Tuesday, August 7, 2012

But sometimes it's Really Bad.

Three years ago, mom decided that tickling was some nebulous sort of sexual torture, and my husband and I are child abusers because we refuse to abstain 100%. She also tarred one nephew with that particular broad brush. (Seriously--watch some TV, read a novel or magazine, and talk to... I don't know, a dozen random people. Count how many times tickling is referenced as ordinary and harmless.)

Last year, she decided that my niece, her granddaughter, was seducing any man in sight. That girl's own somewhat tragic history makes this claim illogical at best. (Even that is probably saying too much--it's her story to tell or not as she sees fit. But anyone who knows her ought to realize this claim was ludicrous. One advantage that year was that there is a three hour drive between niece and grandma.)

This spring, she began by saying that requiring my children to help with housework (cleaning their own rooms and washing dishes, primarily) was going to drive them to run away or commit suicide. I caved in to blackmail and took eldest to see a therapist, who proclaimed us a normal family, including the arguments and the pre-teen drama.

So mom upped the ante. Now we're abusive because we own guns (both girls have said they want to go hunting this deer season, and they also like to fish, but I digress) and sometimes use spanking as a punishment. When SRS and the local Sheriff's department closed that investigation, she upped her game again.

Now, since eldest doesn't want to sit down and have a long, detailed conversation with her grammy about her private parts, she must therefore be suffering molestation by her father. As evidence, mom said that hubby's brother expressed that there is a family history of incest. (Brother-in-law in question has, in my hearing, told the following "joke:" Vice is nice, but incest is best! And while it may be off-color, politically incorrect, and offensive to some sensibilities, I do not believe for one minute that it the statement she claims it to be.) Mom has tried to trick me into taking the girls to the local emergency department for a pelvic exam to prove her point. My girls are nearly-nine and just-turned-twelve years old. I believe that is too young for such an invasive and inherently embarrassing, if not truly humiliating inspection. Especially since the "evidence" has been invented in the mind of a madwoman.  (When eldest reached menarche earlier this year, I asked her doctor if I needed to schedule a visit. He said not for a few more years yet, unless she develops problems. But he did recommend the Gardasil vaccination. Which reminds me, I need to set that up. Eldest won't be happy with me--she hates shots.) Mom insists that since I don't agree with her, my husband must "have something on me" to stop me from speaking up. That's the most charitable thing she's said about me, since this all blew up with her initial abusive call on Mother's Day morning. I'm also, apparently, a lazy slob, a screamer, and a horrible mother. I'll claim the slob--I dislike housework with a burning passion. But while I may put it off, I generally get it done eventually, and hubby does more than his share. I'll have to accept the screamer designation--I'm battling severe pain in my feet, and walking is agony. So I'm more likely to call them to me to tell them something, rather that walking all over the house looking for them. Also, when my preteen screams at me, I'm not perfect, sometimes I scream back.

Mom has announced that she's moving away. (it helps to "hear" that with the tone of a three-year-old stomping off in a tantrum-induced huff.) She claims that she moved to this town to be near family (that's another story, I'll try to get to it later) and since now none of her family is speaking to her, she's going to go live near her friend at the other end of the state. That this leaves all her local friends behind doesn't seem to matter. The fact that she's the reason I'm not speaking to her (I can't see how getting verbal pins stuck into me at every conversation is supposed to be pleasant) doesn't register. One of her sisters isn't speaking to any of us, because she has been mad at us for over a year--she's bipolar, too, but in denial about it. And the peacemaker sister has a full time job with a local school (she's a nurse and counselor) as well as a part time job as a landlord, AND has her own husband, kids, and grandkids to give her time to.  She doesn't deserve the stress, either.

When I'm being a caring daughter, I'm afraid that mom won't have the support team she needs. Her friend is bipolar, and has attempted suicide in the past--an unfortunately frail personality to be leaning on. When I'm being the hurt and vengeful victim, I want to say good riddance, and I hope the door doesn't smack her on the rump on her way out. She's already tried to move once--about a month ago. She blew the engine in her car just over an  hour away (it's about a nine  hour drive to where she's going) and had to be rescued by my brother. She stayed with him for a week, and scared the shoes and socks off of him. But nobody can seem to see the trouble in a therapy visit--she can pull it together for an hour, or under conscious control. I desperately want her to get inpatient treatment. I hope that if she were observed for a few days, or even a week, that medical professionals could see the problems and perhaps help her. I don't know if she's taking her meds on time, or at all, I'm not sure if the meds she's taking are the right ones, or the right dosage. She might need more, she might need less, she might need different ones. She has never, in nearly 50 years, been able to keep control without medication. She's tried to control herself with diet before. Just one disaster of many. But for an involuntary commission, she needs to be declared a danger to herself or others. I doubt she will harm anyone (unless she drives me to a heart attack) and I don't think financial suicide is what they mean. She's on a fixed income anyway, so it's not like she has a job to stay here for. I'm just... at a loss.

Family drama. I really wish I could skip that.


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