Demented

So here is the promised update, which, yes, took a long damn time. Why? Because I do have another life, but more importantly, SHE NEVER STOPS TALKING. She never used to be a motor mouth, but in the last maybe year? She just never shuts up. She murmurs, so you have to listen–and you have to listen, bc she gets huffy if you don’t respond.

Worse, almost all of it is made up stuff, total delusions, which are far more real to her than every day life, and which unfortunately tend to skew towards being held captive, the people all around us (there is no one here), who are going to steal her stuff and even her seat on the sofa if she leaves it untended long enough to go pee.

I can’t fucking think with constant babbling. She is worse than a television and it is so toxic and dark much of the time it boggles the mind. When we go for a drive, which we try to do every day, she is either explaining to me how every house e pass she used to stay at at or lived at or owned, and she has a house around here someplace that she loaned to a nice family who needed a place to stay and maybe they will give us something to eat if we show up. The rest of the time, any time we pass a wooded hillside (and they are everywhere), she explain how she had to escape off the mountain after she got dumped there and was held prisoner and had to crawl on her elbows to get out of there…

PLEASE. There was no mountain! There was no escape! I am am familiar with her life story. So this is all some kind of traumatic imagery but I am at a freaking loss to deal with it.

Then there is my germaphobic OCD completely crazy brother who is living with us to help out. God bless him, because we would both be dead without him. But omg, he is a bad-tempered pain in the ass who is afraid to be left alone at my house (though apparently any other place on earth is fine), so I can’t even take her out of the house by ourselves, he has to come along to anything we do or get left alone with her. And he is channeling our dad, who was a shit parent, and it’s not a pretty picture.

He is obsessed with the idea that she doesn’t wash her hands after using the toilet so she is spreading e-coli all over the house. It’s true she doesn’t wash her hands (she used to put expensive cream on her hands and didn’t want to wash it off, and the habit stuck), but she is so personally fastidious that she cannot bear to have anything on her hands, or face, or anything–it all must be wiped fully and carefully away. Aside from that, her health is great, so it’s just not that big of deal. No one is immunocompromised. It’s all a lot of bullshit.

But he now has this obnoxious, elaborate ritual of reminding her not to flush so he can go see if she pooped (since she’s forgotten by the time she gets out of the bathroom), and then he takes her into the kitchen where he badgers her to wash up and snaps at her when she pushes up her sleeves, since in his eyes her sleeve is now a festering hotbed of e-coli. He could give her a hand wipe for chrissakes. But no.

He won’t touch anything she may have touched, using one finger to grab anything. It is so insulting and demeaning it makes me want to spray him with a fire hose. He’s basically Asberger’s so he has no idea unless I tell him that anything he’s doing is driving me insane.

Plus he likes to cook. But he likes to cook basically slop, which takes him ages to elaborately make things that were once good into overcooked slop. And he doesn’t want me to cook–he prefers to be in control of everything. And he likes to have dinner at 9 or 10 pm by which time she should be in bed, blah blah blah, whine bitch complain.

But he is here and I can go away and do things, which otherwise I could not do. A devil’s bargain. It is better than when he wasn’t here, and that is a fact. But I spend most of my days in a state of rage, trying to be nice to be these people. And that is not good.

AND my massage therapist, my ace in the hole, to whom I was going to bring mom to remove some of this leftover trauma shit, DIED. Out of the blue. Like, REALLY out of the blue. So now I have no backup at all, and she made the medicine that keeps me sane and not shoving the old bat down a flight of stairs (and keeps me from having another gall bladder attack). And I am out of medicine.

Pray for me, my friends. This is some kind of turning point in my life.

Saturn is retrograde, so I am thrown back into my second Saturn Return. I am still not sure what the hell I am supposed to learn out of all this (don’t have a mother?). I think it is about self-care, since I have basically NONE, and feeling sorry for myself leads me to eat things that are bad for me. I gained 20 lbs early in this ordeal, and they haven’t gone anywhere. All the trauma work I did previously is helping me stay sane and self compassionate, but I can’t get much of anything done.

I’m writing a book, but have been stalled again for weeks. I feel bad leaving her alone with my brother (and leaving him alone with her), but I can’t get any work done here.

For my own sanity, I have to detach from all this. She usually knows who I am but often thinks I am part of the staff here (staff? What staff? It is a house with 3 ppl in it). However the less she knows me the farther away I can drift. I don’t mind her living here, I mind feeling trapped by it. I mind having to be on call al the time. I mind her getting up at 6AM. That is MY time.

And yes, i do love her–we were so close for so long. It’s heartbreaking to see this happen. It’s terrifying to think about what’s going to happen to me. I do hug her a lot and love her a lot. But it would take 24/7 hugging and I don’t have that in me.

