Taking care of your aging parent is hard.  Like, really, really hard.  I know, as my parents and myself took care of my grandparents back in the 90's.  But then you add in them being a narcissist, and that makes it 100x harder (at least until dementia takes away their memories--though for some, it makes it 100x more harder).  Then you add chronic pain and/or other physical or mental illnesses of the caregiver, and it's a recipe for insanity.  

I'm not trying to say my life is harder than anyone else's or that I'm some sort of victim here.  We're all victims of our parents narcissistic abuse (and eventually we'll all be survivors).  So I'm not trying to say "oh poor me" here.  What I'm trying to say is that if you have chronic pain or anything else that makes your life difficult and are taking care of your aging narcissistic parent on top of that?  I feel you.  

I can go through maybe a month with no pain, tops.  No migraines.  No pain that's bad enough that I can't walk properly or want to curl into a ball and sleep for days on end.  About thirty days.  Then other months, I get slight pain, on and off.  Some days are worse than others, but mostly I can be functional.  I can cook dinner every day.  I can go shopping.  But then there's months like this month.  Where any amount of stress I put on my body will send me into days long exhaustion and excruciating pain that seeps into my joints and muscles that turn into migraines that never end.  These months are the months where I need my husband and kids to pitch in making dinner each night.  And they do.  My family is helpful and kind and understanding, even though I feel like a lump of farts and feel massive amounts of guilt for not being able to participate in regular life.  

But mostly, these months, I feel stressed beyond belief.  Because here is how my mother works: 

If I take charge, she backs off and acts sort of nice.  She doesn't give me as much grief, and when she does, it rolls off my back, because I am mentally equipped to handle her shenanigans.  

When I am weak and need to be taken care of, she takes full advantage of the situation and either acts out with trying to control people, yells at people, or manipulates situations to get what she wants, even if what she wants is just a fleeting idea or want.  

Before I got fibromyalgia, I suffered from severe anxiety, which would lead to depressive episodes.  I still have both of these on top of the fibro now, but before, when it was only the severe anxiety, my mother did everything she could to shame me, manipulate me, hurt me, and make everything worse on purpose.  My mother loves to see me hurting because it makes her feel good.  It's not just me though, anyone she's angry at, she loves to see them in pain.  Once, she tried to best friend in prison, just because her best friend didn't take her out to dinner when she said she would.  I am not even kidding here.  The moment she's pissed, is the moment you mean literally nothing to do her, and seeing you hurt is the only thing she cares about.  

My anxiety got so severe many years ago that I got to the point where I didn't get behind the wheel of a car for over three years.  So my mother would take me grocery shopping a couple times a month and force me to go, even on days I was not mentally well enough to do so.  Not only that, I was getting the beginnings of fibro at the time and didn't realize that her marathon shopping trips were making my pain so very much worse.  And if I ever cancelled due to having a migraine, or for whatever reason?  I would be punished and she would refuse to take me again until the next month.  And not to mention, she's be so very, very angry with me. 

At that time, my mother also controlled us with money at the time.  We were flounderingly poor.  My ex had just given up his parental rights, which included his child support payments.  Due to my issues, I've never been able to work (and was always told that I didn't quality for disability...though now after talking to the social security office, that may not have been true).  And our kids were young at the time.  So we were floundering, just trying to keep our heads above water.  And my mother knew this, so she took me each month to the grocery store.  And here's the kicker: it was always under the guise that she'd pay for my groceries, but she always made me ask her to do it.  It was a way to humiliate me.  To make me beg for it.  Because every once in awhile, I'd fill up my cart with the food my family needed, and I'd walk up to get in line and she'd say "Oh, I hope you have money, because I don't have enough to cover any of yours."  She knew damn well I had no money.  Our house payment was one of our twice monthly checks and she knew what date we'd pay our mortgage on and she'd pick that week to take me.  But she wanted me to know that she was in charge if my family had enough food that month.  She wanted to remind me she was in charge.  So I'd say "Oh, excuse me, I forgot something", and I'd go and hide until she was done, and leave my cart in the aisle and head out to her car, stating I left my debit card at home.  She knew I was lying.  But she'd just smugly sit there and knew she'd won.  

So my anxiety didn't get any better during this time. Eventually it did, but not for a long, long time.  And not because of one ounce of help she gave me.  Buying me groceries was not a way for her to help my family when we were in need.  It was a way she could exploit our hour of need and control me (and subsequently, my kids and husband, too).  She made my anxiety so much worse for my entire life, and knew she was doing it then, too.  

She regularly shamed me in front of others for having panic attacks.  This happened up until the middle 2000's, when she still had most of her faculties about her.  The only reason she's stopped is because she has dementia.  Though as time goes on, she may revert back to it, as her mind goes.  

