Category: crazy

Slithering

A narcissistic mother’s abuse of her children does not magically stop when the kids turn 18. In fact, it actually seems to amplify, as those kids begin to tentatively nudge their way out from under her noxious thumb.

Instead of celebrating and encouraging their burgeoning independence, she grinds down harder, deliberately erodes their confidence, and ultimately badmouths them and spreads childish rumors about them if they still choose to remove themselves from her repugnancy.

Essentially, when a child takes a stand and demonstrates any desire to not be a lying, mooching, batshit-crazy piece of shit like her, she pitches a toddler-style tantrum, resorts to grade-school retaliation tactics due to her emotional retardation, and regresses even further as a parent, a person, a human being.

She chooses to be this way. It is unfathomable, but she favors slithering over growing.

She will not tolerate the children being better than that, better than her, so she holds their heads under the filth and drowns them in her obscenity. She wants to destroy them, snuff out any part of them that is happy, caring, free, ambitious, independent…and not like her.

That is not a mother. At best, that is a stretched-out, shameless, foul incubator. That is a middle-aged loser whose parents pay her bills, cosset her, and supply her with a dingy trailer because she is too useless to even acquire that on her own.

No wonder narcissists lie so much. When you are undeniably worthless, fanciful lies must be so much more appealing than the truth.

Almost the Weekend

I am so glad it’s Friday!  I went into my office today to water my plants (and talk to them and assure them I have not abandoned them) and to pick up some things I need at home.  It was odd, being the only one there, my light the only one glowing in the row of dark offices.

I didn’t stay long, but not because I was creeped out by the empty office.  Nope, I didn’t stay long because my office is not far from my favorite garden center, so naturally, on the way home, I had to stop there, right?

My mother has said many times that I missed my calling, and I do believe she is right.  I feel so at peace and in my element when I am surrounded by plants.  I picked up a new houseplant for our dining room, then filled a tray with plants for an outdoor hanging basket and the flower beds.

My area now has a curfew, as well as a stay-at-home order, but many businesses are still open on limited hours.  Everyone has to stay 6 feet away from each other, and the cashiers were only accepting debit or credit cards, with the machines placed several feet away on small tables.  Normally, I can spend quite a bit of time wandering around the garden center, arranging and rearranging flower beds in my head, but today I grabbed what I needed and headed home to wash my hands.  Languid daydreaming will have to wait for another day.

I’m looking forward to this weekend.  First, I am hoping for a good weigh-in.  I have worked out every day this week, even though my work schedule has not lightened up at all.  (I am semi-jealous of all the people complaining about being bored at home with nothing to do.  What does that feel like?  I am stuck in overdrive, even in the middle of a global pandemic!)

That’s why I am excited about this weekend.  I have been asked to work, but I likely will not.  I need time to myself, time to unwind, time to focus on me and my sidekick (my husband).  I have plants lined up in the front yard, waiting for my attention tomorrow.  On Sunday I want to relax, do my nails (which will desperately need some attention after all the yard work), maybe a face mask, tune out the world, hang out with my husband and my stepson, and just be happy.

A friend of mine posted this today on Facebook, and I laughed way too hard at it:

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The first thing I thought of was how grateful my husband must be that he was never quarantined with that miserable termagant.  Then my second thought was, well, the kids are trapped with her, so it’s not so funny anymore, is it?  As always, I will worry about them until I see them again and know for sure that they are safe.

Be Different

A week ago, I was bragging about barely surviving Spinning class.  Today, I am working from home, watching incredulously as people mindlessly hoard toilet paper and wrestle each other to the ground for hand sanitizer.

Here’s my thing: why weren’t people washing their hands, disinfecting, and cleaning before now?  Why does it take the impending doom of a malevolent virus to nudge people to do things they should have been doing all along?  I see people tearing stores apart to sniff out the last bottle of Clorox wipes or hand soap, and I really have to wonder, why weren’t you already using those?  Cleaning products and hand soap should not be foreign objects in your home, people.  Now go wash your hands.

At first I was very resistant to working from home.  All my files are at work, and I didn’t want to drag a bunch of crap home.  And, admittedly, I am not a fan of change unless I am the one orchestrating it.  But so far it’s been kind of nice.  I can sleep in a lot later, since my commute has been reduced to walking across the house, and a later alarm means more snuggle time with my husband (and my jealous cat).

It also means I have zero excuses this week.  I can work out during lunch, before work, or at random times during the work day.  Who’s going to stop me, the work-at-home Gestapo?

Yesterday I walked my stepson’s dog 327 times.  Okay, maybe it was only two or three times, but it felt like a lot.  Today I will do a real workout, though, you know, actually follow along to a certified instructor on a DVD, or hit the gym, if it’s open.

It’s sad to me to see so many people hell-bent on making an already bad situation even worse.  It’s not bad enough there’s a virus to contend with.  People have to make it worse with drama, panic buying, hoarding, selfishness, instead of showing any concern or compassion for the people around them, sharing this planet.  This happens with every crisis, from hurricanes to illnesses.  True colors come out loud and clear, and more often than not, they are far from pretty.

