Victory updates

46 days still sober.
20.2 pounds lost in one month.

Once I figured out that I was dealing with a pretty severe allergy to sugar - actually glucose intolerant - I was able to adjust my eating and go from there.

It's nice to feel like I'm in control of my body and my health.  PHYSICAL health, the mental part is still under caution tape.

Who said you have to wear that shirt?

From http://www.potsc.com

Who gave you your label?  Which narcissist told you that you were the fat one.  Or the good one.  Too stupid to learn, too ugly for boys?  Who told you what you like, what you don't like, who dared to tell you who you are?  Those bastards with their pointing fingers, their blame - they told you.  They gave it to you.  They shoved you into that shirt.

Did you choose your label?  Oh hell no, not a chance, not in a narcissist's world.  The narc chooses which role you will play in their world, and it has nothing to do with your skillset.  It has everything to do with what the narc needs.  It has to do with how much bending you were willing to do to become that actor.  How far they can push you to fit into what they need you to be.  You weren't asked for your preference - that is the antithesis of being a narcissist.  They only choose things that hurt you.  It is better for them if you DON'T want it, because then they get the pleasure of forcing you.  Of watching your shame and suffering.  That is the whole point.

We were babies.  We did what we were told.  We played the role we were given so that we could be part of the family.  There were no options.  There was only subservience.  Acquiescence.  Malleability.  Fear.  There was only fear.  Because they rule with absolute power, unpredictability, fear.  Keeping you off balance.  Never secure - we always had to look to them for the answers.  And the answer was always the same - fear.  And we carry that pain with us every day.  The words of scorn and blame never leave, they rattle like echoes in your head.  A never-ending tape of ridicule and self-loathing.  And the narcissists know it - they still see it in your eyes.  They love it and they still need to see it, still need you to stay in your role and perform for them, still need your anguish and tears and fear.

It's all they want.  All they see - the only thing that makes them hum.  Fear.  Well, that and adoration, but they despise anyone who adores them - it's a stiletto knife in your heart with a smile.

Do you like that shirt you're wearing?  Are you sick and tired of playing the part?  You must be.  You're here, reading this.  You're looking for a way out.  You are tired, and worn out.  Sick with stress and sick of being an adult and still being afraid.  That shirt that they picked out for you, your disgusting narcissistic abusive parents - it doesn't fit - it never did. 

YOU CAN TAKE IT OFF.

You can say 'no'.  That's what we all talk about, the boundaries we are always going on about out here in ACoN land.  Finally taking off the costume they have forced you to wear.  That costume of shame and guilt and fear.  The shirt with DOORMAT printed on both sides.  You are an adult.  You have power over your own life.  You can choose who you are, and who you become.  You can choose what you like, what you prefer.  How you spend your time.  When you are available and when you are not.  How strange that sounds, that your time, your SELF, is your own.  You can say 'NO'.

What a relief it will be when you stop dancing.  Get away from them.  Stop living in fear.  Stop living in shame.  You get to choose.

If you had a puppy, and the kibble you were feeding your puppy made him sick - vomit, diarrhea, pain - wouldn't you throw out that kibble and buy new?  Find the one that made him happy and healthy?  you wouldn't force your dog to starve or eat the poisonous kibble.  You wouldn't force misery on your dog.

Why are you forcing it on yourself?

Updated

The name has changed, but the game is still the same.

I've updated my blog.  Weeded out extraneous posts.  I'm going to be editing and fine-tuning some of my posts, because while I like what I wrote, there is always room for improvement.  As I write I am finding my voice.

And I would like my voice to be a little clearer, is all.

I have always LOVED writing.  I am now finding it to be a passion.  And it feels like home.

Isolation: Pictured

I don't know if they even knew they were doing it.  Maybe I simply felt so out of place that I just moved over by myself.  That was dad over there on the right - far enough away from his kids as to get some 'peace'.  Or maybe we all moved over that way to get away from him.

I have no context for this picture, and no memory.  This was the same trip as the 'campground bathroom episode'.

I was 6.  I had just been taken from my mother in Florida.  Everyone and everything was strange to me. 

I dunno.  I just know this picture makes me look already separated from the herd.

Boundaries and Safety Zones

Hey guys - I'm back from Vegas.  We went for 4 days to just chill out.  It was wonderful.

We slept in until 10:00, we layed lied sat by the pool and read books for hours.  We were snoozing in our king-sized bed by 10:00 PM every night.  I didn't drink.  It was a much needed little getaway.

