This is hard to talk about

My mom is living with me and Ray now. We don't know how long she will be living with us. All we know is she has no other place to go... well, no other place that she wants to go anyhow.

The other options are my grandma's house and an aunt's house.

I'm getting kind of ahead of myself. Explaining this situation is difficult. I can't explain it all, I know I can't. This situation is quite complex and it's so hard for me to even write. I can't open up completely about my childhood and the things I went through. It's so much to tell and I just can't bring myself to do it.

In a way, I sort of envy the kids I once knew who had stable parents, finances, homes, families, etc. However, our life experiences shape us, and I wouldn't exactly change much of myself in regards to my strength of character. I can say that I am stronger after having gone through some of the things I did. I just wish things were different now in regards to my mom.

I will say my mom is fucking nuts.

She's nuts.

She's a wreck.

She's unstable emotionally (has been for years) but a more recent addition is the fact that she is now unstable mentally as well.

I've been avoiding this situation for as long as I could. I knew I'd have to care for her someday, I just didn't want it to come so soon. I wanted to at least have a place for her to stay - not my cold "storage room" which has no heat right as the days are getting colder. I wanted to have a job with better pay so I could pay for her doctor's visits and medications - not scrounge around, scraping the bottom of the barrel to get enough cash to support her through her problems. I wanted to at least be able to be out of college - not leave her alone at my home, secluded as I go from work to classes and back and forth. I wanted a lot of things ot be different.

Mostly, I want her to just be someone else, though.


My sister and her husband got the hell out while they had the chance, and now I'm left with the responsibility of caring for my mom. The family can't stand her. My sister and her husband can't stand her. I can't stand her. Ray tolerates her, but she annoys even him (He is very patient, but she can push it).


Why am I caring for my mom?

How did this happen?

Why does she need to be cared for anyhow? After all, she's not even 50 yet.

I'll see if I can explain what the situation is currently.

My mom has been an addict for years. She's hopped from one addiction to another. She doesn't like being completely sober, so whether it's painkillers, alcohol or whatever...you name it, she's abused it at one point in her life. She is what I consider to be "weak willed". She has no strength of mind. I fucking hate it. I find it disgusting. I found it disgusting when I was a little girl as she would cry, telling me she was sorry for whatever stupid thing she did the night before. I hated her for it.

She cries too easily.

She cried when the counselors at my schools told her she was an unfit parent.

She cried when apologizing to me for cutting her wrists (yet again) each time she did it. I was 11 when she first started that. She tried it again just the other night.

She'd cry when my dad hit her.

She'd cry when drunk.

She'd cry when sober.

She'd cry about how I refused to go to school.

She'd cry as she said she was sorry for hitting me when she lost her temper each time about my refusal to attend school. For arguing with her about her addictions. For when I took drugs from her and hid them. For when I took her alcohol away and poured it down the sink.

She'd actually cry every time she apologized, now that I think of it.

She's sorry, sorry, sorry. Sorry for everything. Fucking sorry.

If anyone has the right to cry, it's me.

I was the victim as a child, but so was she. She was abused. My father was abused. They abused each other. Then they abused us (my sister and I) emotionally and physically. My dad I forgave without much thought. He was never sober either, yet I forgave him easily. I adored him far more, I am not sure why. But my mom? My mom? No, she disgusts me. I suppose one could call it "hate" but I do not like using that word. I just can't stand the woman.

I couldn't stand her for letting that man into our home when I was younger.

I couldn't stand how she didn't care when he put his hands on me when I was 12 and 13 years old. I kept silent about it but when she found out, she still let him in our home. She even fucked him. I hated her for it.

I couldn't stand it when I would come home and some random drug dealer would be in our home - friends of my sisters boyfriend who lived with us for 8 years. He was responsible for introducing more hardcore drugs into my household, and my mom welcomed both him and the drugs.

I couldn't stand her when she got arrested all those times for drinking and driving.

I couldn't stand her when I found her passed out all those times, unable to stand or chew the food I might find her face down in.

I couldn't stand her when I would try to talk to her, as she would just slur and drool.

I couldn't stand her when I would tell her how I hated what she was doing with drugs or alcohol and how she would just defend her actions, "I've been abused all my life, Amanda. This is how I cope with it"

She spoke as if I didn't know what it felt like.

I hated her the most on the last suicide attempt.

She was found driving under the influence (yet again) and the cops brought her into jail. She asked to use the bathroom, broke the mirror in the restroom and used the shards to cut her wrists (yet again) open for the last time. She was found on the floor. They rushed her to the hospital and stitched her up and she was held in jail a while afterwards. She never came home that night. The next morning, she was delivered to my sister and I by my grandparents who bailed her out of jail. We were told the full story and all I could feel was anger. Not sorrow or pity or sadness or sympathy. Anger. I hated her. I wanted her to be someone completely different. I didn't want her to die, but I didn't want her in my life either. As I listened to the account of the story of how my mother had tried to kill herself once more, I stared at her bandaged wrists and just hated her more. She didn't offer up much more than tears and more "I'm sorry"s.  I was the one who removed her stitches once they healed enough. I was 14.
 