So now, I have my anxiety (which meds don't work for), on and off depression, fibromyalgia, and migraines, all the while trying to deal with the stress of a 70 year old obstinate child who doesn't like the rules and tries to break them any chance she gets.  Not to mention that when I have a flare-up, she thinks she's in charge again and thinks she can do whatever she likes.  She thinks she can do things her doctors tell her she can't do and she thinks she can tell everyone else what to do, too.  She has bouts of rage, that can switch on and off like a light, and I have to listen to her doing this to my kids (I say kids, but it's only my oldest son she does it to).  It's like short bursts of screaming, then coupled with "joking around" as though she didn't mean it.  She doesn't do these things when I am not sick.  So I know she can control it.  It's a horrible yo-yo effect that narcs do to us to freak us out, and then make us feel like our fear is us overreacting.  Like "Oh, I was just kidding! God, don't be so silly about it!"  

When I can't cook, she will guilt me.  She will walk around and sigh and drag her feet and say in an exasperated way "I'm too tired to eat" or "I can't wait all night!".  It will be around 3:30 pm when she'll say this.  Sometimes she'll make her own food.  Sometimes my kids make dinner.  And other times, when she wants me to feel super guilty, she will grab an Ensure and say "I'll just have this, I guess."  So what I did do?  I prepacked a whole load of meals for her, her favorite garlic chicken, mashed potatoes and veggies, and froze them in single serving meals for her to microwave and what did she do?  She refused to eat them.  And when I warmed her up one the other day, she wrinkled her nose and said "Oh, I guess I'm eating that tonight."  Then she had go to the store and buy her prepacked meals, pretty much the same way I made hers.  So I gave all the ones I made to my husband for work.  And he loves them, so it worked out.  Except for the fact she still wants me to go buy her the bags of garlic chicken, even though she refused to eat them when I made them.  

Know why? Because I'm not eating with her.  It's a punishment.  Everything that's my idea is stupid.  Everything that's my choice is dumb.  Everything I do is wrong.  She used to complain about my dinners I'd make until I told her she didn't have to eat them.  And ever since, she overdoes the praise after every single dinner.  It's not real praise, not always, and it always makes me feel uncomfortable.  

I'm lucky to be able to cook most nights.  I'm lucky my pain issues don't stop me from cooking all together.   My mother cannot cook much anymore.  She forgets ingredients, and can't taste or smell anything.  So it's all on me, which I'm fine with.  My kids are amazing cooks, so I trust them when I can't do it.  But unless I'm cooking, my mother has to complain about where I am, or why I'm not cooking.  It's tedious.  

And when you mix narcissism and dementia, you can't tell which is which most days, so you don't know whether to be annoyed or just ignore it.  I know what the answer is: just ignore it, because it doesn't matter if it's dementia or narcissism.  Both don't matter when you're a caretaker, because they are not the one in charge anymore, you are.  But since they are your parent, it's hard to not take what they do or say personally, because no matter just how much you distance yourself from your childhood, it's still there and your parent is never going to admit to it or apologize.  No matter how much we want to detach from all of that, it's still there, lurking and waiting to resurface every single time they make a mean comment, a snide remark, or go behind your back and talk shit about you (though good thing that part of her life has stopped, as she knows better than to attack the person who makes her life easy).  

I feel like I can't heal my body's aches and pains because I'm too busy either dealing with her craziness or tending to her fragile ego (and her actual needs, because that part is my job, something I agreed to do a year ago).  And while you may say "Why did you agree with it, when you knew all this was possible?".  Again, it's symbiotic.  Mutually beneficial.  We both could not afford living on our own back then, and we were both scared our landlord was going to die and we'd be out on our asses from our home (I lived upstairs, she lived downstairs).  I did know what I was getting into when I chose this life.  I didn't think it would be this hard at times, though.  But deep down, I knew it was not going to be easy.  It's definitely WAY more easy than it was when we first moved in.  Her dementia has worsened since then.  But it's still hard on days like these, when my pain overcomes everything else, and all I can do is just rest.  I wish I didn't feel guilty.  I have no reason to feel guilty.  But I do.  And that stresses me out.  But I still just rest, even if it makes her annoyed or angry.   

When I went no contact the last time,  I was going through a flare-up.  And she was stressing me out so badly that my anxiety was getting severely out of control.  So I just gave up and said that's it, I was done.  I had to choose my own mental health over her inability to get what she wanted over me.  I just couldn't stand up to her back then.  I couldn't deal with it.  So I went no contact.  I can't choose that now, so I've had to learn to stick up for myself and not let her run over me or my family.  It's not easy and not fun, but I do it.  