I only gained 1 POUND and I didn't walk hardly at all.  I ate right, but I did allow myself to have a couple bites of cheesecake, and a huge plate of pasta the last night (I'm still paying for that one... *gas* :cough: *gas*

The family kerfuffle only intruded once - Georgia emailed me in kind of a panic because she realized that mom will absolutely not be able to get herself packed in time to have Mike help her load a truck and drive it.  I started to have a panic attack (I'm getting drug dragged back in!  I'm NOT going to go to that house and pack shit into newspaper and put it in boxes my respiratory system will go into failure my stomach is knotting up I can't be around that bitch aaahhh!) and on like that for about 30 minutes.

I let myself just run with it for a bit.  Then I said to myself "self, this is not your rock.  You have made very clear boundaries.  Let it go."

Here is the email exchange (edited for brevity):
[From Georgia]
I tried to call you tonight after I talked to Leslie.  I am concerned that helping Mom do this move the U-Haul way may be too much after all.  I am going to call Mom from the car tomorrow as we drive to the Tetons.  I can tell her that it is too much for you and Mike after all, as well as for Anne and her family.  Really, it will take 2 - 4 days of packing boxes, gathering packing materials, crating the mirror or however that will need to be done.  Can you, Mike, Anne, and her kids really do all that?  I don't know what has gone forward since I last talked to Mom on Monday.  Salvation Army was supposed to come yesterday.  I need to check in with Mom anyway.  So, let me know if you REALLY can help Mom enough to get it done.  Don't want everyone's life in a tizzy because it is more work than anyone can really do.  Mom is not an initiator of getting help.  I think she may be just relying on people to show up with everything she needs to pack. 
Please let me know ASAP what you think.  I am happy to be the one who gets this information to Mom.  I am not going to tell her everything about how you and Mike felt after the packing day at her house.  I do feel I need to tell her I have been in communication with you, or she won't take me talking about this with her seriously.  She can contact the movers if that is what is right to do, and they will provide boxes, etc.  She will still need some help, just not the huge amount of help she would need otherwise. 

Do you see how that is sort of panic inducing?  I can hear the stress in my sisters FINGERS.  She is far away, on vacation, trying to help someone who keeps insisting she needs no help.  Here is my answer:

 Hi, I am in Las Vegas and reception is spotty.  I think it may be better to have a mover in that case.  Mike was planning on loading/unloading and driving, but 3 days of packing is more than we bargained for.  I think your idea to have her get movers is a good one.  I will call you tomorrow if I can, hope this goes through!
And her final email to me:

I got it.  Will talk to Mom tomorrow. 
Have fun in Vegas1
love,
Georgia
I DO feel bad, leaving this all to the last sister.  This is the sister who does not know yet (at least, not directly from me) that I have declared enough to be enough.  I think that in trying to respect her and her relationship to my mom, I may have left her feeling abandoned.  BUT IT CANNOT BE HELPED.

I am not going to be around my mom, end and point and match.  Mike is still willing to do what he can, but needs to work around his own college schedule.  This issue ruined a couple hours of vacation for me, but I did not jump to the bait.

In former years, I would have been on the phone to every sister I could get ahold of, bitched and complained and sought advice and called mom and then Mike and volunteered and ugh.  Not anymore.  It's progress, yes - but I would call it SAFETY.  Progress sounds to me like a never ending road.  With this issue, I have now made it my primary focus to stay in SAFETY.  Gate is closed.  Dogs are slavering and running free.  Safety Zone.

I'm certain that as this episode of moving my mother gets closer, there will be further exchanges.  But my position has been clearly stated, and I have held firm.

What else is there, really?

Children with Wine

3 different dinners.  Within the span of a year, I would guess - but months apart.

Notice the glasses of wine in front of the children - not me, I hated the taste of it.  We were not allowed to have milk.  Or water.  But a glass of cabernet sauvignon was perfectly fine.  I was 6 that first year.  that makes the sisters a few years older each.  so 8, 10, 12.

(also, wallpaper.  jeebus.)

I am so goddamned little in this picture I break my own heart.

My estrangement email. It always comes to this, doesn't it?

**So, I sent an email to Georgia (at the bottom) explaining one facet of why I was so upset after my visit.  Scroll down and read that one first.  Then this is the rest of the story**

Dear 3 sisters:

I am sending you the below email I sent to Georgia, just so you are all clear on part of what I was so screaming angry about after my visit with mom.  I am not sending this email to Georgia and Leslie - for obvious reasons.  This email is not a secret.  But I am not out to hurt feelings. 

