The Xmas Visit: The Post-Visit Session With My Therapist

The movie History of the World Part I pretty much sums it up thusly: 

"And, of course, with the birth of the artist, came the inevitable after birth... The critic." 

Similarly, "of course with the birth of any visit involving my family, comes the inevitable afterbirth: The session with my therapist."

This morning I did my post-visit, high speed download of word vomit, leaving my therapist pretty much stupefied by the carelessly cruel insults regarding my food, as well as the insulting thing about my husband. "Wow!" and "Whoah!" were uttered a few times. 

And today's session left me with more questions than answers, with "Why am I doing this if it is not fulfilling?" being at the top of that list of questions. 

Perhaps my mother is too broken or too lacking in give-a-fuck for social niceties. Perhaps I'm not even deserving of her being nice. All I know is that the trip was physically exhausting, disgusting, disheartening. 

The drive of 2.5 hours one way, each way, destroys me enough.  
Then add to it the insults. 
Then add to that sleeping on a bed with pillows that are filled with saw dust and the lost souls of innocents. 
Then add to it the "scent story" and "morning pungency." 
Then add to it the morning headache which stayed with me all day.   
Then add to is the passive-aggression/stalker bullshit with my sister. 
Then add to it my mother's attempts at guilt-ing me or manipulating me to get my niece an Xmas gift.

It all, combined, proved to be more than a bit much for me, and it's taking me more than a couple days to just regroup and re-center myself.

"Why am I doing this if it is not fulfilling?"

I stand by my selfish reasons for doing this. That in a way as an insurance policy when mom dies I won't be questioning myself, and ruing that I should or could have done more. But the reality is, no matter how much I do, or WHAT I do, it'll never be enough, and furthermore, it will never be truly appreciated. 

I need to figure this out. I wish I could just stop. Completely. 

Fortunately I don't have to figure this out right this moment, today. However, at least moving forward, when I go to visit again after Spring thaw, I won't be staying over, and I won't be bringing food I've made. BOUNDARIES.  

Three more days, and it will be a full year since the Shituation commenced. 

The Xmas Visit: Let No Good Deed Go Unpunished

Given my status as Freddo Corleone, and the fact that this coming weekend (12/19) is the big Family Holiday Fuckfest Extravaganza, I decided to visit my mother last weekend (12/12). Barring any post-holiday health drama in January (always January, why? I haven't a clue), I should be set to visit her again right around Spring thaw, near her birthday in March.

Anyway. In preparation for visiting her, I made a pot roast, an orange-date cake, and a tray of baked french toast. I had a bag of salad, mashed potatoes and some pumpkin puree with roasted root veggies on top too. I did all this on Friday night after work, when any normal person would have just been vegetating, and relaxing. Not me. However, I think this is the last time I go to this degree of preparations. I might even make a shorter visit (not sleep over), too.

The litany of the weekend commenced at 9 a.m., as I had a physical therapy appointment before everything else. And that was the tipping point for me. If I could not drag myself out of bed and get showered and out of the house for THAT, then the entire weekend would not have happened as planned. But fortunately for me, I managed to get to the appointment on time, and get out of there by 11.

From physical therapy, I headed to Jersey. First I stopped in Ho-Ho-Kus to gas up (holy shit! $1.89 a gallon?). I then headed to Delicious Orchards to pick up coffee and cheese and a few what-have-yous--and to stretch my legs and to use the restroom. Then I was off to Walmart, because there's almost always a "Oh, can you get me this" list. And lastly, I arrived there.

If I overlook or omit the dry-heave-inducing aspects of the visit (i.e. the "scent story" layering of urine/ammonia & too many candles & too much Febreeze, coupled up with mom insisting on unwrapping her legs in front of me), I guess it was a nice enough visit--but still had its negatives.

Mind you all the cooking above was for her, not really me, though in honesty, I did reserve two piece of pot roast (at home) for myself. Not one thank you was uttered. Instead, I was informed that my cake was dry (erroneous!), and (last night she informed me that) my pot roast gave her the shits (of course it couldn't POSSIBLY be the box of chocolate covered cherries she inhaled! of course not! Oh and she went into graphic detail about the duration of her alleged pot-roast shits).

