Repressed Dreams Are Like Cockroaches

Repressed dreams are like cockroaches--when you see one, you know there's HUNDREDS lurking in the shadows.

During my nap yesterday, I dreamed my mother walked out in front of me and someone I referred to as "Warrior" (turns out it might have been Warlord)--walked out in front of us BUCK NAKED. I turned to Warrior and said, "I don't know WTF is going on with her," and with that, I woke up.

I regaled my sister about the dream, and she informed me it was NOT A DREAM, that it, IN FACT, happened--SEVERAL TIMES. 

The more she talked, the more vivid my remembrances became. I first started thinking of the time she did this while I sat and chatted with my ex on our first date. Turns out she did this two years earlier, back when I was home on leave from Basic Training and was dating the neighbor across the street--who I had given one of my physical training sweatshirts which, coincidentally, had a WARLORD emblazoned on the chest. 

I have repressed this memory for 32 years. 

I don't know why my subconscious decided NOW was a good time to unpack that memory. I don't recall off hand how many times she'd prance from the bathroom to her bedroom naked after taking a shower, and then stop short, frozen and naked, thereby ensuring we all got an eye-full.

49 + 17

I managed to go 49 days without contact. I went from mom's bday until Good Friday. We were leaving for a pleasant week away and I didn't want to speak to my mom on Sunday, the day we were leaving, and have that potentially taint my mood as we headed into our vacation.

From Good Friday until Mother's Day, I managed to go another 17 days of no contact. The Wednesday before Mother's Day, I sent off one of my generic mother's day cards and some sugar free cookies I got from Christmas Tree Shoppes, and in turn, mom sent a passive-aggressive thank you card, which was addressed so poorly, it's truly amazing it managed to be delivered--especially knowing how dodgey my postal deliveries are these days. 

Mother's Day was a flurry of errands and things to be done, then lunch out, and a nap, and come to find out mom broke down and called me, perhaps in a fit of desperation for contact. And of course, I called back, and her voicemail box is perpetually full so no way to leave a message, which then only prolongs the annoyance, as her return call inevitably would come while we were eating dinner. 

I have nothing to discuss with her anymore. Anything good, I keep to myself because she has a way of shitting up any good thing, and of course, any bad thing, she'd only derive some schadenfreude from it. Also, anything of mine, good/bad/indifferent, would be met with a litany of problems she's having. 

Her world continues to shrink, and she has been spending so much time in her room alone, the nursing home staff has been insisting she goes out to the dining room for her meals so she can get some socialization. She claims her feet hurt so bad she doesn't want to walk--and she doesn't walk all that much to begin with, so I fail to see the issue of the dining room, considering she uses a wheel chair now--and by "she uses," I should say, some poor fool is pushing her ass around.

She continues to be my personal cautionary tale. I've been keeping a tight schedule these days of knee injections and MRI or xrays in the mornings before work, as well as acupuncture, cognitive behavioral therapy, and physical therapy, after work. With physical therapy on Saturdays and chiropractic on alternating Saturdays. I keep this tight schedule so I can continue to do what I want, when and how I want, for as long as possible.

She's given up on participating in life on the outside, given up on ALL OF US, and yet blames every one of us for the state of things, so basically all she continues to do is foment resentment in all of us.

I am trapped between two worlds. There are people out there who happily express their love and devotion to their moms on Mother's Day. Then there are others out there who grieve for their dead mothers. Then there's me: resentful that my mom has given up on everyone, and blames everyone for her troubles.

38

It's now up to 38 days with no contact with mom. 

It takes a lot of fortitude to do nothing. It's not easy, especially with all the shit programmed into me, with "shit" being defined as all the demands, expectations, and of course disappointment. 

Part of me wants to talk to her just to get it over with; however, the list of topics or things I'd share with her, dwindles daily. There's not much in the way of relatability left. 

Her cognitive distortions continue to expand at an insulting rate for the rest of us. She continues to tell outsiders that we all are just waiting for her to die.

And without the actual interaction, all I am left with are my thoughts and the flow charts in my mind of how any possible future interaction with her might end (not good).

All my life she's done this PUSH-PULL thing where she pushes people away, isolates herself, cycles through feeling isolated and alone and lonely, then externalizing all of that angst into playing a rousing hand of The Blame Game, wherein she blames all of us for the decisions she's made; and then she sets about trying to PULL us back in. All, of course, when it suits HER. 

I think upon the voicemail she left last week, devoid of joy or other positivity which might actually induce or facilitate a return telephone call. I think upon how my life is as it stands right now (peaceful). I cannot help but feel and look upon her voicemails with resentment, resentment of her intrusion in my life, resenting how she expects and demands time or caring (or any thing else, tangible or intangible), and I think upon how very little (if anything) has been reciprocated from her. 

26

26.

That's the total number of days I have gone without speaking with my mother. I called her on her birthday. The phone works both ways. And here we are.