(The 'obvious reason' wasn't so clear.  I didn't want to add to the burden of anyone who was trying to repair their relationship with my mom.  There was no reason to hand someone a steaming plate of my angst when they are dealing with their own.  I didn't want to put anyone in the position of feeling the need to defend my mom - that is not constructive.  I was not keeping secrets.  I clarified this with the sisters after I sent this email.)

Regarding my visit:

Aside from trapping Mike and attacking him about his weight (see below email), she also got in my face (very much in my personal space) and began mocking me after she asked me a random question about why I was so tan - I had hesitated in my answer (thinking 'wtf is she going for here, it's summer, I'm not that tan, this is a trap, wha...') and she got very close to my face, staring intently into my eyes, saying "urm um hmm um" <--as if that was what I was saying out loud, because I was hesitating.  Hard to explain.  She was just - well, mean and hard looking, hoping for some response - embarrassment?  This is not normal social behavior.  Made all the more weird because she is so nice right before and right after one of these incidents - like always.  Mike was also a close-up witness to that attack, and was as stunned as I was.  She is vicious in a hundred little ways.  She has done this exact thing before, this is not new.

I've had some time to process this last visit (it always takes me some time to process visits with her.  Since childhood I shut down and disassociate while I'm in her presence, and I think that is a huge deal as well), and these two examples are only two out of a dozen or so that happened in those two days I saw her.  These things happen EVERY TIME I see her.  This is exactly the way she has treated Alexis and Anne, and Jude I'm assuming this has happened to you as well.

My epiphany is that I am not willing to spend any more of my time around a snake that bites me every time I'm near it.  I think it's awful that it took me so long to just be done trying to pet a snake. Being old doesn't preclude her from being polite.  Just because I have known her for 46 years doesn't imply that we have any kind of relationship.  She has done this sort of thing to me since I was 6-years old.  There is no excuse for this behavior, and no excuse for why I have allowed this person in my life for so long.

I have long assumed it was something I could control.  If I just tried harder - if I wasn't so weird, so on the outside - you know, if I just changed it would be better.  But I realized last week that this has nothing to do with ME.  She is just a mean, vicious person.  She always has been, this is NOT new behavior.  I have never been so mentally healthy and centered, and this happened anyway.  The fact that I am now done with her is proof (to me) that I am mentally healthier - I'm aware that she is poison and I am not willing to expose myself to that poison anymore.  The fact that it only took me 24-hours to process this visit is a very big deal to me. 

I am done with her.  But I WILL NOT LOSE YOU THREE.  I will not allow her to come between the relationship I have with my sisters.  There will be no big declaration - there was no fight.  It was just another little straw, like all the other little straws before it.  The camel's back has been broken.  She would likely be surprised at all of this fuss from me - there was no indication at the time that her actions had any affect at all.  (because it takes me time to process her).  The catalyst for my decision is that she is beginning to corner and slyly attack my son.  and, NO.  just no.  No more.  The cycle will not continue.  I'm done.

Perhaps your particular perspective is different.  Maybe you feel your relationship with her is worth more of your time.  I respect your decision.  Please respect mine.  I am not leaving in a huff.  This has been coming for 46 years.  She has made her bed with me, time and again.  I do not forgive her for the abuses she inflicted on me as a child, and I will not condone her behavior now.

Mike is still going to help her move - he will drive the U-Haul - he is a grown man and my relationship with mom is not HIS.  He and I are not in the same place with regards to this crap.  And rightly so.  He believes so strongly in FAMILY that he will do this gladly, to help out.  He is in communication with mom on his own, and will communicate with all the sisters when there is a time and date for moving.  Judith, he may need a place to stay overnight after the move, and I'm going to have him talk to you about crashing on your floor, hope that's fine.

I don't want to make a huge deal out of this.  I'm not going to boycott family gatherings if she is there.  I will however, choose when and where and if I am around her again.  I have reached max capacity for her particular brand of bullshit.  I just wanted you three to know. 

Casey

******************************************************
From: Casey
To: Georgia
Sent: Tuesday, July 16, 2013 7:47 AM
Subject: Re: Visit with Mom this week

Thanks for not mentioning my second (screaming stressed out) email.

 

I had fun seeing you guys.  Mom drives me crazy, but that happens to all of us.  At one point she cornered Mike and was insistent about asking him about his weight - her opinion being that he is too fat.  I turned into a mama bear and lost my mind after the visit.  She can be very cruel and cutting.  He doesn't understand her obsessions about being thin and her comments really hurt his feelings - especially since he was there working so hard to help her.  So I was a bit uh, ticked off.