Saturday was not without its own little drama. Mom was concerned that my sister would show up while I was there (not sure why she thought this, given the last visit, my sister clearly saw my car in the drive way and just kept driving past the house). So mom enlisted my brother for advice, and he texted my sister and told her this was my weekend. My brother in turn told mom that he likes to remind our sister that the house is mom's (and note: No, mom does not live with my sister or in a mother-daughter arrangement. She lives in a house of her own a half mile away). 

That notwithstanding, roughly around 9:30 Saturday night, with the front of the house dark as a tomb, there was a knock at the door. I flooded the house with light and as I got to the door, I heard my niece say, "It's me, I want to show grandma my dress." So I let her in, all the while my sister sat in the car, outside, like a cowardly weasel). 

Both, my mother and I were stunned. I felt awkward and unsure of what was transpiring, and was so thrown off kilter, I failed to have the presence of mind to snap a photo of her in this dress.  The visit had all the unexpected timing of a drive-by shooting, and before it was done, my niece turned to me and said, "It's good to see you," and hugged me. Which I thought was sweet, but confusing.  

So of course, mom and I spent the rest of the evening analyzing what transpired and the possible motivations for it. Mom suspects it was my sister's attempts at an olive branch being extended; whereas I believe the visit was entirely my niece's doing. Also, you don't send a child into a situation/problem caused by adults, and think that's going to fix everything. I viewed this entire thing with a jaundiced eye: that IF it was motivated by my sister, this is not an olive branch, but a means of trying to manipulate me by way of baiting the hook with a big fat worm, expecting ME to make the next move, and call HER. At this point in time, my mother was trying to convince me to get a Barnes & Noble gift card for my niece for Xmas, which, of course, I immediately shot down. I'm not mad at my niece, hell, this has nothing to do with her directly. But my sister used her as a pawn, and I refuse to take the bait and do the same.

My sister has a long wait if she thinks I'm going to call her.

Sunday I awoke to a headache bordering on a migraine (fortunately it never bloomed fully, but tormented me all damned day), and I realized I failed to pack even one spare tablet of migraine medication. I refused the offer of a vicodin because that would ensure I wouldn't get home, or at a minimum I would not be able to finish out my Sunday as planned. And yes, I always have a plan, and I always stick to a set schedule, otherwise the entire day or even the entire weekend will get sucked into a big black hole where time doesn't exist, thus putting me squarely behind the eight ball, playing Beat the Clock, and of course, setting me up to be a flake on other people, with whom I've made plans.

By 11 a.m., still stifling dry heaves and wondering how the day would play out as I was clearly feeling like shit, I forced myself to stick to my schedule. Other people were counting on me, so that's a good motivator (most of the time).

I left her house, headed to Edison to do some Indian grocery shopping, and to pick up some very special take out the Maharajah ordered online. From there, I headed to my great aunt & cousin's house for a visit. And this visit was very nice. My cousin is a year older than I am (actually a first cousin of my mother), and my great aunt (his mom) is actually the sister of my grandfather. The visit was lovely, and he's a superior baker, so I was a bit reluctant to give him the cake I made for him--especially given my mother insisted it was so dry--when clearly it was not. 

Three hours later, I begged off and headed home. I didn't want to stay too long and over-stay my welcome, plus I wanted to be on the road while still daylight and in that, I did fail, as I left at dusk, and darkness quickly descended on me while I drove. The drive from there is not normally too demanding, as it's only an hour from my home, but I was tired, and fighting off that headache, and driving with bifocals, and it's now dark, and I felt more than a bit anxious driving home. 

I got home totally, physically spent. I immediately heated up some heating pads for my neck, fixed myself a cocktail (a Boulevardier), got situated with some snacks, and called my mother to let her know I got home okay but a longer call would happen Monday night as I was exhausted. And I was. Exhausted.  

And on Monday when I called mom to let her know how the visit with our aunt and cousin went, she tried, yet again, to manipulate me into buying a gift for my niece, which I shot down yet again. I could tell there were more things she wanted to say (perhaps things my sister said to her about me). But I did not push. I did not ask, "So, what did she say?" Because in all honesty, I don't give a shit. Ultimately what happened a year ago was both, compounded by years of her bullshit jealousy as well as something utterly stupid which could have been remedied AT THAT TIME, yanno, if she were an adult. 