Eventually she'll have to be put in a home, once her dementia progresses beyond the scope of our care.  My goal is to learn how to deal with her behavior before that point.  I want to learn how to be calm and serene in the face of her childishness and lies (she loves to lie to me every single day to make points that everyone knows aren't true, but she wants to pretend she's right...it's tedious).  I want to learn to stand up to her without getting annoyed.  I want to learn to be able to tell her no without getting a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach, for fear of her reaction.  I want to be able to wake up happy and not care what her mood is that day.  I want to find a way to fit my life into the time I have on this earth, whether it be one day or a sixty years, rather than trying to hide it for fear of what she'll say to me.  I eat in my room because if I eat in the kitchen or she sees me making food, she makes comments about me eating, as though eating during the day is shameful (she treated her stepdaughters the same way back in the day when they lived with her).  I hate her comments, so I hide from her while I eat.  It's ridiculous.  Instead, I need to make my food and tell her to be quiet if she says anything to me and stop caring what she thinks.  

I can't live like a prisoner in my own home.  I just can't.  If you read my last post, you'll see what is lighting a fire under my ass to change how I've lived my life since moving in here.  I can't be afraid to open my mouth.  I can't help I have anxiety.  I was born with it (and it was made a billion times worse because of my parents' abuse).  I can't help I have chronic pain.  If I could choose to feel great every single day, I certainly would.  I would love to be normal.  I would love to feel good most days.  I have no idea what that would even look like.  But I would love it.  So I can't let her make me feel bad for things I cannot help.  And I can't let her make me feel bad for normal things like eating breakfast or lunch.  I just have to stop letting her make me feel bad, period.  It's insanity.  On my part.  

See, you can't blame a dog for licking his own ass in front of company.  That's what dogs do.  If I let that dog in to hang out with company, I have to know there will be a chance of him whipping out his butthole in front of everyone and him taking a stab at it.  There's a good chance it will happen.  So do I yell at the dog?  Or do I just choose to ignore it or maybe not let the dog in with company to begin with?  I mean, I am a dog lover and if you come to my house, know that my dog will be there, and most likely tonguing his butthole at some point.  And I will not care.  But my point is, I knew my mother was going to be difficult.  She can't help it.  I mean, I do hold her responsible for her actions, of course.  But I can't change her.  I can only change my reactions to her.  And I can change how I let her actions make me feel. I've said it a hundred times, I know, but detaching is the only way to do this.  

I've been studying Buddhism for years, and one practice is called non-attachment.  Regain.us says that non-attachment is "In simple terms, non-attachment is the ability to detach yourself from things that control or affect you in a way that's maladaptive to your wellbeing. You don't have to engage in a spiritual practice to utilize non-attachment or to benefit from it." 

You don't have to be angry to detach.  You just have to be able to let go of the outcome of a certain situation and not internalize that outcome.  Meaning to realize that the person or their behavior or thoughts really have nothing to do with you at all, it has to do with what's inside of them.  You are just scapegoat for those feelings.  It may feel directed at you, but you don't have to internalize it.  

If I could just remember this on a daily basis, I could deal with my own issues without having to place emphasis on how my mother's going to react to how I choose to deal with my issues.  It's all about the planning in advance, right?  Plan for when I can't make dinner.  Plan for all of it.  That way, when it happens, there's a plan in place, and even if she reacts badly to my plan, who cares?  Stick to the plan, no anxiety or stress.  

Uggh, I've been rambling.  But it's because I'm trying to work out how to work this all out as I write.  

Anyways, I need more tylenol.  So I should go take some and get myself some dinner. 

I hope if you're dealing with the same stuff that you're providing yourself with a lot of self care and keeping yourself safe this holiday season.  And just know, I feel you.  

Happy Holidays fellow ACoNS 💗🎄🎅🤶🦌  And keep on keepin' on. 

Okay, I'm going to tell you right now, I did not really like this woman back in the day.  I look at old pics of us together and I cringe at remembering how much grief she gave me.  I kinda sorta hated this woman at times.  And other times, she was okay, and we made sort of good friends.  It was a push and pull that always confused me.  Here's how we met: 

Have you heard of MOMS Club?  It's an international support group for stay at home mothers.  I started my local chapter and this girl showed up the first day, pissed, because I started it first.  I literally beat her to it by a couple of days.  Oops.  Anyways, she always thought the group was hers and poo-pooed everything I did and even went out of her way to join mini-groups I made just to shit on my ideas (like Recipe Club, or the Party Planning Committee--yes, this was literally "The Office"--she was an actual Angela).  I was (and still am) proud of what I did what that group.  It went from just me, to about thirty-five members, with all sorts of activities and fun for stay at home moms and their kids.  Like Lunch Bunch, Get Up and Move! Hour (something I invented for the preschoolers to come to each week at the library to dance and have fun), Scrapbook Club, Book Club, etc.  Many of those groups were run by our dedicated members and were a blast.  I was the president, but in the beginning, I was everything (the membership VP, administrative VP, treasurer, and secretary).  But we formed an executive board and eventually the other members took up the other positions, with this girl being the secretary.