 

Anywhozle, love to all y'all there.  (and etc, other closing remarks)

Estrangement from My Mother *Part 2*

Rabbit Fish.  This will make sense later on.

 

Maybe this chart will help clarify the fambly for you:

dad	Alexis
	Anne
	Judith
	Casey
mom	Leslie
	Georgia

 So you can see where the sisters fall on the 'who has what DNA' chart.  Keep in mind that all of these people were a unit before I joined up at age 6.  I understand that I had actually been around my blood sisters previously, but it must've been age 0 through 3? and I have no real bonding memories of that time.

So we left off after the beach lunch debacle.  Read part one here.  the next day:

•  Mike and I went to Anne's house to hang out with her family for a while before heading over to mom's.  The niece who didn't know I was blood family was there, as was her father, Bill, my brother-in-law (Judith's husband).  He was in town on business, and was driving back right then with Mia (niece).  We hugged hello and goodbye and they took off.  An hour or so later Georgia (sister staying with mom for a few days to help pack) called me to tell me that any time was a good time to come over, as they had just gotten back from lunch with Bill and Mia.  This made me tilt my head again, and when I hung up I asked Anne if she had known about this lunch - because remember, Bill had just left Anne's house and was in a hurry to drive back to Sonoma and get a start on the drive, and nothing was said about lunch with mom, but we both just sorta said 'huh' and let it go.  I left with Mike for mom's house.
• We arrive at the house and Bill and Mia are still there talking to mom.  I smile at Bill and say 'I didn't know you were gonna be here!' because that is the natural thing to say, right?  AND I don't care that he went to lunch, small groups are better, whatever.  He says 'well, I just didn't want to make a big deal out of it at Anne's house' TRIANGULATION NATION.  I only shrugged and hugged them both goodbye again and filed that away and la de dah.
• There are boxes already packed and taped shut with Georgia's name on them in the dining room.  I instantly think 'wonder what that crap is', and then I mentally shrugged again because I do not want anything in that house anyway, and maybe she was just getting stuff ready to go, but it seemed secretive to me.  Whether or not anything in those boxes was a secret, it triggered me more and thus it was a useful event.  I'm certain, actually, that there was nothing nefarious in those boxes.  It is a useful event because it made me face all of this stuff at the same time.  SECRETS.  I'm not a fan.
• Mike was busting his ass moving furniture into Georgia's truck and hauling boxes and stuff, and when he sat down to rest mom started in asking him about his weight.  I didn't hear the whole conversation, and he was fine by himself (and too much of a grown man to need or want my help) but I wanted to fucking kill her, she is so weird about weight and everyone should be anorexic like her.
• We were in the spare room and Mike was sitting there, and mom asked me where I lie out to get so tan.  (she is standing too close to me at this point, really looking at my face) this triggers me and in my head I am saying 'this is a trap.  What in the fuck is she really asking.  I lie out by the pool sometimes but I told her I walk 3 or more miles a day.  Where is this going.) you know, like a normal child of a narc, sensing a trap.  SHE senses my hesitation and gets all up in my face, like SERIOUSLY up in my face!  and starts going 'um hem urm hem um' as if those were the noises I was making.  Hard to describe but she was MOCKING ME for my hesitation.  I *bleeped* past it (in retrospect I do that to avoid conflict, learned defense) and I said blah blah "plus I'm 1/4 full blood Mexican, I tan easily".  She immediately interrupted me (I KNEW THAT WOULD PISS HER OFF - back in the day being Mexican was seen as being derogatory, prejudice has no logic) and said 'not to correct you, but your grandmother [dad's mother] was SPANISH.  <--this had long been dad's contention.  HOWEVER she was Mexican, my grandfather met and married her in Arizona, on the border of Mexico ANYWHOZLE I told her no, the woman was Mexican.  I have her records from Ancestry.com.  "Well, do you know her maiden name??" <--snotty voice "yes, it was Ramirez.  Jesusita Ramirez Henderson."  "well, your dad just always liked that link to Spain" BECAUSE HE REWROTE HIS HISTORY FUCKING CHRIST.  And that was her best argument?  But it was the mocking thing, right in my face, with her eyes just examining my face minutely for any lie, or chink in my armor...  I still don't know what her point was in my being tan but I successfully deflected all that with the remark about Mexican vs Spanish.
• That night at dinner I was sitting between Anne and Georgia, and Georgia started talking about getting very emotional that our childhood home was being sold.  Anne and I were again like that dog
  
