Enough

My family is crazy. It's no wonder I have problems.


Today I had an angry, confused mother who thought she was going home and was mad that

a. it wasn't true,

b. her coffee was cold (my drive is 40 minutes and she likes the coffee & pastry from a place near me), and

c. I talk too much( I'd spoken less than ten words at that point).

All of which seemed out of my control and she was damn rude about it.


Of course she's in pain.

Of course it sucks that she's in the hospital.

But it's no excuse for taking it out on the person who is trying to be there for you. And I told her so. I also told her that if she kept it up, I would leave. She shut up. And then we did our best to work around the elephant in the room that is our failedrelationship.


She wanted a hug. I could tell. But she's a cactus. And she doesn't know what she needs or wants.

Kind of like the daughter she raised.


I feel bad for her. And I feel bad for me. I know for a fact that she will die and there will be guilt. Hers will be over. Mine will live on. It's frustrating. It's life with a narcissist. Not the cute version. The one in the DSM.


I also dealt with my aunt, secondhand, as she loses her mind over someday losing her sister.

Blame the drugs.

Blame the daughter.

Blame the doctors….

Just don't blame yourself and don't just accept.

It's all so very depressing and maddening.


And here's me…just trying not to get hit by the aimless bullets. Living to assuage the guilt firmly seated on my shoulders.


When I was six, my mother turned to me while we drove down the street…

Honey, if I fell dead on the steering wheel, what would you do?”

And then as I started crying, she explained how to grab the wheel and shove her lifeless body over so that I could hit the peddles.

My mother…such the planner.


I can't tell you the first time my father told me that I was killing my mother if I didn't do the dishes…I think it was around the same time. Her heart has always been a problem. Except when it wasn't. Like when she wanted to do something.


Today, as always, I live in constant fear. Of death. Of life. Of doing things wrong.

Today I told my mother to stop being rude to me. It felt good to deal with her. To not allow my guilt to wait until I explode. Italked to her like The Cute. And it worked. She shut the fuck up. I wish I could go back and high five that six year old and tell her….look…don't worry…she's going to live till 71.

It's a ruse.

You were and are perfect.

You love them…that's enough.
You are enough.

Thank you for the coffee, pastry, and the time, cause she'll never say it.

I love you.

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