26 Also happens to be the same number for my sister--of whom has gone NO CONTACT with mom--we're not sure how long she'll remain NO CONTACT; however, as she said to me, if she could go nearly three years of no contact with me, and in the end, I didn't do anything to hurt her (she's come to the realization that it was mom's doing), she could easily go the rest of her life without communicating with mom.

We'll see. 

So that's 26 days of no contact from 2 out of 3 of mom's kids. I have no knowledge of the regularity of my brother's contact with mom (as I'm also out of contact with him), but I feel pretty certain, he hasn't called. He doesn't give a shit. And while I wish I could get to that point of (is it indifference?), he is at the far end of the desired spectrum of where I would like to be, personally, in regards to our mother. He doesn't care at all; whereas, I would like to control, judiciously, how much caring I allow myself to do, because, in the end, even if I care (or do things), it'll never be enough.

Let No Good Deed Go Unpunished

File this one under: Having normal impulses for someone who is far from normal.

My sister went to the trouble of planning (and paying for) a birthday party for mom, aka Audrey (as in Audrey the blood-thirsty plant in Little Shop of Horrors with the unyielding appetite: FEED ME!). 

She cooked food, arranged for some items from Olive Garden to be served, invited people, set up the party room at Shady Pines, etc. All a thankless task in general.  On this day in particular, it was a harbinger of things to come. (Think of mom as the Titanic, and the epic thanklessness as a shitty iceberg, of mom's own creation, about to make contact with one another.)

Audrey's friend, B, who was in attendance despite her most-recent health crisis, and B was there with her daughter, C, who has her own challenges in life (MS, plus her husband left her over a year or so ago). B says something to the effect of what a great daughter C is, because she's done so many things for B in her time of need.

SETTING THE SCENE: THE LOOK OUT RINGS THREE BELLS AND ALERTS THE BRIDGE--ICEBERG DEAD AHEAD!!!

And with ZERO sense of self-awareness, and in keeping with her shitty (now dead) abusive father's habit to do this, WITH AN AUDIENCE, Audrey set out to insult and humiliate my sister.  

So mom blurts out with every ounce of snark within her power, "Oh, it must be so nice, to have a daughter who will DO THINGS FOR YOU!" 

B and mom's friend H are both deaf as stones, so it's no great wonder they didn't respond; however, there were other people there at the party, eating their fill of the free food my sister provided, and not one of those fuckers piped up. 

My brother-in-law, a self-admitted asshole, couldn't stand this for one more moment. After 28 years of marriage (and countless years before marriage) he opened his mouth: "Oh, you mean do things like PLAN THIS BIRTHDAY PARTY FOR YOU?"

Now mind you, my brother-in-law could effectively silence a room full of yapping adults by merely CLEARING HIS THROAT. To say my brother-in-law has presence, is an understatement. He can be formidable. 

And with that, rather than OWN her stupidity, yet another of her trademark carelessly cruel statements, she suddenly had to excuse herself to the restroom--and of course, this was quite the undertaking, given she's a mountain of a woman and nearly completely immobile. 

Sadly, in keeping with mom's character and consistency, no apology was forthcoming.

Several days later, my brother-in-law informed Audrey that until further notice she is forbidden to contact my sister. If Audrey requires anything, she is to contact my brother-in-law directly, as my sister will neither be calling nor visiting.

Of course, Audrey wanted to know why--what did she do to deserve this? And my brother-in-law informed her that Audrey has insulted my sister for the final time. Audrey was quick to try to minimize what happened by suggesting my sister takes everything the wrong way or is too sensitive or whatever, and my brother-in-law shut her down. He wasn't having any part of it, he wasn't taking mom's side, and drove home the point that she is FORBIDDEN to call her own daughter.

My sister informed me of this, I believe, this past Friday or Saturday. I drove home the point of, "Now, this is where the hard work kicks in. On the surface, it looks easy doing nothing at all. No calls. No good deeds. But the psychological hold mom has on us runs deep. You have to hold tight to the boundary that you (and your husband) put up with mom. Now you have to MAINTAIN that boundary. If you call now, it will undo all the work. DO NOTHING."

It's been five days, and all five days I have wondered and worried, and hoped she kept herself from calling mom.

A friend of mine recently introduced me to the notion of "trauma bonding," and equated our upbringing to that of a hostage situation, and our relationship with mom (and others in the family) is like that of Stockholm Syndrome, where we empathize with our oppressors. 

Now the truly difficult work starts for my sister.

One by one, my mother has ground out all the goodness and good intent and good will out of all of us. She whines about how alone and lonely she is, yet continues to lack even an iota of awareness that she and she alone is to blame for this. 

One time, my mother said to me how the staff at the nursing home thinks she has no family. I am 100% okay with never seeing her again. I'm okay with being a ghost, the relative whose name is invoked but you rarely (if ever see). I'm abandoning her, like she's abandoned and rejected me my entire life. 