Her son was between the ages of my kids.  And he was violent.  Like, very violent.  He would attack my oldest son and once, I had to bring him to the doctor to get him checked out after an incident at our Get Up and Move! Hour.  She was talked to, and she promised to keep him under control, which did work mostly.  But it didn't change her attitude.  I was late to a meeting once, and she said to me that I was being disrespectful by being late and that she thought that if someone didn't value her time, that it was a direct insult to her.  I told her to stop taking my actions that have nothing to do with her personally, because, duh, that's just silly.  But I was never late again after that.  In fact, I was early and was always the first to show up to every single meeting (there were several a month).  Why?  Because I was pissed she made me look like a jerk for being late (I have two kids on the spectrum--though even if they weren't, parents of small kids are allowed to be late--so sometimes getting places on time was harder) and I wanted her to eat her words for that.  

She was BFF's with my Membership VP, who was another horrible woman (she literally slut shamed me at our Christmas party after I shared a funny story, something everyone was talking about, but she didn't think it was appropriate I joined in as our President LMAO...like we weren't just a bunch of moms creating something to do for ourselves haha).  They'd team up together and spread rumors about me to the other women, which got me "uninvited" to a birthday party of one of my closest friend sin the group.  It was getting catty and sick and eventually made me mentally unable to handle my job with them anymore.  I was going nuts trying to be "perfect" for these woman who only judged each other and gossiped every second of the day, which made my anxiety spin out of control.  I started having panic attacks so much that I just said one day "That's it, I'm done!" and never went back to the group.  After the year and a half I worked my ass to make it what it was, I just had to walk away (which was the best choice I ever made back then LOL).  

But the woman in question showed up to every single event and just told me everything I was doing was stupid.  She wanted me to do things her way or not at all.  She hated the group thrived under my presidency so she kept telling me "You don't even get paid for this.  Why do you even do this kind of work??"  As though me stepping down would give her the ability to run the group.  I met her mother once, who was a huge narcissist (though I had no idea what that was at the time), so I know where she got her behavior from.  

But then at other times, she was so freaking nice to me.  She confided in me and stood up for me.  I think maybe I was just blinded and had no idea what narcissism really looked like, so I didn't realize she was playing me the whole time, just so I'd let my guard down so she could swoop in and try to take over.  After I left MOMS Club, her and I kept a cordial (yet very distant) relationship (I don't know why) for many years. 

But I looked her up today, as I do every few years and I found her website missing.  She has the same name as a famous singer and the singer wanted to buy her website from her and she refused.  So I always checked to see if she sold it, and usually I'd message her to see what she's been up to.  And today, it was gone.  The famous singer doesn't even have it.  It just...evaporated.  As if it never existed.  And then I googled her and found out she passed away four years ago.  

And it shook me.  She's barely older than me.  And one day she found out she had leukemia and fifteen months later she died.  She left behind her son and her shitty abusive husband that she was still married to when she died.  She spent her adult life getting an "allowance" from her husband each month, and if she spent that money, she didn't get more.  Once, her car broke down, and he refused to pay for it since she didn't have enough "allowance" so her and her son were stuck at home for a month.  He also physically abused her at times, which could be where her son got his violent streak from.  Also, she wanted her son to have more discipline, but her husband refused to give a crap and let their son do whatever he liked.  So without more consistent parenting, he got more and more out of control.  This made her angry and sad.  Back then, I saw her as a woman who's life was out of control at home, so she came to MOMS Club and took out all her frustration on us (namely, me).  I am not sure if this was exactly the case, but it seemed that way at the time.  

Eventually, she moved by her parents and worked for their business so she could have her own money.  But I know what it's like to be desperate and have to move home, only to have your narc parents take over your life.  So she moved from one controlling asshole, to yet another.  Though now, she had her own money and no longer had to depend on someone giving her an "allowance" if her car broke down.  

At first, I hated her.  But as I got older, I felt sorry for her (even though she was an asshole).  She loved her son.  So very, very much.  That was one thing her and I had in common.  We were both mothers who fiercely loved their children.  She didn't seem to be toxic to him (though I have no idea what went on behind closed doors).  But she did suffer.  Greatly.  And then she got leukemia out nowhere.  And bam.  Gone.  

Just like my dad.  He got his diagnosis (a different kind of cancer) and within five weeks, BAM.  Gone.  

So I guess what I am trying to say here is that life is too damn short to let toxic assholes muck up your life.  We never know when our numbers are up.  So why do we punish ourselves by living someone's dream of who we are or what our lives should look like?  Fuck that.  Stop caring what they'll say.  What they think.  Or how they'll react.  They do not deserve our worry or our fears.   My old friend left one and went back home to another, and NEVER LEFT!  She stayed working for them AND stayed married to that jerk until the day she died.  Life is too precious to spend it feeling obligated to people who would throw us under a bus if need be.  