She'd tried it before. She first started being suicidal after she left my alcoholic, abusive father. I was 10 when she left him for the last time. She didn't cut herself for attention like the stupid fucking retard emo shit head children these days. My mom genuinely wanted to die, or at least punish herself. She knew she was a bad mom. She knew she'd fucked up. She knew she had no control over her life or kids. It doesn't excuse such behavior. There is no excuse. None.

I feel no sympathy for her these days. When she cries, I just want to slap her.

I can't hug her anymore.

I can't stand for her to touch me.

I don't like going in the room she sleeps in because the room has a certain smell that I can't place. All I know is that it reminds me of her.

She cries all the God damned time.Its disgusting.

Don't fucking cry on me. You have no right! Life was hard for me, and you damned well better not think it's "too hard" for you. Tough it up.




Even what I am sharing in this blog is only a portion. There are stories.

There were days in my life too horrible for me to think about for long. There are experiences that would make me want to crumble if I were to focus on them. I shake my head at it and shrug. Fuck it, life's like that. I won't really tell very many individual experiences. They're too long and tragic, and no one would really want to read that shit anyhow.


My mom still has an over-the-counter drug she's addicted to. She has no job to get money to support her addiction, but another family member (yet another addict) has been feeding her habit for free. She now is going through withdrawls from it. She's detoxing, as we like to call it. Detoxing is horribly painful for your body. She has shivers, fever, she goes from hot to cold. She vomits. She can't sleep. She has to shit all the time. Food goes straight through her. She shakes and her skin is clammy to the touch. She cries easily. She's an unstable wreck.

The worst of the "DT's" are over for her, but she still has far to go. Now that she's kicking her over-the-counter addiction (I wont say what medication she abused, it's a rare, little-known addiction and NO IT'S NOT COUGH SYRUP. It's an opiate addiction) she has to kick her struggle with Loratabs. She's on enough to kill a horse but I'm bringing her slowly down. I have to lock all the meds up in my safe and I have to write down how much she gets on what days/what times.

I'm taking her to the doctor tomorrow to see if we can get a script for a smaller MG of the painkillers so we can taper her off of them slowly without a lot of DT symptoms. She's been on Methadone before in order to get off some other drugs, and THAT shit is horrible! I'd never recommend Methadone to anyone withdrawing from drugs because then you get addicted to Methadone. I've seen it too many times. I've known too many drug addicts. I've been exposed to way too many drugs in my life but never, NEVER did I try them. Not even once. Not even pot. Not the pot, cocaine, meth, pills (god there are too many pills to name) or glass. I hated all that shit around me.

Now its up to me to take her to the doctor, pay for her meds to bring her slowly off her addiction and to support her financially. She never went back to work after she got fired the last time. She was too fucked up on drugs and they fired her for being on that shit while on the job.

All my life, she's been a hypochondriac. A hypochondriac who is also a sucker for addictive behavior is BAD! Why? Because they can convince themselves that they genuinely need medication for some fictional disease/syndrome/whatever pain that might possibly be all in their head! Even my mother doesn't fucking know whats real and whats not as far as real pain or addiction. She claims she - like so many other fucking middle aged, American women - has "fibromyalgia"  What-fucking-ever.

Fibromyalgia is just some stupid "disorder" where you just fucking hurt all the God damned time. All the time. She claims she's in constant pain. She cries and shakes and just can't fucking take this mysterious pain. Now what am I supposed to say/do to that? REALLY! TELL ME!

"Oh mom, it's all in your head!"

I've told her that, and she still just cries in agony and insists:

"Oh I wish you could feel what this feels like. I am hurting all over. My muscles feel like they are ripping to shreds!"

FUCK

How do you prove/disprove such a thing? There is no "cure" to this "disorder"

I must now support my mom who claims she is too sick to work.

She's going to try and get on disability for her "condition" but I fucking hate that shit too.

She can't even go fucking shopping with me for something and walk for 30 minutes without getting up the next day and saying she injured herself in some way simply by doing that 30 minute walk. She can't even bend over and pick up a light laundry basket without claiming it strained her muscles. She acts fucking helpless. I have to do everything for her now.

I don't know what to do. I can't abandon her to the streets. I hate having her live with me though because I can't stand her.

Several times the past few days she has cried, begging me to forgive her for being a bad mother.

"I'm sorry for all the stupid things I did to you when you were little"

She cries.

She cries.

She cries.

I don't want to hear it.

I don't comfort her.

I just tell her to stop worrying about it because that's life and I've moved on.


I'm not looking for pity. Fuck pity.

I don't want sympathy, it's wasted on me in my circumstance. I'm just getting some shit off my chest.

I wanted to say more but I can't. I've given a small glimpse into the complex situation and there is so much more to tell. My mom is a fucking horrible story. My dad was a horrible story with a tragic ending of my mother finding his body. I'm a genetic concoction of the two. I'm an emotional being just like they are and yet I am so much stronger. Fuck their weaknesses, I know I won't be like them.

I guess this is the start of a path most don't encounter until they are 40 or so. Most don't have to care for their parents so early on in life. My grandma said we should consider giving me power of attorney over my mom. My mother says she'll think about it. It's a lot to put on the shoulders of some one young. Life doesn't cater towards our convenience though, does it?

It damn sure doesn't!

If life is handing me another stressful circumstance to deal with, I'll just have to deal with it. I'll care for her until she dies I guess, or until she gets Alzheimer's disease. She's in the early stages it seems.

I'm out. I don't know what else to say.



.