Additionally, she has constructed several dynamics on both sides of the family where she interfered and damaged family relationships to the point where I have next to no one on either side of the family with whom to associate. She fails to realize, I am using her as my cautionary tale of what I do not want for myself. In spite of her best efforts, I have carved out a relationship with the older of dad's two sisters, and the youngest of my grandfather's sisters (and her son), and I have reconciled with my sister. I don't need to have relationships with EVERYONE with whom I share DNA. I appreciate what little bit of family I've managed to hold on to--and that's nothing in comparison to this enormous, loving, functional family I have with my in-laws. 

I am fortunate. I am not alone. I am happy. I have a full life. I have friends. I'm striving to even improve upon all that abundance.

It is a choice. And I don't feel bad because my mother chose poorly (or chose to do nothing at all--which, in and of itself IS STILL A CHOICE).

Fuck her.

15

That is the tally of times mom called my sister yesterday.

15.

1= Acceptable.
5= Excessive enough.
15=LUNATIC.

I am sure at least 2-3 calls were mom weaponizing sis' birthday as an excuse for contact, contact, more contact. But 15? That's the action of someone who is actually insane and/or someone wanting to monopolize someone else's time/space/attention.

Every time I think to myself that I might be having a normal impulse and want to call mom, I think of these situations, and I also think about the INVERSE of 15, which is to say, 31 days have gone without my mom calling me. I know if I do call, the "thanks" I will get will be someone disinterested in the fact I have called, or be met with overt hostility. And then the moment passes, and that normal impulse is met with the reminder that it is for a person who doesn't have normal actions, reactions, responses to life in even the most basic or general sense of the word.

I wouldn't say it paralyzes me; however, it does make what modicum of "Give a fuck" I happened to be mustering up at that given point in time, just dissipate into the ether.

The Post-Holiday Wrap Up

The holidays were very low key (or low key ENOUGH), especially given Xmas and New Year’s were on week days. 

I called mom on xmas day just to get it over with--despite her "weaponizing" the gift I sent her (weaponizing = she called me about 3-4x to leave voicemails on my home, work, and cell phone voicemails to “thank” me). 

Without fail, she was flat and joyless and it didn’t take long for her to launch into the assorted ways everyone is letting her down. 

Complaint #1: She claimed that the staff at Shady Pines “thinks she doesn’t have any family.” 

Complaint #2: She claimed how other residents have family members pick them up and take them out to lunch or for the day. My mom is quite large, with legs bloated by lymphedema and lipidema, and she physically cannot fit in any of our vehicles. Furthermore, she is at a very high risk for slips/trips/falls. Then there’s the matter of by her deciding to “cash in her chips” and remain at Shady Pines, she’s essentially impoverished herself--to date, she’s got $6 in her house account. 

Complaint #3: "It's as if I'm already dead!" I honestly don't know what to say in regards to this beyond the obvious, that she lives in depression and denial about everything, acts all flat and joyless, uninspired and uninvolved (and indifferent to) the lives of others. She's always been depressed, but has amped up especially so since dad's passing ten years ago--also there's the matter of her allegedly attempting to kill herself ten years ago. And even THAT detail I have to just not allow myself to believe, because SHE was the one who told me what she was doing. Every word she has ever uttered to me has either been an outright fabrication or a manipulation (or both). 

She’s in denial about how SHE’s imprisoned herself in her body, and now imprisoned and impoverished herself by staying at Shady Pines. This decision was 100% hers, and of course, she wasted ENTIRELY TOO MUCH TIME coming to the same OBVIOUS conclusion that the rest of us came to months earlier.

Money aside, if at least she were appreciative of our efforts, I am sure we could figure out a way for a special outing--but again, that would involve money as it would no doubt involve a special medical transport service; however, reality, as I see it, that I would love to detonate THIS truth bomb to her:

1. Sis’ husband is recovering from a thyroidectomy & radiation; 
2. My brother’s life has gone sideways in a huge way (and he’s on his same track to impoverishment); 
3. I refuse to drive 2.5 hours, one way, to get there and for her to get bored with me and give me the “bum’s rush” after a half hour, as I fail to see this as a good ROI on the time/money/effort to actually go see her. 

She fails to realize that the well of good will has run dry--much like her bank account. 

The last time I visited her (unannounced; in October two months ago), she was over-the-top with theatrical tears--only for her to start her telephone twattery the moment I left her room--calling her sister (and whomever else) and snarked on about “You’ll never guess who visited me, UNANNOUNCED!” 

The only time she calls me is when I’ve done or sent something to her--other than that, she doesn’t give a shit. In this regard, it's mutual--I, too, don't give a shit! In fact, I have allocated ZERO FUCKS to dispense for the entirety of 2019!

On an amusing note, my sister is getting really in tune and in touch with "speaking her truth" and she's had her "fill" of mom and her endless demands. My sister said, “Hey, did it ever occur to you that Maven sends you those sugar free chocolates WITH THE INTENT to give you diarrhea?” Mom flatly said, “You’re probably right.” And with that, mom polished off the last of the one pound box. 

“Diarrhea--when you don’t care to send the very best!”