A friend of mine who knows of this SHITuation was listening to a song, Boy With a Gun,  recently and it reminded her vividly of the current state of things, and it truly is fitting:

He knows well his wicked ways
A course of bitterness
A grudge held from his childhood days
As if life had loved him less
Reading down his list of names
He ticks them one by one
He points the barrel at the sky
Firing shots off at the sun

Thanksgiving: Post-Game Wrap Up

I am a bit remiss in not immediately posting about this; however, figure I might as well share it, as it IS related to the theme of this blog.

Thanksgiving. No. I did not go to my family's Thanksgiving Fuckfest Extravaganza catered entirely by Boston Market. Rather, I hosted a lovely Thanksgiving with six guests, so eight if you include us. Glorious day summed up succinctly by one of the eight year olds in attendance: "B.E.E. -- BEST. EXPERIENCE. EVER."  

I can honestly say in 47 years, I have never had that sensation after Thanksgiving with my own family. There were SOME Thanksgivings that were nice-ish, or had some nice aspects to them, but in the last 25 years, the "nice" has been ground down to an imperceptible nub.

So, I no sooner emptied the house of guests and was about to put my feet up when my mother called to give me her report of how her day went. Turns out we both had lovely days. I am not sure if this is a facade or what (on her part), but so far, my aunt and my brother both have confirmed they had a nice time, drama-free in fact! 

And of course, mom can't keep a confidence to save her life. She's got to gossip--

Mom:  "I have something I need to tell you, but you have to promise me you won't tell a soul."

Me: "Who the fuck do I talk to? Anyway--what is the deal? Did J's MS come out of remission?"

Mom:  "WHO TOLD YOU THAT? YOUR BROTHER?"

Me: "No. I kinda figured everyone in the family has been waiting the last 15-20 years for 'the other shoe to drop,' so it seemed like an obvious secret you wanted to tell me.

Mom: "Oh. And your sister said that if you were to call her, she doesn't want you to call her because his MS is out of remission."

Me: "She's got a long wait if she thinks I'm going to call her:) SHE is the one who started this great silence, not me. If she wants to speak to/with me, she can pick up the phone herself. Afterall, she started THIS, she can end this."

Mom: "So, when I die, are you going to attend my funeral?"

Me: "That's entirely up to your other daughter, not me."

/endscene

My great failure was not asking her at the time the date of the Family Winter Holiday Fuckfest. So, I texted my aunt to find out the date. She was kind of gleeful, "Are you going to it?" And I replied, "No. Don't forget, I'm Freddo Corleone." And she chimed in how we should get together again (as she did in October), and (much like my reply in October) I said, "I'll be going to NYC this coming weekend," she immediately had (yet another) excuse for not being available.

The reality is she lives the closest to me out of everyone in the family and I never see her--and she's mobile. Visiting me is not a priority. I "get" that. OWN IT. 45 minutes is not like I live on Planet Jupiter. It's a do-able drive. And I've stopped doing pop-ins (years ago) when I'd pass through her area, because why should I pop-in? She doesn't do it the countless times she's passed through my neck of the woods. This whole conditional bullshit is endemic to my mother's side of the family. 

And much in line with the excuse she had at-the-ready to decline my suggestion we meet in NYC this past weekend, also characteristic of her was the lack of an invitation for me to visit either Xmas Eve (she does the feast of the seven fishes) or Xmas Day or whatever. And that's fine. I've got plans. And even if I didn't have plans, spending the day in my pajamas, or going without pants, and drinking gin based cocktails DOES have its allure.

Twelve more days and it will be a full year of zero communication with my sister. I can intellectualize it. The waste of time. Tomorrow isn't promised to any of us. And she'd rather waste time doing this. However, I can respect it. The silence. But it's not silence. She's using my mother as a go-between. WAFFLING. I hate waffling. 

Want me in your life? Fine.
Don't want me in your life? Fine.

Shit or get off the pot. It doesn't matter to me at all. 