Let me ask you something...are you spending the holidays with your asshole family this year?  If so, why?   Don't be afraid to tell them no.  Don't be afraid to say that your health is worth more than your family getting together to celebrate a holiday.  Just say no.  And leave it at that.  I know it's hard.  But you have to put your foot down.  If you can't, have someone else do it for you.  We all have to stop giving into narcissists just to make them happy.  

Let 2021 be the year you start making YOU happy.  Not them.  

My old friend died being surrounded by those who only wanted to use and control her.  Had she left and made her own way in life, away from those jerks?  She'd have died being free.  She had have enjoyed the time she had left on this earth.  I'm not sure my father could have made any choices for himself to make him happy, other than getting a time machine and a good therapist.  But T could have.  Maybe she wasn't the nicest person.  But maybe she would have been nicer had she been happier?  Who knows.  

The only person I can make decisions for is me.  So lately, I've been standing up to the narcissist in my life without caring if she gets pissed or not.  Because my job is to keep her safe and if she's not going to listen to me (like taking walks when she's already broken 2 bones this year by doing so), I will start taking away her ability to do these things.  If she won't stop getting the mail without her walker?  I will get a locking mailbox (which I'm doing anyways).  Things like that.  I've always been afraid of standing up to her.  But lately, I've been realizing something my therapist has been telling me: this is my life, god dammit.  And I'm not taking a back seat anymore.  And today, after finding out my old MOMS Club cohort died so young, I realize that more than ever, it's so freaking important to not give someone else the keys to my life.  I mean, why would I give the keys to a senile old woman who meows at my door for five minutes while I'm on the phone (which happened the other day, btw)?  

And why give the keys to someone who only wants to control you and hurt you?  We are the drivers in our lives.  Not anyone else.  And certainly not them.  So this holiday season, start by putting your boundaries down.  And the moment you question yourself, to ask if you're doing the right thing?  Remember my friend.  I don't want the end of my life to come while I'm still wrapped up in the lives of those who get off on hurting me.  Do you?  

But it's okay if you can't right now.  Just keep this idea in your back pocket for when you can.  💗💗

(By the way, her death song is "Fast Car", the Black Pumas version...every time someone I know dies, a song will present itself to me and it will apply to their lives so well, it's almost as if the song was written just for them, and it becomes their death song.  T needed a fast car.  She needed to get the hell out of dodge, but never did.  I am sure at one point her life she was happy.  But then life happened and took a turn down a road she didn't want to be and she stayed miserable because of it.  I like to imagine her riding in a fast car, getting the hell away from all the pain of her life.  My grandmother's song is "Calling All You Angels" by Train, my ex's dad's song is "Already Gone" by Kelly Clarkson.  My friend from our anxiety support group who lost her life to depression's song is "Brave" by Sara Bareilles.  She stayed as brave as she could for as long as she could, until she just couldn't anymore.  A lady in Australia, a blogger I used to read, her son died by his father's hand and his song is "If I Die Young" by The Band Perry.  And my father's song is "Faithfully" by Journey.)

So apparently I'm a failure.  I know this is inferred by me, to take her actions and imply my own meaning behind it.  But I'm pretty sure I know my mother well by now and I know what she's thinking when she does particular things.  And then there's the fact that she's called me that before to my family members.  "I don't know why Shay has never done anything with her life" she said once at the family reunion right after The Great Awakening (which is what I call the time when I found out she's a narcissist and started this blog in 2013).  She said it because she was angry that I had told the world that I grew up in an abusive home.  She told my family I never accomplished anything in my life, then went home and told her BFF this, knowing damn well that BFF was going to tell me.  And not to mention every action she takes is to tell me "you're not good enough" or "you're a failure".  And yesterday was no different.  

So yesterday my kids said to me "Hey mom, wanna go shoot the air gun at some cans?"  Let me tell you guys, we are pandemic bored.  Now shooting is something my kids do regularly for fun (they're adults, don't forget), but usually I just watch.  But I thought this sounded like fun, as the air gun has no recoil and isn't very loud.  But as I walked into the kitchen, I saw the second bathroom's door open with the light on and I said to the kids "Dammit, why is the bathroom door open?"  and I reached in to shut the light off to find my mother on her hands and knees cleaning the floor with spray cleaner.  And it smelled awful.  

