Fire One!
Yesterday Adam and I had a long conversation about Mom. We have to address things directly, for once. We're pretty comfortable digging our heads in the sand and waiting for life to change.
Adam has decided to be more involved in the "Mom situation." This is distressing. I know that Adam means well, but he doesn't have 30+ years of experience with Mom's version of Bipolar Disorder. Of course, he may not have the automatic programming that I have that makes allowances for her behavior and he may prove to be more effective.
I'm sure that from the outside it will seem that we are overreacting to a normal, not scary situation, but I don't know if there are ways to fully express what it's like to live with a Bipolar person that doesn't manage her disease very well. I don't have a stigma against Bipolar. My two best friends, Randy and Charlotte, are both Bipolar and I have lived with both medicated and unmedicated versions of both of them. I know to recognize what is the disease and what is the person underneath it all.
Mom is a lifetime of pain and hurt. She isn't one of those cases that didn't get diagnosed until I was an adult, no, she's known since she was fifteen years old that she has Bipolar Disorder and has never done anything about it. Mom has been in the hospital multiple times for stretches as short (ha) as two weeks and as long as three months at a time. She's had doctors and pills and years of therapy available to her and her only stand is to say "it's not my fault." She'll fiddle with her meds and ride the highs until she's blown past all of her money. But, Hey! That's okay. Chessy's worked since she was fourteen years old and she always has rent money. (Yes, I paid the rent in emergencies from the time I was fourteen years old until I finally got away at twenty.)
My whole childhood was focused on getting away from her. I never wanted to live with her again. I never felt any pull to take care of her. I gave up my childhood and my teenage years taking care of her. I put my time in.
But....
I married a soft-hearted man who thought that he was doing me a favor by inviting my mom to move to Texas. (I was getting several calls a week from Mom who was in 'trouble' with one thing or another. He thought that I would be less worried if I knew that she was nearby. What a joke.
I'm resentful of the fact that I'm stuck holding her hand through yet another disaster of her own making. It's not that she's in the house, it's what having to look at her destructive behavior does to me. It's knowing that I still have no control over my life. I'm still having to look over my shoulder and be worried that she's going to overdose on pills or cut herself. Or worse. (We don't keep guns in the house because she's been known to use them and not on herself.)
When I was pregnant with Mazzy we were so focused on the damage that Wayne could do that we brushed over Mom and her part in our daughter's life. Pregnancy with Nora has brought up all of these unresolved issues for me. I know that she's going to be in the house, pulling the same crap she pulled on me and my brother and I'm scared. I know how hurtful it can be to be constantly rejected by someone that you love. Even if she manages to adore Nora and never compare her to her dead sister, Nora is still going to be able to hear the stuff that she says to me. My daughter is going to grow up listening to her grandmother tell her mom how bad she is, how ungrateful and mean. That can't be good.
I feel like I've talked this to death. It's the same cycle over and over again. I accept my part in it. It's apparent that I'm too angry to be effective. I'm stubborn and I'm trying to so hard to get my own way that I'm sure that I'm overlooking what damage I might be doing do her psyche. I've looked in to support groups, but they don't have anything that would work for this situation. I won't give up, though. I can't. This is too important.
Meanwhile, I actually started this entry for the purpose of explaining that Adam has started his reign of terror. Mom woke him up around three this morning and he retaliated. He felt like if she could be awake and making a mess in the kitchen and starting laundry then she could totally be doing something productive, like cleaning her room. Adam made his point by banging on her bedroom door and yelling at her. At three in the morning.
I'm not sure what he was hoping to accomplish, but it seems the war is on. We're supposed to start eating downstairs at the table. (Yes, have one we never use.) He thinks that structuring the Family Unit will have some impact on her eating and sleeping schedules. I said that I would give it a try, but I need a table cloth or place mats first. If she doesn't eat with us, fine, but we're going to stop leaving food out for her.
We were planning on changing things once the baby was here, but he thinks we should start early and get her used to it.
Frankly, I'm scared. I don't want to have to have dinner with my Mom. I don't want to share my life with her. I want her to just suddenly be an entirely different person and capable of taking care of herself.
