After a half day at the hospital with the invaders, it occurred to me that the only way for this to end without me being institutionalized in some way is to leave and let the assholes take over. They’d love nothing more than that. I’d love nothing more than to get the fuck out of this mess.
I was planning my escape in my head. I could stay with him through surgery and his hospital stay, then when it’s time to come back to this place the first week of October, I’d leave. Let the house be free of bickering between Harpy and it’s rightful female resident. This is my house, but I’m not welcome in it because I disagree with nearly everything she says. It must be rough to be wrong that often. As the days pass, I’m having a more difficult time biting my tongue. Yesterday was a free for all on that front and I hope that’s out of my system for a while.
She says he’s cognitively slow. He doesn’t talk much and it takes him forever to reply, with his replies normally being short. Getting him to hang curtains when they visited in December shouldn’t have been that difficult. Like it was too much for his brain to process.
“Uh, I call it being a man.”
He won’t do anything unless he’s told to or if it’s something he actually wants to do. Yes, his heart isn’t 100%, but with the exception of his energy levels, nothing has changed. She said I wouldn’t notice because I’m not as quick or perceptive. Ha!
I can’t stand to listen to her talk. Even more if she thinks she’s repeating something a doctor said, or anyone else for that matter. Her brain deranges what she hears and it comes out completely wrong. Fuck trying to correct her, because that results in 10 minutes of her illogically proving herself “right” while throwing in random insults about my intelligence. I’m clearly too simple to understand these things.
I can’t keep my shit together for the next few weeks. It’s impossible. He doesn’t need two insane women here fighting with each other constantly. He needs peace and quiet. He can’t have me crying and venting to him about how awful his Mom is, but half of that I can’t help. I was trying to keep my freak-outs private to reduce the emotional burden on him. He’s going through enough right now!
I voiced my concerns and my offer to take off a couple of weeks after surgery so he can have his room to himself and have a little less insanity going on around him. His eyes got huge, and he told me to stop talking about that. He NEEDS me here to counteract his bitch Mom and to stick up for him, even if it means I end up being hated by his family in the process. It won’t effect the way he feels about me.
I don’t know how I’ll get through this. The assaults are sinking in and I’m beginning to hate myself. Perhaps I am a stupid invalid. Perhaps everyone in both families would be better off if I were permanently removed from the planet. It’s tragic that I default to absorbing all blame and see my expiration as the ultimate gift of kindness to the people in my life and ultimately myself. I suppose this means I wasn’t doing as well mentally as I thought. I was barely coping with my own shit and manchild’s shit before they showed up.
It’s a balancing act on a tightrope 2,000 feet above ground. It’s a long way to fall and it will happen in the blink of an eye.
Today is a “me” day. I’m crying it out in the dark as needed, behind a closed door. In bed. With a bag of chocolate chips. I hope I can get a net thrown down before it’s too late.