• wha da fuq you sayin?
• I started to say "I don't have the same emotional attachment to that place" (again trying to talk to fish at the aquarium) but I remembered in time and just started saying 'uh huh uh huh' and let it go.  (Anne and I have discussed contacting the new owners and telling them to burn sage and pour salt around the house, lol)
• I let Anne know what Bill had said - the "I just didn't want to make a big deal of it at Anne's house" and we both just boggled at that.  This is a big issue which I'm sure you can guess, but it may have actually been THE last straw.
• Georgia pointed out a small box of percussion instruments - maracas, a bongo drum, some other clackity musical things, and asked me if I wanted them.  I said no, perhaps little Ericson (my grand nephew, 3 yrs old) would like them?  Georgia looked askance and said 'don't you think he'll just break them?!' and I started to talk to the aquarium, I admit it - I said something about how 'you were going to donate them to a thrift store, da fuq?' but I stopped myself and just pushed the box over to the donate area and moved along.
• I had driven up to OC and paid for a hotel room in order to go to mom's house and speak to her about movers vs. renting a U-Haul.  When I got there mom informed me she had already had two companies out and had their quotes.  So my involvement was unnecessary.  I would think that someone other than mom knew this was going down.  Mom would have told Georgia or Leslie or even Judith that she had had movers out to estimate stuff - and everyone has been on emails where we all know who is doing what, that I was going to lead the moving portion.  Why wasn't I informed?  Did whoever it was think that I was going to drop the ball (that old thinking of me as the scapegoat again!) - is that why Bill was over there?  I don't give a fuck about helping, the point is SECRETS.

These are a few examples of narc stuff, and of Different Species stuff.  All of this took me over 24 hours to process.  I had a crying jag on my patio on Sunday, just getting to the root of all of it.  Tears of final frustration with it - not sadness.

I can no longer make any effort to be around some of my family.  It's as if I have been PULLING and tugging a barge up a stream, and I was responsible for making it move.  I just realized the rope was actually attached to a solid wall, no movement possible.

I let go of the rope.

I am now estranged from my mom.  I am not sending a letter I changed my mind.  See the next post.  I sent a letter outlining why I am done with my mother, but I left out all the other crap - one thing at a time, I am not leaving in a huff, there will be no statements or whatever.  I just realized that my mom is, as y'all know, a narc.  Plain and simple.  I have decided that even for a relationship with my sisters, being around her is not possible for me.  Anybody who triggers *that* feeling in my head and my gut is not going to be around me.  This is more of a quiet decision, than anything angry or emotional at all.  One doesn't willingly hold a poisonous snake.  I don't want to visit them behind glass at a zoo, either.  They can live somewhere else, I am not interested in snakes, not even as blog material.  She is moving into that home, and I am no longer helping.  She has the movers handled and does not need me.  I can slip away quietly into the night and leave them, as Jonsi said on her blog, like a dark cloud behind me, getting ever smaller and wispier.

When I sent the email summing up the visit out to all the sisters, I did do some passive-aggressive shit of my own, because *GRIN* why not?  I said that Bill had been there having lunch with mom, did he have any input??  Shouting to everyone the little secret they were trying to keep to themselves.  Cracks me up to think of that.  I also mentioned that mom had already had movers out there, and that my efforts were redundant and isn't she being so proactive?  I also mentioned that Mike had helped Georgia load a bunch of boxes of stuff into her truck.  Lol - I just threw light on everything, all the mold in the dark places.

There has been talk of everyone getting together for mom's 80th birthday in November, where can we all go, etc.  I am not going.  I've already told Anne.  It exhausts me to think of being in a room with some of them.  I'm no longer willing to make an effort to talk to the aquarium.  It bores me.  I'm just DONE.  Anybody who makes me feel *that* feeling of anxiety and stress?  not going to be around them.  Sure, there is the family association crap, but I have met other people who freak me out and I don't hang with them anymore - You get to pick.  you get to pick who is worth your time - and family doesn't automatically make the cut just because you've known them a long time.  YOU GET TO PICK.

And I am in the process of un-picking people.  Culled from my herd, as it were.

I did talk at length to Anne.  She is crazy too, yes, she is broken too - we all are.  But she has always been real with me, even when it isn't you know, pleasant.  Anyway, I told her that if I have ever EVER said anything asshole-ish to her, or her kids (because that is very possible as I have been very broken for a long time) that I AM SO SORRY.  Not one of those stupid apologies but seriously.  I do not want to lose people who DO speak my language, who ARE of the same species.  You know what she said?  this is huge.

