Wednesday, April 21, 2010

Pour your heart out--Stuff



I love my mother dearly but she drives me crazy too.  I never know if it's a good day or a bad day with her.  Things have been pretty good for a while now but I know she will have an episode soon.  She is an undiagnosed manic depressive(my diagnosis from years of watching her go up and down).  More over she doen't have any one else to dump stuff on because she is single and has few friends.  She has lots of aquaintences but few friends. She is not close to many of her brother or sisters--a whole other story, let's not go there.

I know I have my own issues with depression to deal with, but she can trigger a down swing with the most "innocent" of comments.  She is also a master at creating guilt.  I can't talk about this stuff with her because it is then an attack on her.  Everythng always become about her. I can't do anything or have a moment that she has not done something similar or better.  It can be exhausting talking to her. 

We are walking a fine line too, because she watches Bruiser during the day when I am working.  She is wonderful with him.  We try not to offend her but we never know what will set her off.  Mostly things are OK but every now and then I wish I could just tell her the truth.  Not a good idea but it would be so satisfying. 

Too make things even more fun Nick's dad is a diagnosed Manic depressive.  Some days it just does not pay to answer the phone.  Nick and I are aware of these things and we try to keep an eye on our health so we can keep things normal for both us and the kids.

I have however found a new place to vent about the things my mom does--here in bloggy land.  She does not know about my blog--yet.  The most recent of her antics was yesterday.  We cleaned out so stuff from our closets and fron Bruiser's room--mostly because it need to go and Bruiser needs a room that is Bruiser friendly.  There were some old clothes my mom had given me from when I was a little girl--things she made for me, some clothes she had made for herself back in the sixties, and some clothes from my grandmother I guess.  We had planned on moving them to the attic because we aren't using them and don't need to store them in Bruiser's room. 

Truth be told we don't need to keep much of it anyway, but I knew it would send her over the edge if we got rid of it.  She saw the pile of clothes we intended to take to the attic and called me in a sort of panic over whether I was going to get rid of them.  I told her no, they were going to the attic to be stored there.  It took the wind out of her sails and she was calmer.  She offered to take them back to her house and store them there.  Those clothes are really getting the run around--her house, my house, her house.  The sad thing is no one will ever wear them again.  I don't care if you call them vintage or not--wool is not fun to wear--itchy and scratchy, yes, fun no. 

OK, I'm done venting.  Go see Shell for more Pour Your Heart Out posts.  It's thought provoking stuff over there.

3 comments:

Michele R said...

Glad you could vent! The good news is that she is good with your kids.
Here I am in my mid-40’s and I just found a description that fits my mom to a T. “Narcisscistic personality disorder”. If you google it, you may see that she has some of these traits, from what you’ve written. It helped me to realize that she will never change.
It’s that time of the year for a closet clean out over here too.

Aphrodite's Mortal Friend (ME) said...

A Mother's comment can lift us up the the sky or burry us deep in the Earth ... I get it!

shortmama said...

If my MIL didnt read my blog every once in a while I could write pages about her. But she would probably faint if she ever had to get rid of things. She still has clothes and toys from when my hubs was a kid and no intentions of ever getting rid of them. I understand maybe keeping a favorite outfit that she liked of his or something but she has nearly ever item of clothing he ever had. When he moved in with me before we were married she wouldnt let him take anything from his old bedroom. He hadnt lived there in years but she wouldnt even let him have his dresser. He came into my apartment at the time with literally clothes and guns and nothing more

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