May 19, 2009
This is a warning about the dangers of having a mental disorder that goes on not being diagnosed and treated. Today I got the grim news that my mother will be losing her house - and the $90,000 she had invested in it. It goes to auction on Thursday. She lives down the street from me so I should have a good view of the proceedings. I know nothing of mortgages, etc. but yesterday my mother came and dropped this in my lap. She apparently had been getting letters from a lawyer and her mortgage co. for some time and JUST REFUSED TO OPEN THEM! She is an extremely intelligent, even intellectual, cultured woman who has been taken care of all her life but sees herself as capable. I am not so deceived about my own absence of some important abilities. She has received two inheritances which further helped prolong how many decades she could get away with this sort of insanity. My mother never worked outside the home and this was totally normal in her generation but now I realize she COULDN"T. I find myself that I can't keep a job no matter how I try and my mother knew inherently that it would make her look stupid. Just like I always look - stupid. Instead she played the book-wise and tasteful matriarch and it suited her. She never learned to drive - she was afraid and someone was always there to take her. I am afraid and have no choice. Her protests that I was interfering in her autonomy made me feel guilty for asking her where she was getting all this money - insinuating that I was getting greedy. She's generous to a FAULT, don't get me wrong. Oh, the drama, the mood swings, the manipulations, the guilt trips, the screaming and moaning....you get the picture. But because she was so smart in some practical ways and such a good conversationalist, house keeper, cook, art appreciator, bill payer, yada yada - she has skills I would kill to have - it just went on and on 'til now it's come to this. I can't stand it. Part of me is base enough to realize that that not only is she losing her house but what was left of any inheritance I had always hoped for is gone as well. I know now that I will never own a house and that has always been my dream. My children will never go to Disneyland. I will never again enjoy the lifestyle - that I never EVER took for granted but cherished - that I had 10 years ago due to my mother's over reaching sense of entitlement and a platinum Visa card. My excuse for my participation is I was young beyond my years in the ways of the world and kept completely in the dark about the hard facts of limited resources. All my possessions are gone - everything I found a few dollars to to snatch up and hord for the day when I would have that gray stone house in the country, on a hill with a big tree with a long swing..... pictured in an illustration of a nursery rhyme book that I would lust after as a toddler. My father, who had his own demons, would draw up plans for a playhouse that he would never build for me, Every year or so he'd ask me how I'd like some detail - once giving me the (theoretical) choice between airconditioning or a fire place! I must have been 12 at the time and was sadly losing some faith but I wanted to believe. How I wanted to believe. Perhaps this is why I am so house hungry. Self pity, jealousy, obsession - I know my faults. Think how these emotions have tortured me when you tell me how unattractive they are. And now I see that I am no longer a Cinderella. That no lonely prince (read house owner) will come and, thankful for witty banter, a warm lover, and a ready made family, ask me to move in and decorate his empty abode. My prince was certainly not made to order but he loves me and he's so generous and good hearted. He deserves a better woman and I want a more realistic guy - so I can pass for normal myself.
So, here it is, the infamous letter we BPs always leave behind. What is it it's called on the news? A long rambling letter, right? Well, that doesn't mean it was empty of truth and understandings. That it was worthless because of it's author's diagnosis or the many switches in subject - I've always resented that description - the victim left behind a long, rambling suicide note....Yes, this is the straw.... I just can not cope. I never could and now, as my mental illness gets more complicated, my eyesight is mysteriously worsening with no explanation, my boyfriend very inncocently accidentally gave me herpes, I have developed this shocking case of ACNE of all things - is this breast cancer? Should I whine? It's just that the combo of me losing my possessions, my mother losing her house, my lover actually OWING his mother his inheritance because he and his exwife took a second mortgage out on his mother's home (figure THAT one out), my deeply beloved children each having things amiss and in in my boys VERY amiss and I witness them having this same tender heart as I that will be broken so many times, the inability to bounce, to remember, to learn from mistakes, etc., etc. and my heart is constantly broken on their behalves. My car leaks black bile that has to be put back into it at half the rate as gas it seems. It's rusty and smashed from where a deer ran into me a few years ago - without insurance, where was I? Oh, the list. David's truck needs hundreds of dollars of work and has been sitting in my mom's driveway for months. We live in a basement apartment and I hate it. I should be grateful - we USED to live in one room! If I were thankful I know I could be happy again but I see what I was and what I am now. What I had and what I have NOW! I need to add several more people on to the list as folks who unarguably HATE me with no apparent reason. I am a poor house keeper, an impossible appointment maker/keeper, a lame coordinator of homework, missing items, etc. Yes, I know people will cry - for themselves though really. I had a revelation one day many years ago when I was weeping for the sudden death of my young brother that he wasn't suffering any more - I was. That he had peace and I was crying because I missed him. It was understandable that I would cry but seeing that fact helped me to eventually stop. People should remember me as affectionate, an adoring mother, witty, fun, and haunted - as well as the crappy stuff. I was made wrong and then handed a set of circumstances that were the worst things I could handle. Sorry, guys.