Cross Posting This: Email from Dad, 1/18/06

Email from me to dad with the comment attached, “Does this sound like someone you know?”: 

Partners from hell: ‘Borderline’ people have needy, fractured psyches and make life miserable for those closest to them. Sound like anyone you know? By Christmas Day in 2000, Jean Smith’s husband of 23 years shot himself. She found him but was unable to help – just four days earlier she had undergone back surgery. He survived, and when he recovered she recalled his words: “It was all your fault. You were such a b- the whole year.” This wasn’t the first time Smith’s husband refused to accept responsibility for his actions, she said. (The couple, who have since separated, requested that their real surname not be used.) […] 

While he was in the hospital, a social worker told her that it sounded as if her husband suffered from borderline personality disorder. “I’d never heard of it before,” said Smith, who turned to the Internet. “This was him, 100 percent. I couldn’t believe there were others out there like this.” Believed to afflict from 2% to 3% of the general population, BPD is more common than Alzheimer’s, which affects an estimated 4 million Americans, and more prevalent than bipolar disorder and schizophrenia combined. It’s seen in 10% to 20% of psychiatric outpatients and from 15% to 20% of inpatients. Tally the partners and children of those with BPD, and 30 million may suffer its effects, according to Randi Kreger, coauthor of “Stop Walking on Eggshells” (New Harbinger Publications, 1998), a book for family members of those with BPD. […] 

A study of twins by Dr. Svenn Torgersen of Norway, the only significant twin study on the subject to date, suggested a surprisingly strong genetic predisposition. What is inherited is not the disorder per se, Gunderson said, but probably its hallmark traits of impulsivity, aggressiveness and emotional intensity. Superimpose environmental factors, such as an abusive or distant parent, and BPD may develop. […] 

[This next passage made me think of that Irish term, “House Devil & Street Angel.”] “They can appear quite functional in their interactions with others – highly competent, focused, driven to be successful – but there’s intense inner chaos that tends to be projected only onto close family members,” said Michael Roe, a family law attorney and mediator in Chicago specializing in divorce and custody cases involving personality disorders. […] In a word, Roe said, BPD is “traumatic” for family members. […] 

Dad's reply to me, Subject: “Sh*anty Irish":

Hey there, It sure rings a bell——-there was a piece in dear Abby today-I thought maybe your sis or you wrote it, but it was from someone in the Midwest having the same problem. After Monday’s blast—–because i wasn’t going to drive her—–told me if she slips and falls don’t come to the hospital——-got tears & tears and curses galore——- 

I’m an infernal optimist so here it goes—– if i die i’m free—–if she dies I’m free—*There are a lot of similarities in that diagnosis—–like she is jealous of my relationship with you, your sis, your brother, your niece, the dogs, birds, my fishing, my shooting, when i was doing it my photography, anyone that i talk or associate with. and the Dirtiest trick of all——–its old hat—-but when i think of it i get furious, how I thought I failed and reproached myself for years——and it was all her doing and her mother went along with it, s*hanty Irish bitch. 

Well after reading that i guess there is a lot of them running around. 
Love, Dad 

*Tomorrow is the anniversary of his passing, so for me to read this today, it reminds me that however things "washed out," it was to be. It's okay. He's free.

Nine Months Into This

Still maintaining radio silence on my end. 

Of course, Audrey has to get involved. She knows my sister and I are not talking. She claims that:

1. My sister said she was going to text me regarding my birthday (and didn't); and
2. My sister allegedly asks if *I* ask about her (which I don't).

When I asked Audrey how did she reply when she was asked #2, she said, "Oh yes, I told her you ask about her." Which of course is a bold faced lie. Who knows? Perhaps even #2 never even happened. Perhaps that, too was a lie to manipulate ME into calling my sister. It's all suspicious. And on the off chance that #2 was asked and Audrey lied and said I am asking about my sister, my sister is now smug or thinking that I miss her or some other ridiculous thing. 

All I know is I have not heard from my sister. I am waiting it out to see if I get one of her inane holiday photo cards, which will no doubt be snapped either at Disney or somewhere in NYC, a scant half hour from my home. 

I have purchased a self-inking "return to sender" stamper so that if she does send a card, I'll just calmly stamp it and return it back to her unopened. To me, unless she calls or emails me to re-open an actual, direct line of communication, I am uninterested in getting a card with a picture of my niece, of whom she's forbidden me to contact. 

She can't have it both ways. You want me out of your life. Fine. You don't want to talk to me. Fine. You don't want me to have a relationship with my niece? Fine. I'm not going to participate in your delusion at all.

So there ya have it. I have managed 3/4 of a year so far! I can do a whole year standing on my head.