So be different.  Be better.  If you have extra hand soap, offer some to your neighbor.  Check in with elderly friends, relatives, and neighbors.  Don’t buy more than you need.  Leave some for others who also need it.  If you have more than enough, share.

Be informed, be logical, be prepared, be safe, and be a good person.

The Beauty In Them

14ac76ed572f60044b9500baa3a5a2bd“Don’t let the ugly in others kill the beauty in you.”

As soon as I saw this quote, I saved it, and not just because it has a butterfly on it!  These are words that, in some fashion, I have said to myself, to my husband, and to our kids a million times.

Sounds so simple, doesn’t it?  Except it’s really not.  Not when toxicity is exhaled with every acrid breath of certain of people in our lives.

I can’t even count how many times the kids have cried and asked me or their dad why certain people lie, why others do the things they do.  Brushing away tears from young, innocent eyes, being face-to-face with the hurt deliberately caused by someone else, is painful, maddening, and enraging.

As the kids get older, they have become embarrassed by the behavior of others in their lives.  As they realize, more and more, how abnormal and downright bizarre the actions of those people are, it is increasingly important to remind them: you are not responsible for the choices of others.  You cannot control how another person wants to live her life.  All you can do is learn from it and be a better person because of it.

It seems like every day, I end up shaking my head, at a loss for words at the actions and choices of people in the kids’ lives who absolutely refuse to mature, grow, move on.  Day in and day out, they consciously choose to live this way.  When they have an opportunity to do what is best for the kids, or do what is best for their crippling ego and raging immaturity, without fail they unhesitatingly and selfishly choose the latter.

It’s easy to get tied up in the insanity of asking “Why?”  Don’t.  You will never, ever find logic in illogical acts.  You cannot apply reason to unreasonable people.

Retaliating would be easy.  When we hear the hateful, childish things said about us, sure, we could leap into the ring and start slinging insults and throwing punches too.  But why?  The only ones taking hits are the kids.  We refuse to do that.

Simple: we avoid hurting the kids.  We don’t consider it a victory to bruise and batter their emotions.  We don’t smile triumphantly at their tears or take smug pride in their scars.  We don’t fire straight through them, hoping we hit a target on the other side, cheering as they bleed.

It will never change.  If the toxic people in the kids’ lives were ever going to evolve as human beings, they would have done it by now.  Years later, they are still lying, using, manipulating, hissing, lashing out, obsessing.  They are still spiritually and emotionally retarded, and they always will be.

Sometimes the best a person can offer is serving as an example of how NOT to be.  That is the case here.  I don’t believe the kids have yet to let go of hope that these people will change, so they will inevitably be hurt again, many times.

Each of the kids has been injured by growing up like this.  It’s not fair to them.  It’s downright insane.  And wrong.

Each of the kids has amazing beauty inside.  They are worlds better than the people trying to hold them down.  My hope for the kids has always been that they never let the poison of others seep into their hearts, that they stay exactly who they are, who they are meant to be, no matter what others choose to be, or attempt to choose for them.

It will ultimately be up to them.  I just hope they always choose the beauty in their own hearts instead of the ugly in others.

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Dark Cloud

dark-clouds-audrey-chandlerThings have been going really well lately.  It’s finally cooling down here, and there’s just something exciting and happy about chilly air and snuggly weather.  I am seeing some real results from months of hard work, from my distance in running to fitting into smaller clothes that haven’t fit for a looooong time.

One constant, though, one dark cloud that apparently will always and forever more dangle above my head, is worrying about the kids.  With the holiday schedule this month, it will be a few weeks before the kids are back at home with us.  And let’s just say that what we hear and see of their other home is obviously just the tip of the iceberg, and it’s still disturbing as hell.

For starters, at least three so-called adults in the kids’ other home have arrest records.  You think I must be making this up, right?  I wish I was.  Their own illustrious egg donor has a dazzling collection of glamorous mug shots for a variety of tasteless offenses.  Why worry, right?

No one at their other home ever looks happy.  They have perpetual frowns, sour glowers, and pissy attitudes.  They put on forced performances in public and tolerate each other for appearance’s sake, but it has the freakish look and feel of a bizarre puppet show.

All three of the younger kids have gotten a series of F’s in school recently, even the one who actually likes school.   Their dad and I check their grades every day and communicate with their teachers, but we unfortunately are not there every evening, helping them with homework, making sure they are organized for the next day.  Obviously, neither is anyone else.

Every good parent worries about their kids to some degree.  This is different, though.  There’s a huge difference when you go weeks at a time without even seeing them.  When we drop the kids off at their other home, we are leaving them for long periods of time in the hands of pathological, belligerent, and foul people who have demonstrated, over and over, that they truly don’t care about the kids.  And that’s damn scary.

The kids’ grades, safety, or well-being will never matter to them.  They care about themselves, and their precious greed and pettiness, and nothing more.

When I showed the kids the calendar for this month, and they saw how long it would be before they are back home with us, one of them said grimly, “I don’t like this.”  Well…trust me, neither do I.  And I will worry, and stress, until they finally step safely back through our door.

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