What do I want? I want my mom to be and feel safe and happy, warmed by love. I want to feel footloose and fancy free, grounded by my home but able to move easily in the world. I want to get my work done and feel good about my accomplishments. I want my concentration, my focus, to bring my gifts to the world and help others find and treasure theirs. I want to dance and enjoy life, visit with my friends, and meet cool new folks who become part of my circle of joy.

The GF is still hanging in there, and thank god for her. The BF is still hanging in, though I rarely hear from him. He is planning to move here after he retires. That’ll be interesting. I’ll keep you posted…

Thanks for reading. I appreciate your time and thoughtfulness.

May we be free from suffering. May all beings be free from suffering.

The Definition of Insanity….

…is repeatedly doing the same thing and expecting the outcome to be different.

The scene: I have avoided not just the place where he works, but the entire town, for 6 weeks. Yesterday, I went there, with my MOM. He is, of course, there, on the sidewalk. He wears lime-green tie-dyed overalls with no shirt. I hate tie dye. On him, it’s hot. I laugh. “Someone should just take a picture of you every day,” I call. He comes over, takes my hand, kisses it, looks directly into my eyes. “I’m R___” he says.

“I’m Nuria,” say I. “And this is my Mom.”

He takes her hand and kisses it, too. Turns back to me. “I am straight,” he says. “And I am married. To ___. We have an open relationship.” He gives me a rather hard look. “I was a little put off that you only wanted to date me if I was single.” My mom is goggle-eyed.

“It’s easier,” I say. What else can I say? He is holding my hand. I am melting.

He nods. “I would love to hang out with you and get to know you.”

“Yes,” I say. My eyes slide down his skin to where it disappears under his clothes. He is tan, and lean, wiry, strong. I want to eat his entire body.

“I’ll call you,” he says.

“Yes,” I say. He gives me another kleig-light megawatt soul gaze and we part company.

My Mom and I continue up the street. “Forget you heard that,” I say. And she is just old enough that she will, thank God.

So, part of me is like, hahahaha, HE SAID YES!!!

The other half is like, fuckety fuck fuck.

Because, here’s the insanity part:

I have dated (more than) my share of married men. Somehow, there is always drama involved with that. You go in with the calmest intentions, you make sensible agreements, and lo, in about 15 minutes, people are freaking out and keying your car. This man is married. Excuse me while I scream hysterically.

All I want is someone to enjoy sex with, to feel beautiful with, to touch and cuddle and get off with on an occasional, sustainable basis. At least, that’s what I tell myself.

Then there is this Don’t Ask; Don’t Tell thing. Frankly, it makes me feel like I’m keeping secrets. I hate that feeling. And if this guy would have a convo like that in front of my mother,  he obviously has no sense of shame. People will talk. I’m more worried about other people spilling the beans (on FB, for example), than I am about myself.

But I am also worried about myself. I am worried about my own sense of guilt, because that’s a real danger here. If I feel guilty about what I’m doing, there is a MUCH higher chance of something going nastily wrong. One can easily create misery and drama where none need be.

And I’m worried about my sanity. I want my life to be fun and engaging, a creative adventure. Period. And I love my man. I want him to be happy.

I just can’t stand the loneliness, the isolation, the sense of futility.

So how can I remove the conditions that create feelings of guilt? How must I conduct myself in this upcoming affair? Because, let’s face it, I am unlikely to walk away from this. I want him. I do not meet a lot of people whom I find attractive. Like none. So finding a way into this that is ethically and morally clean is of the utmost importance.

A talk must be had with R. I’d like to know just how this so-called “open relationship” works, its history. And I am going to visit my man next week for a couple of days.

I will know when I get back.

Drift again

She is indeed his confidante. How totally random is that? And she’s completely trustworthy. So it’s all good.

What’s better is that I got to deal with the fear, coming to the Oh Well stage all on my own: Oh well, whatever he said, it can’t really hurt me, and if he really is a jerk, I never have to speak to him again. But it’s nice to know the guy is okay after all.

Drift: the update

So I get a wall post on FB today, from someone who lives far enough away I never see her: “I hear you met my friend …” and a ❤ heart at the end.

And I am, like, shit. Too bad your friend is a total blabbermouth. What did he do, go to a July 4th party and tell everyone there I hit on him, showing my card the whole while?  How else would this totally random connection occur?

What the hell is wrong with people? Why do I even try? Silence is the best policy. This whole state is one small town. No wonder I don’t have any friends.

On the other hand, at least I know the guy’s name now. Oh, and he’s a musician–hence the flash. But he’s not on my happy list at the moment.