Now, here's the thing: my mother has her own bathroom.  I told her more than once to leave the second bathroom alone, that cleaning it and anything that needs to be done in it is my job.  This is because she's gone into that bathroom too many times to count and rearranged shit, removed items, put items in there, and whatnot, and I have to keep telling her to keep out.  I say "You have your own bathroom to decorate and mess with and clean, leave my bathroom alone."  But the biggest reasons is that I am allergic to fragrance (as well as cigarette smoke, bleach, and ammonia).  She doesn't give two shits and keeps on buying cleaners and using them in places that make me sick.  Not to mention her bedroom smells like kitty litter mixed with a horrible perfumed air freshener (she has both in her room, which is why it stinks like that).  She also smokes like a chimney and thinks lysol is needed to clean everything.  I AM BOMBARDED WITH HORRIBLE SMELLS ALL DAY LONG because of her.  It's horrible.  

And there she is, spraying freaking Windex on my bathroom floor (which has ammonia in it, something I'm very sensitive to).  And hot damn, if didn't smell awful in that room.  So I said "What are you doing?  You know you're not supposed to clean that bathroom with your cleaners!"  She replies "I know, but the floor is freaking filthy!"  Now, I use a cleaner (non-scented) on the floor that if I don't wash up quickly, it will dry sometimes and leave a tad bit of residue that attracts dust and dirt.  So even though it was just cleaned, it may look dirtier than it should in a couple of days.  Usually I remedy this, but forgot this time.  I said "If you want to see filth, go look at your own bathroom."  My mother leaves fecal matter everywhere in there.  I'm not trying to be gross here, but we're constantly cleaning the walls, the floor, the toilet seat, the side of the cabinet, because for some reason when she poops, it explodes?  I have no idea how it's happening, but it happens (and yes, her doctors know all about this).  And she will leave it that way when her physical therapist comes over and then act like everything is cool.  Yet, she spends two seconds in our bathroom (because my son made the wrong choice to use her bathroom instead of ours and she had to use ours) and all of a sudden she's like a maniac, acting like I never clean our bathroom.  Hence me saying that I am a failure in her eyes, because she can leave her bathroom looking like a truckstop of diarrhea but mine has a "dirty floor" and it's a HUGE deal now.

She kept going on and on and on about how gross it was (it really wasn't), trying to make me feel like a terrible housekeeper or whatever and all I could do was think about growing up in a home where all the floors would turns your feet black and how our walls were stained with two things: 1) third-hand yellow cigarette smoke and 2) our 120lb dog would rub his back up and down the hallway walls to scratch his back and there was a line down our hallway where you could clearly see where the dirt was caked in.  She never washed those walls buy maybe once a year.  It was disgusting.  I grew up in total filth, and now my mother wants to shame me because a tiny part of my bathroom floor was dirty?  Hahaha okay. 

The issue really had nothing to do with shaming me, though.  She can't shame me because I honestly don't care what she thinks.  What this was about was her lack of respect for me and my body and how it reacts to things in my environment.  I am very, very sensitive/allergic to strong chemical smells (my sinuses become inflamed, even the smell of vinegar bothers me, as does almost all artificial fragrance).  She's the type of mother that if I were allergic to shellfish as a child?  She'd have cooked it once a week just to prove I can't control her.  My parents used to leave garden fertilizers and pesticides in my son's reach when he was very little (like one and half years old) on purpose just to prove to me that I could not tell them what to do in their own house (and once, he did get into them and they blamed him for it--who blames a baby for things?).  They always put me (and eventually, my children) in danger because keeping us safe meant we were controlling them.  

What kind of fucked up parental logic is that?  

So today, I'm going to throw out every single god damned cleaner in the house.  All of it.  I don't care if she just bought it or not.  Then I'm going to replace them with my "Shay Safe" cleaners that I make myself.  They are just as effective and be scent-free and contain no harsh crap like bleach (which I am super sensitive to).  I'm also going to throw away her gross air fresheners.  It's going to be a clean air home when I get done.  I feel like every single damn day I am battling the constant smells of whatever grossness she wants to subject me to. 

Here's another thing: I fought her tooth and nail to not put a damn kitty litter in her room.  Her bedroom is right next to mine and she refuses to keep her door shut.  So 1) my dogs get into her room and rifle through her dirty kitty litter and 2) it fucking smells like horrible horrible-ness.  But she won (though when she goes in a home for a month or more after surgery that cat litter will be gone), for now.  I keep shutting her stupid door so I can at least walk into my room without having to smell hers.  

Also, she smokes, and smells awful after coming inside after having a cigarette (and I don't know how many times we've argued about her not smoking in the house...I am allergic and my son has asthma, and who wants their house smelling like that nasty shit?).  She stinks so bad after smoking because she loves to break off the end of it with her fingers to save half of it.  I used to smoke a long time ago, and for some reason when you do that to a cigarette, it stinks like horrible shit.  Worse than just plain smoking.  And she leaves these "half cigarettes" on the ledges by both the front and back doors, which make it smell awful when you go out either door.  So I always flick them off into the grass or into the canisters I give her to but her butts in.  

