim to bitch in 10 seconds flat."
*Now about that "friend" shit. For starters--ERRONEOUS! It's being nice, like feeding the wildlife, which my friend Anne R. Key has been quoted in one of her most recent blog posts as saying. Nice. But being nice like a survival mechanism, but not entirely unlike the foolhardy Timothy Treadwell being nice with those cuddly grizzlies, that ultimately took his life, just as viciously as Audrey will take mine, if given the opportunity.
I saw this caption under a photo over at Humans of New York about a week ago:
“My parents were always fighting. They
weren’t very supportive. I used to be bitter about it. I was caught up
on how my life could have been different if I had better parents. How
things would have been different if x, y, and z had happened.
But then you get older and you realize maybe they didn’t have the
capacity to give you what you needed. They couldn’t understand you,
just like you couldn’t understand them. You realize they were dealing
with their own disappointments. And you even start to think, ‘Maybe I
could have been a better son.’”
I thought to myself the how it parallels my life narrative, to a degree. Right up until I got to the last sentence.
I mean, hey, if my folks were working out their own shit, dealing with their own disappointments and baggage, they were STILL the adults in this dynamic. And if they were doing the best they could with the hand they were dealt, why cannot the inverse be also valid, that I was trying to do the best that I could do with what I was dealt.
Thought provoking for sure.
For years, as a coping mechanism, I tried to make a silk purse out of the sow's ear, and looked the other way, and still tried to make Audrey happy. When that finally stopped working, my next coping mechanism was to convince myself that Audrey is handicapped, emotionally handicapped and unable to be who we need her to be, as well as be who SHE NEEDS TO BE FOR HERSELF. When that finally stopped working as a coping mechanism, I finally see her as she truly is, a destructive narcissistic sociopath, devoid of a conscience, devoid of self-awareness. I see a husk of a human being, frittering away what precious time she's got left, wrapped up in her constant feeding frenzy to be the center of the known universe, and like the Emperor in the Emperor's New Clothes, she's in total denial that her nakedness is clearly evident for all to see.
Ain't nobody got time for that.
Pain is relative.
My relatives are pains.
Coincidence? I think not.
I did neglect to mention in the previous blog post that Audrey has taken to being a rude bitch to my 12 year old niece, in the form of hanging up on her. No "good bye" or "talk to you later." Just "blah blah blabbity blah blah" *CLICK!*
I think one of two things should happen:
1. My niece should call back immediately and inform Audrey how rude she just was. (Then if Audrey gets a wild hair up her ass and demand talking to my sis, my niece should hang up on her, then gaslight the fuck out of Audrey when/if she actually gets in touch with my sister, and flat out, yet calmly (subtext: convincingly) deny any such thing happened); and/or
2. The next time Audrey calls and my niece fields the call, she should pre-emptively hang up on Audrey (then convincingly lie that it took place).
Quid pro quo, Clarice! QUID PRO QUO!!!
Truly, reading "The Art of War" truly applies when dealing with Audrey.
"All warfare is based on deception."
True. True. The illusion/delusion is fully at play with her. She lives in an alternate reality, parallel to ours, only way more fucked up. A reality where she isn't this tragic, weak, narcissistic, sociopath, devoid of conscience and self awareness. Deception, indeed. Thinking she's deceiving us all, yet, deceiving herself in the process. Full on flail mode happening.
"If you know both yourself and your enemy, you can win a hundred battles without jeopardy."
Only in this warfare, there is to be NO winning. Or at a minimum, surviving won't necessarily feel like winning, given the cost (all or nothing, shunning, etc from Audrey and whatever family members choose to side with her particular reality).
"If your opponent is of choleric temper, seek to irritate him. Pretend to be weak, that he may grow arrogant."
Interesting thing about that "choleric temper" and pretending to be weak. It doesn't take much to raise Audrey's ire. And pretending to be weak? Well, I am who and what I am. Whatever weakness might be perceived is an illusion or construct of Audrey's own warped imagination.
Typical conversation with anyone in our family goes along the lines of, "Hey, have you talked to so-and-so?" Well, the last time my sister asked Audrey if Audrey has heard from me, Audrey snarled back, "I wish you'd stop asking me that. It's like you're stabbing me in the heart with a knife each time you ask that." Sis' response to that? "Okay, I won't ask again!"
So the last few weeks have been interesting to say the least.
My sister finally got her Dx re: the mass on her lung, and it's resolving itself, and is mercifully NOT the Big C, and turns out to be pneumonia which is resolving itself. Sis also has been seeing a psychiatrist for help dealing with/managing her stress, depression and off-the-charts anxiety, which Audrey's never ending supply of demands and cunt-i-tude has been exacerbating.
So, color me surprised when my sister called me on Friday to let me know that she finally laid out her boundaries with Audrey, and in no uncertain terms is Audrey to call her more than 2x a day. And if my sister or her husband come to the house for an errand? That counts as one of the two calls. So far, so good. And of course, Audrey being... AUDREY, is pissy and her way of taking it out on my sister, is to spite her by NOT CALLING. Win-win scenario!
Of course all this was taking place during roughly the ten days when I just couldn't get around to calling Audrey before falling asleep in front of the tube etc. Dinner + t.v. = snooze fest, then I'd wake up around 10 or 11, too late to call Audrey. And well? The phone works both ways, and no call received. I kept thinking I'd get around to calling Audrey eventually, and then the phone rang (see previous blog post). And I guess that call was too normal to be taken on its own merit, so this blog post is pretty much the back story of what was going on, leading up to Audrey calling me.
I am condensing the story substantially, but the nuts and bolts of the discussion with my sister involved:
- Sis detailing in no uncertain terms about how many calls she will entertain during the day;
- Audrey pointing out the obvious "weakness" in my sister and I, how we obviously got that from dad's side of the family (since in her warped reality, dad's family is the only family with emotional issues--and further talking smack about my father, who's been dead 6 years at this point)
- Sis acknowledging that no matter what she does for Audrey will never be good enough because it's HER doing those tasks and not me or my brother. Again, furthering my point of view that no matter what anyone does for Audrey, it'll never be good enough.
- BONUS! The evening aide who comes in to cook dinner for Audrey, is loud and obnoxious and is driving Audrey crazy. Also? She's got the balls to go toe-to-toe with Audrey's abuse and dish it right back at her.
I've pretty much hit my limit of listening to Audrey talk smack about my dad and his family. Dying has not been enough to get her to shut the fuck up about them. It is obvious Audrey lacks any respect, for us or for dad's memory, to just keep her yapper shut. Ever the victim, ever the self-righteous cunt, she's got to keep opening her mouth and letting the carelessly cruel stupidity and vitriol just vomit forth.
The Art of War is also in line with the philosophy of Krav Maga. The first two principles are:
1. Avoid war (or attack) at all cost.
2. If war or attack is unavoidable, end it quickly.
After plenty of consideration, the next opportunity I get (subtext, if she talks smack about dad, or poo poo's mental illness), my verbal pike has been sharpened to a point and I plan on skewering the fuck right out of her with this:
1. The man's been dead six years, isn't it time you just let him rest in peace? (to which she will no doubt escalate things, in which case...)
2. Want to know what weakness IS? Neglecting yourself for nearly 70 years, being isolated, depressed and miserable and NOT SEEKING HELP TO FIX THAT (to which, if she doesn't hang up the phone, she will continue to escalate things...)
3. Since you'll never learn to keep your mouth shut, I'm done. See you at your funeral. (At which point I will just hang up.)