(paraphrasing) "anything we said before we got mentally healthy in the last few years is bullshit.  We said it because we were taught to be assholes and be defensive and those were the only tools we had.  That stuff has to be forgiven and forgotten because it wasn't real.  We had to un-learn all that bullshit crap and learn how to be real, learn how to be human.  that's what matters."

I am so. very. healthy now.  And all the pieces are falling into place.

Estrangement from my mother *Part 1*

So, I went up to OC to visit with family, Mike went too - that's where we left off.  First of all, nothing BAD happened.  Like, there was no big blow-out, no fighting.

The straw that broke the camel's back was just another little straw, right?  One more, same as the rest, not unusual, just another straw. 

The Last Straw.

(I don't really want to tell the story in chronological order - it really is a series of vignettes that can be told in bullet format.  It’s a long and winding road of a post, so don’t feel bad if you don’t want to read it all.  TL:DR – I decided to estrange myself from any family members who make me dizzy when I talk to them.  I’m very happy about this decision.)

-->Before we begin, I would like to tell you THIS:  I got home from the weekend and composed a very nice email to all sisters, telling them about mom's progress on the house and what Mike and I accomplished and blah blah, hit send.  Then I wrote an email to ONE sister, saying 'the family is all fucking nuts, I'll call you later'.  Hit send.  YEAH, I sent that one to all sisters too.  I DROPPED THE CAKE AGAIN.  Be careful of your 'too' line, is all I'm sayin'.  At least it said the entire family was fucking nuts, not just one sister, so, I was saved from COMPLETE assholery.  I'm only an incomplete asshole.<--

My mother's narcissistic behavior finally killed our relationship.

Scene 1:  We're all waking around at the beach, cruising the shops and talking.  Georgia (the next oldest from me, re-writing history, remember?) starts in on Mike about college - how it's SO important, it's the only way to get a career, SUPER IMPORTANT (Mike is going to college on the GI bill, but is not certain that is the route he wants to take.  I am not a big proponent of college, I am not against college - there are many roads to success, and success is not defined by a corner office, cars, clothes, or debt - but to each their own etc.)  Anyway, Mike was getting pissed and rightly so, I had to step in, I think Georgia was worried about her kid who is 13 and didn't want her to hear any 'not college is great!' stuff, but seriously.  I don't care what the subject is, you are beating a dead horse.  This is not the first sister who PREACHES COLLEGE and we are well and truly sick of it - all the nieces and nephews get the 'are you going to go to school?' judgmental question every conversation with any aunt (except ME because I am perfect, don'tchaknow).

2:  Georgia was talking at lunch about how the day before, she was at mom's house and some Jehovah’s Witnesses knocked on the door.  Georgia and mom INVITED THEM IN THE HOUSE and talked with them for a couple hours.

• Just because someone SAYS they are from a religious group, doesn't mean that they are.  My mom lives alone and is 80 years old.  These people could have been scoping the place out (laughable if you knew what mom has, who would want it, but still) Murder, Mayhem, Etc - really? 
• 2 HOURS when mom has done essentially NOTHING to pack and move, she has a month to sort through 45 years of accumulated dusty crap and you take 2 hours to talk with strangers? 
• In the little piles of crap that pass for ‘sorted’ in that house are some religious books, like the bible but more with holy scriptures and passages and feel-good sentiments.  In the TOSS pile was a number of vintage books with tags from my real mother Kaye, or which had the signature of mom’s first husband (and therefore the real father of Leslie and Georgia) – things that might be valuable to someone.  She threw that stuff away and kept these random religious books that were not even hers from childhood I think? 

3.  Georgia pointed to a banana seat Schwinn bike in a vintage store and said 'remember our bikes?!' - first of all - the one she pointed to was a boys bike, the one with the cool shifter on the horizontal bar, and hand brakes.  I was the only one who had one of those banana seat bikes, obv mine was a girls bike, etc.  I dunno, maybe she thought she had lived with Greg Brady at some point.  I get it, the bike was evocative of the era in which we lived, but by the time I got MY bike, all the older sisters were DONE with bike riding.  I got my bike in 1969, Xmas - (oh ho ho!  I have the photo albums!)

