I finally spoke my truth.
My mother has this innate ability to get under my skin without even saying as much as a word, but I genuinely intended our interaction yesterday to be pleasant. And it was. Until she decided to comment about her having a panic attack due to having to ask me to help her with something or tell me I did something wrong, like miss picking up some dog shit in the front yard that her landlord pointed out to her.
Now those few things on their own may not seem like enough to cause a meltdown, but it did. Here’s a list of spewed topics that came running out of my mouth like word vomit:
- I wish I wanted to spend time with her, but she always needs something so it’s never unconditional
- I’ve always felt like the parent and she was the child, while she’s always felt like we were a team. Yes, a team, not pile what you can’t handle on your kid or just expect your eldest to always understand and accept the shitty situations created.
- Did she think I wanted to live at home til 26?
- It’s not my fault she’s burned every bridge here and doesn’t have anyone else outside of me, my POS brother, and her friend Michelle.
- Since I graduated High School in 2004, I haven’t been living for me, but always for someone else – Brandon and his cancer, mom and her drama, Nick and whatever shit show he got himself into this week
- I need a break and want to be responsible for no one but myself and MY family
- Why am I being punished for always having my shit together, but my POS brother gets a free pass because he’s FINALLY getting his shit together
- If my brother up and disappeared, I wouldn’t be too terribly sad. No, I didn’t mean if he suddenly died because that would be awful. But if I didn’t have to hear about him or his life at all ever again, I’d be okay with it.
- Where the fuck are all of these family and friends that said they would help with any and everything once we got back to Iowa?
After saying that last bit, I really realized how much I really, really dislike my brother. I don’t want to use the word “hate” just yet because it is awfully strong, but my resentment is bordering on it. I used to feel bad for him because he never really had a positive male role model in his life and blamed his anger issues on the shared sperm donor, but overtime, you either let your past dictate your future or you do better.
He’s always expected everyone else to clean up his mess. Anything from being arrested for alcohol at school to missing drug money to physically abusive relationships to stealing work trucks – you name it, he’s pulled it. We’ve never gotten along the greatest while growing up, generally always fighting because he was an entitled little prick back then too. If only it were acceptable to physically beat the shit out of your siblings as an adult…
Dealing with our mom’s crap in Arizona really set the tone for the rest of our relationship. There was an instance where we were driving to meet my uncle and wife for dinner and I decided to try and talk to Nick about his GF filling his head with unlikely scenarios like mom’s health improving. Queue the screaming match of the century from my brother, defending his brainless bimbo, all while screaming and spitting in my face, while I’m trying to drive. It’s been the one moment in time that I can ever remember actually being scared of Nick hitting me. If I could have, I would have dropped him off on the side of the highway, but we were 1500 miles from home, so I dropped him off at my Uncle’s hotel and left. We didn’t talk for the remainder of our time together and really haven’t said more than a few words to each other since last August 2021.
I realize in telling my mother that I hate one of her other children likely hurt her more than I realize. I also know in venting about all of those other issues didn’t help her panic attack or the feeling sorry for herself issue either. She apologized profusely, but that wasn’t the point. The point was for her to try and understand where I am coming from. I apologized for beating a dead horse when talking about my brother, but anytime I’m asked to do something for her – store, bank, laundry, whatever – my first reaction is “What has my brother been up to?” Hey, he goes over once a week and takes out the trash, so there’s that. She asked me what I want her to do and I flat out told her find more help. Even if I only stop by 2-3 times a week with groceries or other items she wants, I feel 100% responsible for her 24/7, worrying about her being alone or me waking up to her dead or having someone ready to help her if I want to go out of town. I want to visit with my mom, the mom. Not my mom, the patient.
She seemed to maybe understand, but at the same time, I didn’t sleep for shit last night, wondering if I made her feel worthless and if I should worry about her doing anything stupid. She swears she’d never hurt herself because of the way we lost my youngest brother, but I also feel like a lot of wounds were reopened and I know my words hurt her, but they were my truth and how I felt. We have always been a team, tackling shit life threw at us, but I didn’t really have much choice in the matter seeing as I was the eldest and she didn’t really have anyone else.
I don’t know, we’re going to try and do some errands yet again today so wish me luck. It’s to the bank for a money order to pay her rent – I said I’d be by right after work so fingers crossed this goes better than expected.
Can sane people check into a mental health ward? Asking for a friend. It’s me. I’m Friend.
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