Five Months Later: Continued Radio Silence

Not much new to report here, other than radio silence has been maintained. And yet? I cannot help but feel that my relationship with my mother, as tenuous as it always has been, is perhaps the best it's ever been. I cannot help but connect the dots and come to the conclusion that she and I have a complicated ENOUGH relationship, and subtract my sister from it, the relationship seems on an even enough keel. 

At the end of April, knowing I would not be around or able to visit on Mother's Day, I made the trip to visit mom, and even did a sleep over there, and, as far as these things go, it was about as pleasant as it could be.

This is not to say I do not suspect my mother still has Borderline Personality Disorder, CLEARLY SHE DOES; however, without my sister's interference and influence on us, directly, in a visit? The visit was "nice."

However, initially, when I arrived, my mother was anxious about the possibility of my sister showing up, and (I guess) being upset that I was there. I said to my mother that she should just stop worrying and that one of two scenarios were likely to happen:

1.  My sister would show up, see my car in the driveway, and just decide to drive home; or
2. My sister would come inside to either continue fighting with me or buck up and be an adult and end this thing.

I said to mom that the person who SHOULD be anxious is ME, given I clearly am the sitting duck here, and if my sister were to show up, I would not be expecting to, nor would I want to interact with her.  

I stand by my resolve that she was the one who insisted we stop talking; and if we are to recommence talking, it will be SHE who initiates it, not me.

As I said to my therapist,  I can only handle one nutjob at a time. "There's a time and a place for everything, and everyone, and the time is now, and the person right now is my mother." Given my mother's health, who knows how much time she's got left. She's 70 and to be blunt we are always one medical drama away from "the inevitable." But at the moment she's holding her own--who knows how long this will last. But my focus right now is sobering that given I only visit 4x a year if that, and given her age and health, there is a finite amount of visits, so why not make them pleasant ones? 

Perhaps this is the natural order of things. Perhaps my focus SHOULD be on my mom. Ideally it would be nice if my sister were to get her head out of her ass before mom gets ill again and/or dies. I am not in control of that. Perhaps there will be reconciliation or not. Who knows. But I cannot fixate myself or my finite energy on trying to be someone I am not all in an attempt to try to make someone who is incapable of being happy (my sister), HAPPY? I did my best in the past, and that wasn't appreciated or acknowledged, and was insulted with the accusation of half-assing things. As I see it, it would be utter insanity to put myself out there more, and in doing so, potentially injure or kill myself (as evidenced by that fateful car accident I had, while dad languished in a hospital ventilator unit), all in the name to make her happy--when clearly by her own actions (or lack thereof), she's obviously and consistently not been all that concerned about my well being or happiness. 

A friend asked me recently if I missed my sister, and to be blunt, there's not much to miss. I pretty much was her scapegoat and at times her sounding board upon which she'd vent her spleen about how others have done her wrong or how she's doing so much for our mother or whatever. It always had been a one way street with her. It had easily been 15-20 years since we had done anything remotely sisterly," and the only thing that remained was passive-aggression, resentment, and tsouris.  "So do I miss the grief? NO." In the absence of anything loving or kind or supportive or "sisterly," I will gladly accept her silence.

My only regret is that my relationship with my niece is collateral damage as a result of all this. She's 13, has email and a cell phone, and communicating with me is not important to her. So I shouldn't fixate too heavily on this detail. 

I just know I will never truly have any peace regarding my sister, until our mother is gone. I'm not wishing for an early demise for mom, but merely intellectualizing the truth. Once mom's gone, that's it. Maybe I'll see my brother on occasion, but if things continue with the radio silence as status quo, the notion of reconciliation seems fairly unlikely.

Tomorrow isn't promised to any of us--all the more reason for us to focus on living in the NOW.  That's all I am capable of doing.  And in doing so, I hope to stave off a cascade of regrets later. At least I know, in the end, I did what I was able to do.

It's Deja Vu All Over Again

Hey. Remember a year ago, Audrey was in the hospital, and I was going to take a bushel of her used books to Good Will for a "hit and run" type of drop off, only to discover there were some used hypodermics in her book box?

Yeah. Well. Before my trip to Europe next week, I went and visited Audrey. Had a nice enough visit. (Surprised? :) ) 

Anywhooooo...

Whilst sitting in a recliner, this was my view:

Yep. There's a sneaky Pete right there. A used hypodermic in the crevice of the chair. It's becoming a lot like "Where's Waldo" when visiting, to find the hypodermic. And there WILL be a hypodermic!