There's a good chance that Mom is going to live thirty more years. We have to make something work.
Adam has decided to be more involved in the "Mom situation." This is distressing. I know that Adam means well, but he doesn't have 30+ years of experience with Mom's version of Bipolar Disorder. Of course, he may not have the automatic programming that I have that makes allowances for her behavior and he may prove to be more effective.
I'm sure that from the outside it will seem that we are overreacting to a normal, not scary situation, but I don't know if there are ways to fully express what it's like to live with a Bipolar person that doesn't manage her disease very well. I don't have a stigma against Bipolar. My two best friends, Randy and Charlotte, are both Bipolar and I have lived with both medicated and unmedicated versions of both of them. I know to recognize what is the disease and what is the person underneath it all.
Mom is a lifetime of pain and hurt. She isn't one of those cases that didn't get diagnosed until I was an adult, no, she's known since she was fifteen years old that she has Bipolar Disorder and has never done anything about it. Mom has been in the hospital multiple times for stretches as short (ha) as two weeks and as long as three months at a time. She's had doctors and pills and years of therapy available to her and her only stand is to say "it's not my fault." She'll fiddle with her meds and ride the highs until she's blown past all of her money. But, Hey! That's okay. Chessy's worked since she was fourteen years old and she always has rent money. (Yes, I paid the rent in emergencies from the time I was fourteen years old until I finally got away at twenty.)
My whole childhood was focused on getting away from her. I never wanted to live with her again. I never felt any pull to take care of her. I gave up my childhood and my teenage years taking care of her. I put my time in.
But....
I married a soft-hearted man who thought that he was doing me a favor by inviting my mom to move to Texas. (I was getting several calls a week from Mom who was in 'trouble' with one thing or another. He thought that I would be less worried if I knew that she was nearby. What a joke.
I'm resentful of the fact that I'm stuck holding her hand through yet another disaster of her own making. It's not that she's in the house, it's what having to look at her destructive behavior does to me. It's knowing that I still have no control over my life. I'm still having to look over my shoulder and be worried that she's going to overdose on pills or cut herself. Or worse. (We don't keep guns in the house because she's been known to use them and not on herself.)
When I was pregnant with Mazzy we were so focused on the damage that Wayne could do that we brushed over Mom and her part in our daughter's life. Pregnancy with Nora has brought up all of these unresolved issues for me. I know that she's going to be in the house, pulling the same crap she pulled on me and my brother and I'm scared. I know how hurtful it can be to be constantly rejected by someone that you love. Even if she manages to adore Nora and never compare her to her dead sister, Nora is still going to be able to hear the stuff that she says to me. My daughter is going to grow up listening to her grandmother tell her mom how bad she is, how ungrateful and mean. That can't be good.
I feel like I've talked this to death. It's the same cycle over and over again. I accept my part in it. It's apparent that I'm too angry to be effective. I'm stubborn and I'm trying to so hard to get my own way that I'm sure that I'm overlooking what damage I might be doing do her psyche. I've looked in to support groups, but they don't have anything that would work for this situation. I won't give up, though. I can't. This is too important.
Meanwhile, I actually started this entry for the purpose of explaining that Adam has started his reign of terror. Mom woke him up around three this morning and he retaliated. He felt like if she could be awake and making a mess in the kitchen and starting laundry then she could totally be doing something productive, like cleaning her room. Adam made his point by banging on her bedroom door and yelling at her. At three in the morning.
I'm not sure what he was hoping to accomplish, but it seems the war is on. We're supposed to start eating downstairs at the table. (Yes, have one we never use.) He thinks that structuring the Family Unit will have some impact on her eating and sleeping schedules. I said that I would give it a try, but I need a table cloth or place mats first. If she doesn't eat with us, fine, but we're going to stop leaving food out for her.
We were planning on changing things once the baby was here, but he thinks we should start early and get her used to it.
Frankly, I'm scared. I don't want to have to have dinner with my Mom. I don't want to share my life with her. I want her to just suddenly be an entirely different person and capable of taking care of herself.
There's a good chance that Mom is going to live thirty more years. We have to make something work.
Comments