The rest of any bikes that may have been purchased in previous years would have been early 60’s models, not the coolness that was MY bike.  She is rewriting history and Whoops.  I have found a picture of Georgia on the same type of bike, hers is red.  So, it was the two of us that had the same bike - I probably wanted one just like hers, actually.  But she does want to change our childhood into something it wasn't and that makes me tilt my head to the side like that dog in the RCA ads.

wha da fuq you sayin?

 

4.  One of my nieces who was there visiting had no clue that I was full blood sister to her mother - she thought my mom, who is our step-mother (except for Georgia and Leslie) was my blood mother.  Not that I am all AHHH!  TAINTED BLOOD!!  which, you know, kinda - but it tells me that things are not being told correctly, the truth is shrouded - it's all so weird.  (This nieces mother is one of my blood sisters.  It's like the Brady Bunch, 4 sisters are dad's, vs. 2 sisters are step-monster's).  Also this makes me feel more like I am on the outside, which I have been since the day I was born. 

~So that is the first day.  All of those were just little straws, and it took me until later that night to process all of this.  I was in the hotel room with Mike and I had this AH HA moment:

My mom is like a fish in a big aquarium to me.  I go to , and I have kept trying to talk to the fish - there is no way to get my voice heard through the glass, she doesn't understand me, they just keep swimming.  ALL OF MY LIFE I have been trying to communicate with a different species.  It isn't my fault that I can't get them to understand me, and that I can't understand them.  THEY ARE A DIFFERENT SPECIES THAN I AM.  It is impossible for us to understand each other or to communicate.  It isn't ME.  No matter how hard I try to be understanding, or gentle, or listen - I am never going to make any headway.  I have always thought it was because I was so weird, so crazy – there must be some logical reason I am on the outside, right?  So I gave up that night, I gave myself permission to give up!  And I knew it was the right decision because I felt so LIGHT and my hair was tingling and I was joyous.  I GAVE UP.  No more trying to talk to people who do not in any way speak my language.  Or any language close to it.  They are fish, I am human, there is no understanding a tuna.  Or a smelt.  And IT ISN’T ME. 

So that was my first apostrophe epiphany.

 (TW – this part of my apostrophe is for you): They all contributed to my being forced to the outside, at first it was modeled for them by the parents, and then later years up TO NOW EVEN they just continue to do it, to see what they want to see.  It is easier for them to keep me in that box even when faced with fact and irrefutable evidence.  To that I say whatever!  I AM FREE it feels so good to just wash my hands of them!

 

*there is more, this will need to be a 2-parter because the dogs have to pee*

 

Where a narcissist would call home

Good lord y'all.  My mother sold her house.  Wait, let me show you where I grew up!

 

 So, a man gets custody of all 4 of his very young daughters in 1964.  He decides, after much deliberation, to buy the above 4-unit apartment building.  It is 15 FEET from the railroad tracks.  15 feet.  This was during the Vietnam war, so the freight trains came about every hour, the passenger trains about every 45 minutes.  The street out front was only 2 lanes at the time, you used to be able to park in front, but the yard was never bigger - and there was never any grass.  You can see how child-friendly this place was.  here is the view from the top:



So extremely busy railroad tracks on one side, busy scary street right in front, and an asphalt alley behind.  no grass, no yard, nowhere to play.  My bedroom was the closest to the street and tracks.  It was LOUD AS FUCK, is what I'm saying.  He had a carpenter guy come out and put doorways in that linked 3 of the apartments together, so that there were enough bedrooms/bathrooms.  Don't think his logic was about renting and making money, he rented ONE unit out.  We had 3 kitchens, 3 living rooms...  They (mom and dad) lived in the upstairs unit, connected to the two downstairs but separate.  They had like, a separate apartment up there.  Living room furniture, balcony, kitchen - king of the castle.  It was weird, and not normal - you know?  Not a house...?

OH MY SHITTING GOD THERE ARE MORE PICTURES OF THE PLACE ON GOOGLE from the realtors website I guess:

Side of the apartment building.  That upstairs balcony was their separate living quarters.  Ground floor middle, behind the plants, was the living room we used as a sort of Rec Room, ballet bars, stereo, bean bag chairs... When I got older I rented that unit .  No grass, that fence at the far left is the alley, toward the right is Death Street.  FUN!

Living room.  It didn't look like this when I lived there - it was 70's wonderama when I lived there.  Now it's all prissy white furniture, white carpets, white walls.  She wants me to take that coffee table, it weighs about 200 pounds (solid as hell) and it's huge.  I dunno.  Bonfire?