When she's not smoking, she's cleaning the entire house (very seldomly though) with her damn cleaners.  Like Lysol and whatever else she has (like using Windex on everything).  I used to use disinfectant wipes a lot when we first moved in, because we had lots of a workers in our house and I didn't want anyone in our house to get Covid-19.  But now?  We are literal hermits (per my orders).  Nobody comes in our house but us.  And only in the past two weeks has my husband started working again after being laid off due to the pandemic from the beginning of summer.  So there's no reason to have to use stinky anti-bacterial sprays all over the damn house.  I use anti-bacterial soap to wash our masks in.  And I use wipes to clean the car every so often.  That's it.  But my mother goes out and has an obsession with buying all the cleaners she can get her hands on.  Where was this person when I was a child and living in probably the dirtiest house I'd ever known?  Oh yeah, she was drunk back then.  Too busy buying beer, drinking beer, and thinking about drinking beer to clean anything at all.  

So I grew up in a stinky house because my mother let our pets shit on our carpet and never got our carpets cleaned, and now I still live in a stinky house because she creates ways to make it smell bad.  I have horrible allergies and chemical sensitivities and she just doesn't care and thinks I'm being an over reactive baby.  

For every little thing I need in life from her I'd had to fight for.  She makes me out to be the bad guy in everything because she acts like a disrespectful little baby when I ask her to do anything that she may view as me trying to control her (like she has ODD or something).  She refuses to acknowledge my needs in life, always has, so here I am, feeling constantly exhausted because I am sick of fighting for things that should just be a given. 

I also want to be able to relax.  I just want to be able to walk through my house without always plugging my nose or having horrible sinus pain if I don't.  I just want her to respect what I ask of her, but she never will give me that.  I know this.  So instead, I have to take drastic measures, like always locking doors (like my bedroom door, otherwise she comes into room without knocking every single day), hiding mail from her (she will get catalogs and go on online shopping sprees regularly), and now I have to throw away all her cleaners (this isn't the first time I've had to do that).  I hate having to be on top of everything she does.  She's like a toddler with a debit card and credit card and she's always making selfish or stupid decisions (like not taking her cat to the vet because that cat isn't her favorite cat--she only takes her favorite cat to the vet--she has SIX fucking cats and only one gets medical care).  

I am not her mother.  I raised my kids better and smarter than how she acts.  She's like my adopted misbehaved jackass that the farm couldn't handle anymore so they forced me to take her in.  She's always braying and kicking things and slamming her door when she doesn't get what she wants.  I didn't ask for this.  But then again, I am not in a position to walk away from it either.  So I have to endure.  

I just wish I had a better outlet for my annoyances.  Our house is so freaking tiny that we have zero space for creativity or creating.  Unless I want to use the basement, where her cats go and destroy all my stuff with their pee.  More stink.  And ruined stuff.  

I swear to god, I am not ever getting another cat in this house for as long as we live here.  As hers die off (we've already had two die), we are not getting any extra.  Geezus.  

Okay, I'm done ranting.  I'm going to go and throw away her cleaners now.  Here are the recipes for homemade ones instead: 

1. Baby Wipes. No, they are not homemade.   But they contain no harsh shit and do not smell.  I get the Family Dollar unscented brand (the blue bags) and they work just fine.  I use them for wiping down the outsides of toilets and baseboards and whatnot.  I use them clean up pet accidents (not pee, that's what paper towels are for, though I'll use a baby wipe to clean the residue off after soaking up with a paper towel).  I eventually want to go zero waste (or as zero waste as I can go), but we have so many pets, I have no idea how that will happen. 
   
   Oh, and the best way I use these?  Is for glass cleaning.  The trick is scrub the shit out of your window or mirror, and then dry off with a microfiber towel.  Works amazingly well, and no stinky ammonia smell from Windex or vinegar smell!
   
2. Half water, half vinegar, a squirt of Dawn.  I know it still smells, I know, but I can go less on the vinegar if need be.  And it dissipates faster than other smells.  I hate the smell of vinegar, but I will put up with it in case of really dirty stuff.  But, you can create a citrus scented vinegar so it will remove the smell (thank goodness).  Get some citrus rinds, rosemary, and cloves (I luckily grow rosemary in my garden): fill up a quart mason car with all that jazz half full and then pour hot vinegar into the jar, and let it sit 24 hours (or pour it all in cold, and let it sit for week).  Voila!  Non-stinky vinegar.  I have some on my counter right now that smells amazing! (lemon and lime rinds with a stick of cinnamon).
   
