Sans child and with the benefit of 60mg Restoril…I slept most of the night, waking only once.
I got up this morning and launched right into my to do list. Put the chicken on to boil so I could make noodles. Started laundry. Put a new bag in the vacuum, made sure it worked. Took out trash. Forced myself into a shower.
And then the first link in the chain….The chicken (given to me by my mother who got it from her friend who got it from a food bank) was freezer burned and tasted like rubbery cardboard. I didn’t realize this until after I’d already added noodles to the broth. Talk about a let down. And knowing my mom would be let down was even worse but man, you give me a freezer burned bird, what can I do? My magic wand is in the shop.
So around noon I figure mom is probably getting worn out by the spawn and likely going to visit her roommate in the hospital out of town today…I go to get my kid. And my kid yells at me that she was getting ready to go outside with Trigger (once of my sister’s random bum friends, called this because she has a horsey face and yeah, I am mean, fuck you.) “You ruin everything!” Spawn screamed at me, tears flowing. “You make me angry. You need to go home and come back when I am done playing!”
I was…devastated, truthfully. Then my mom jumped to her defense and said, “You never stay, Niki, you always gotta leave fast, Let her play!”
My mom is the devil.
I told Spook, “You really hurt my feelings being so rude.”
And my idiot mom snaps, at ME, “Oh, grow up!”
This from the woman who spent years sobbing any time my sis or I hurt her feelings.
I asserted myself, “She does not have the right to speak so disrespectfully and rudely to me.”
At which point Horsey took my kid outside to play and when they came back in, they’d had a “talk” and of course my kid was contrite and mimicking proper emotion…Only to launch back into her tirade about me messing up her fun.
I didn’t think it could get much more despicable.
UNTIL my mother started prattling, “You know, the donor has more money and a hell of lot nicer home for her than you do, he’s going to take her away from you!”
Time to flee. The whole time my kid stomping and pouting and telling me how I ruined her fun.
I started crying. Yes, I know, you don’t cry in front of kids. Whatever. I haven’t cried in two fucking months and after that assault…I was goddamn entitled to some stress relieving tears. I am busting my ass fighting for my kid, I have done nothing but right by her, and my kid is cruel to me, my mother is cruel to me…I earned every one of those fucking tears.
From there it was just a chain reaction.
My brain’s reaction was to slip into a depressive defeated abyss.
I am having nightmares about this situation with the donor and the realization that once it’s all court ordered..I will never be free to leave this place, never be free to escape my family, my demons, or show my daughter that there’s a bigger better world outside this tiny town. I will be wearing and walking in the cement shoes that accompany child support and visitations. We will both be at his mercy. He can miss days, reschedule, file court papers, change jobs so her support and insurance get canceled…Hell, he could even take her back to Canada with him.
It’s a fucking nightmare I can’t wake up from and for what? Three, four hundred a month? All it costs is everything that holds my frayed seams together.
And the kicker is…He’s left all his kids. When the woman left him and took the kid, he had a fit about her “taking” his kid away. Yet he left Canada to come to the states with the second wife, leaving behind his young daughter. He left his son in Kansas because it was a small town and there was “no future” for him there. He’s been here almost 8 years and I always thought it was Spook keeping him here yet not once in almost five years has he asked to see her, mailed her a birthday card, etc. Why can’t he just go away? Sign away his rights, I’ll sign away child support.
I want my calm serenity back.
Yes, I know, a million couples hate each other but they share custody and visitations, it’s stressful for all…
For me, with all my disorders, I fear it might be fatal.
So today has sucked. My kid has accused me four times of starving her because I dared to point out four times, “There’s fruit in the fridge.”
My self confidence has taken a beating today.
I do appreciate all the support my readers give me. Your perspective is needed because, let’s face it…Even my own blood thinks I’m incompetent. Which if I’d walked out on Spook or was sitting here with booze and smokes while she had no food to eat…Then you could judge me. But her every need is met so why are they such assholes?
I don’t blame this chain reaction on bipolar (though the anxiety sure as hell factors in.) But I started the day functioning, accomplishing, feeling level…And ten minutes at my mom’s and…I feel like pond scum. I don’t believe, of course, I’ve always known my family are overly critical nutters. This is just not the time to be picking on me as I have enough on my plate with the donor situation. You’d think they’d have some empathy. God knows they have it for mom’s sick roommate, for that school mate of my brother’s who died, for animals with genetic skin conditions, even they get empathy from my family.
I’ve told them all a million times…I don’t stay long because I can’t handle being outside my bubble for long periods. Nothing reaches them, nothing even helps them understand or attempt to. And it’s a sign of what has surrounded me all along- the people are me are so self absorbed and narcissistic that even my mental illness is an affront, thus about them. There’s no, “Sorry you’re having such a hard time.”
I get “Grow up!” or “You have a child now, you don’t get to be depressed!”
The healthiest thing for me, and I’ve had multiple therapists tell me so after meeting my family, is limit my exposure to them to the bare minimum.
Maybe I need to enact a policy of my sister picking Spook up so I can avoid my mom altogether. Of course, that won’t fly because “Your sister is busy working her ass off, you’ve got nothing but time!”
Never mind the 14 years she didn’t work and mom raised her kid. Never mind I worked or tried to, all those years, and no one ever felt bad when I worked sixty hour weeks.
I truly thought when this day started I’d have the elusive optimistic post today.
Which just proves…if you think, you stink.