Anywhoozle - she sold her house and blah blah she's already closed escrow, has 60 days to rent back and GTFO.  Guess what.

I'm going up there on Thursday/Friday, to hang out with a coupla sisters and talk to my mom about moving companies.  Yeah, that'd be ME.  I have already had a panic attack about it - which is weird, right?  Because I can walk away if shit goes down.  I mean, all that could possibly happen is that she gets stabby with her words, and I get STABBY back and then I kill her I go home. 

Wait - I forgot to tell you this part.  See, mom is from that generation where photographs were more precious than gold.  She did one thing, she documented the holy HELL out of our lives.  She has them all starting in these 1960's photo albums, remember these:

they are thick and huge.  Starting in like 1964?  1965?  and on up.  I have no idea how many books, bazillions of photos.  And captions underneath, all documenting our lives.  Here's the point.  She would NEVER, EVER let those books out of the house before.  But all the sisters are clamoring for them, someone save them, since she throws everything away, SAVE THE PHOTOS, SAVE WHAT WE HAVE OF OUR CHILDHOOD!!

*I offered to (if mom will let me pry them from her cold old fingers) take all the books, scan all the photos, put the books back together, send everyone a thumb-drive with copies, and send the books to whoever*

Essentially?  I just offered my family an entire year of my time.  remember this little gem?

Yeah, like that. 

So my panic attacks are about mom saying something like (in a quavery worried voice) "make sure you don't toss any of those pictures" and me saying something like "stab stab stab" because, well - only another ULB could understand the millions of lines of sub-text in a statement like that.  And I don't want to fight, I want to help my sisters to help this old lady to get in a home and shut the fuck up.

The sister who is coming out, is the one who was the most behind me when I started NOT lying about the abuse that happened to me as a kid.  She is the closest in age, the one who saw it all (most of it).  Now she is the one who is trying to re-write history - not to negate MY reality, but in order for her to have a relationship with her mother before she dies.  So I am already running conversational scenarios in my head (like we do, dont'cha know) to see what topics I could talk about without saying "stab stab stab".  Are you sensing a theme?

oh I'm fine.  I'm ALWAYS fine, we are always fine, right?  I'm just looking forward to this like a dental cleaning or a pap smear.  Rectal exam.  But, I will get my hands on those photo albums and then they will be safe.

Crazy weekend

Q, quit following me around.  this was the headline of the paper this weekend:

Jeff was off work for 4 days, and nothing gets in the way worse than a husband with nothing to do and 4 days to do it in.  Jeebus, I can get back to my usual sloth-like ways now that he's not around.  But I do have laundry and plants and exercise, so I'll be back later.

I have a post in the works about trolls.  *sigh* and I'm not feeling per-tick-you-lare-lee vehement either - it may be an EXHAUSTED BY TROLLS post instead of my usual rants.  Maybe I can work up a good pissed-off by the time I get back.

Cross your fingers.

I carried a watermelon

The title of this entry is a line from the movie 'Dirty Dancing'.  It's a pretty funny line.

Wanna know what is NOT a funny line?

"I dropped the cake"

*sigh*.  Yeah.  We drove to Arizona to go to one of Jeff's friend's 50th birthday party.  I went with the wife to go get the cake.  I dropped it on the way OUT OF THE STORE.  Plz invite my spazzy self to YOUR parties!  I am fun. 

It was 122 degrees in Arizona.  YES.  ONE HUNDRED TWENTY TWO.  Degrees.

That is not a happy thing no matter how much you tell me you love the dry heat.  Yes it's a dry heat.  So is the inside of my oven I DON'T WANT TO BE INSIDE AN OVEN.

Plus - look.  YOU may think the desert is beautiful.  To YOU it has nuance!  Majestic beauty!  Subtle colors that change as the light changes!  To YOU the desert looks like this:

Well sister, not to ME.  To me the desert looks like a big vacant lot in the middle of Garden Grove, CA.  The desert looks like someone hated the area and blasted the fuck out of the landscape.  To me, the desert looks like this:

For 5 fucking hours driving from So Cal to the middle of The Devil's Frying Pan (now with more heat!).  Anywhoozle - it was a party.  I didn't drink.

There were lots of people there and shots! were! had!  loudly, and music was thumpa thumpa thumpa and it was fun, but you know - I'm a hermit and so I got a little overwhelmed and so did my dogs, I took them up to the bedroom we were in and we all three went to bed at about 8:00 PM Saturday night.

Again, invite me to YOUR party, I will poop out early, after I drop the cake!