3. Baking Soda and Peroxide.  I think peroxide is a type of bleach, but it doesn't smell and is safe to use on your skin.  Wonderful scrubbing agent AND is a germ killer.  
4. Peroxide.  Put in a spray bottle and use as a cleaner all by itself.   You can use this on your kitchen counters, in your fridge, on your toilet, etc.  Spray and let it sit for five minutes before scrubbing.  Just make sure the spray bottle is opaque (or else it will ruin it).  Rinse clean with wet paper towels after scrubbing, just like you would any cleaner. And, the best part?  It's a disinfectant and kills H1N1 and Covid (and everything else).  So bye-bye Lysol!  You can still find peroxide at the Dollar Tree for a buck, but good luck finding Lysol anywhere!
   
5. Rubbing Alcohol.  I cut up paper towels and put them in a baggie and pour in the rubbing alcohol and bam!, non-bleach cleansing wipes.  They do dry it out, so don't do a lot of paper towels at once.  And yes, this is stinky, but the scent evaporates quickly.
   
6. Olive Oil.  I use olive oil as a way to revitalize my wooden spatulas and my cutting boards.  The trick so it doesn't go racid on your stuff is to make sure it's thoroughly removed after applying.  I also have used it as a furniture polish, again, removing completely after applying.
7. Laundry Soap.  I used to make my own laundry detergent.  I only had to make it twice a year and it would last that long.  It was great.  But after using it for YEARS on end, I found it doesn't clean quite as well as I like.  So I'm back to buying it.  Perhaps I'll make it again one day.  But here's my recipe (not mine, the one I use): Laundry Soap Recipe.  Though, I'd always add one container of OxyClean to it, as well, and use the OxyClean scoop.  Fels Naptha bar soap?  Smells freaking amazing, btw.  Also our vet said he uses that bar soap straight on his clothes when a cat pisses on him to get out cat pee smells.  And it works.  So there ya go :)  Now I need to make a spray out of it to clean cat pee out of things that aren't clothes.  Because my mother's cats piss on everything.  Yuck. 
8. Stove and Floor Cleaner.   I just recently found this recipe and WOW.  This makes cleaning my stove EASY and keeps my laminate floor thingies from warping.  I also use this on everything else, so it goes fast in our house. 
       1 cup Water
       1 cup White Vinegar (again, use scented vinegar as I stated above)
       1 cup Alcohol (rubbing)
       2-3 drops Dish Soap
      

Oh and I did shoot the airgun after her little meltdown.  And I shot a can on my first try about a quarter of an acre away!  I always tell the kids "I was a pro at Duck Hunt on Nintendo.  So I think I'd be a great shot if real guns just didn't have so much damn recoil!"  To find out, I was right! ha!  LOL 

First of all, I did not read the book.  Not yet.  And I'm not too sure that after watching the movie I want to (just kidding, I need to read it to know if it's better).  I was so excited when I saw that Netflix had a movie version of this book that everyone was talking about.  And Amy Adams and Glenn Close was in it?  Score!  

And it was really good.  For the most part.  Then it neared the end and both my husband and I were like "Um, what are they trying to say here?"  When it ended, we had no choice but to give it a "thumbs down" because honestly, what the fuck?  

Have you seen it yet?  If not, I am sorry, but I'm going to spoil the of the ending for you: 

It's a patronizing piece of shit.  

"Oh lookie, my mom was abused so therefore it's perfectly okay she abused me!"  

Oh goodness.  Really Ron Howard??  That's the message you went to send to viewers?  To the world?  Here's the deal, dumbass: abuse is always generational.  So that's a big fat "duh" when it comes to the revelation this movie is giving us.  An abusive person has usually always been abused themselves.  That's a given.  But what's not a given is that you, as their child, as their victim of abuse, never need to give them an excuse for it, as the children in this movie were continuing to do upon their "enlightenment".  

Can you forgive your shitty parents one day?  Of course (but only if you want to).  Having empathy for them and how they grow up doesn't mean they get to keep on using you or abusing you anymore.  That doesn't give them the right to keep on being toxic.  

Sure, the end of the movie said his mother had been clean for like 5 or 6 years.  But what does that even mean?  Does that mean she's not verbally abusive anymore?  That she's not actively taking out her own insecurities on her kids anymore?  That she's mentally better?  It doesn't say.  So it's safe to assume it's just some kind of "happily ever after" movie ending, and in real life, she's still probably abusive.  

Maybe the book is less about his mother and more about his grandparents who raised him?  Maybe the book ends better?  I'm going to start reading it after posting this review (and it's not really much of a review, maybe it's just a rant?).  And I'll come back here and update my post when I'm done.  But the movie?  Save your two hours and watch something better, like "Ladybird" on Amazon Prime (another movie about a narcissistic abusive mother, which is way more realistic).  

The only good thing was the acting.  Everyone did a bang up job.  And Glenn Close's character looked practically identical to person she was playing.  That was kinda neat.  And Amy Adams was amazing as the mother.  And the kid was great, too (not sure of his name).  But all that great acting can't erase the patronizing idiocy that was the ending.  

Ugh.  

Shame on you Ron.  You are so much better than this.