One more fucking year

Rant

My mom is really driving me up the fucking wall. Living with her isn’t healthy for either one of us and our dynamic is really unhealthy. I adore my mom and I appreciate all of the things she has done and continues to do for me, how spoiled I am and how privileged I am, but she tries to use that as leverage to manipulate me which creates a very abusive situation.

After I moved out the first time, she became completely unhinged. She had become so dependent on her identity as a mother, as my mother, that she had no other life outside of that. Ever since then, she lost her job and spiraled into a really rough battle with mental illness. She has had a really long, hard and fucked up life and has so many issues that she hasn’t addressed. Now, she just refuses to address them and instead is still trying to maintain this “mommy” identity, which is obviously failing considering I am an adult and I’ve been emancipated from her since 17.

She has no concept of boundaries and can lacks a good chunk of logical reasoning. She’s almost like a child and she won’t listen to anything I tell her, but if she hears it from someone else she immediately takes their advice. It’s so frustrating. Due to recent events, I’ve been looking back at the last ten years of my life and from about 13 on-ward, I had to raise myself. I went through a lot and I spent a lot of that time not understanding how to deal with it, being shamed by my mother and having to take care of her. She cooked and cleaned for herself, but I basically have been acting like a mother to her mentally for a while. Which she admits to, she used me as a crutch so she didn’t have to fight with her head injury.

Unfortunately, not working on her head injury only made it progressively worse with time, but over a long enough stretch of time that I didn’t notice until it was too late. As she gets more depressed, her head injury gets worse as well as her physical health, due to predisposed illness and excessive weight gain, all of which exacerbate her state in a real cyclical way.

Now that I am an adult without a doubt (she used every excuse in the book to deny that I was one before, she actually still calls me a stupid teenager now), she resents the fact that she doesn’t have control over me, thus defeating her mommy complex. It has completely broken her and she’s been in this identity crisis for almost 3 years now and it is getting progressively worse. To fill her mothering void, she bought a puppy a few years ago, with whom I think she has a very unhealthy relationship. While we both love our pets like children (which is a given), she spends a lot of time refusing to punish him for asshole-ish behaviours and still has not gotten him out of training mats. He’s fucking three years old. The dog has very terrible separation anxiety, due to how the breeders had treated him previously, but my mother has only enabled that. The two of them together are a deadly combo of dicks, much to the chagrin of Leo and I, who are the polar opposites of them.

Since last summer, I’ve been making a big effort to stay away from home, but only recently, I realized how Leo has been feeling. It makes me really sad that I hadn’t noticed before and it makes me a really bad mother. I can see now that he is wondering why I keep leaving him with his crazy grandma and is waiting to move out. I can tell he isn’t comfortable here, he can’t walk 3 feet without the dog chasing him. I cannot even pet my cat without the dog coming and ruining it if he hears me talking to Leo. One more year, little guy. We’ll get out of here. Leo and I are such a team. I’m so excited to see Peter a part of that team as well.

Because of all of these independent factors, my mother have been continually grating on each other. I’m starting to get to a breaking point. When I first moved in she began to micromanage my money from the job that I, myself, worked. She never really explained why, there was never really a reason why either. She just needed some way to control me. I eventually put her in her place. But then, she began to micromanage my food intake and my appearance. It started off very small, the first thing that I remember she told me was that my new tattoo would have looked better if my arms weren’t as fat. This sparked a gigantic argument, which I remember ended in her telling me that I was going to be fat and disgusting when I got older. I asked her why, her only reasoning was, “I can tell…” When I tried to seek my boyfriend at the time’s counsel over it, in front of her, she vehemently denied it. She turned her charm on so much that it completely minimized the experience, but it definitely stuck and it definitely stung.

As of recently, she has gone hardcore mode into policing my weight and appearance. My mother has a very unhealthy relationship with my appearance and in turn, her own. She seems to be projecting her self esteem issues onto me on top of taking out the anger and resentment she hasn’t dealt with on me. Mid-summer, I made an effort to try to get out of my depression and to start eating, since I rarely did. My mother went full out, commenting about my weight every time I tried to eat.

Wow, Jessica, all you ever do is eat! Just to let you know, I know you don’t want me to police your weight, but you’re going to be my size in a year. Oh, do you want me to make you four perogies? So you don’t over eat? Etc etc

It has become progressively worse and worse. Now, she constantly insults me. Calling me stupid, immature, fat, flabby. I try on a new lipstick or enjoy my make-up? Your teeth are yellow. Ew, that’s disgusting. You smoker. Hell, the other day she just up and told me that I should quit smoking because it would make my boobs saggy, “Can you imagine that? You, pale, wrinkly with tattoos and saggy tits. Especially on you.” So fucking uncalled for. I have a large patch of scars on my upper thigh because my self harming broke through a month or so ago and also a scar on my knee from an accident; the other day she told me that I should be ashamed of myself and asked me what Peter and Travis thought. Told me that they were disgusting and that I should go see a doctor to fix them so I could be attractive. She has been telling me this every time she sees them these days. She also does this thing where she uses the excuse of “jokes” to insult me in front of strangers, humiliating me. She tries to pass it off as sarcasm, as a compliment, but I think she knows she does it because she resents me. Constantly, “Oh, this is my daughter. She’s a grumpy dark cloud of anger today. Silly teenagers.” Well, actually, I wasn’t. BUT I AM NOW. Or, “Wow, isn’t she just so fat? God, lose some weight!”, the look on strangers’ face only makes me more embarrassed for her. She also has been straight up lying lately, for attention. “Oh, this is my daughter. She OWES ME. She got me fat! She gave me stretch marks!” That’s not even fucking true. She was skinny until she was 30 and still doesn’t have any stretch marks, despite being almost 75 lbs heavier.

She completely denies that she has an eating disorder or that her eating habits are poor. She constantly tells me that she exercises more, eats better and is generally just better than me. Which is a complete farce. We eat the exact same diet and now, if anything, I eat far less than her because I’m starving myself. Here is twisted thing though, on top of her already having an uncomfortable relationship with MY weight, she also constantly idolizes it and compares it to her. It’s a complete mind fuck to hear her tell me she bought me weight loss pills and then an hour later hear her yelling at me for staring at my body in the mirror. I do that a lot and she tries to make it out like I’m vain, while in reality I’m picking apart my body, trying to love myself. This is all BECAUSE of her. She constantly binge eats yet she will completely deny it. She hates herself and let herself go completely. Never does her make-up or even washing her hair.

I’ve stopped eating. I’m in full eating disorder mode. It has become very hard to cope with the self hate. I have abstained from self harm but clearly this is self harm in a different way. I’ve begun purging, starving myself. I’ve considered using drugs to lose weight. I still might. I am just so triggered.

I can’t handle being here. This situation is abusive, plain and simple. On both ends. Because of her inability to process logic, the only way I can really get to her is with extreme vulgarity, on top of me always feeling trapped and defensive. She does not understand boundaries, at all. She constantly says inappropriate things, acts inappropriately for a relationship between a mother and her adult child. She does not respect my personal space, in my room and physically. I really do not like being touched by her, but she is constantly in my face and poking at me (both literally and figuratively) despite my blatant protests. She goes through my things, reads my journals. She collects stuff she thinks might be needed to institutionalize me with. I have no sacred space. I am fucking 20 years old, for fuck’s sake. We were at the doctors the other day and she was prodding at me, making me increasingly anxious and angry and even the doctor took note of it. He told her she didn’t have a very good concept of body language and that if she were a wild animal, I would’ve eaten her. It’s so fucking true.

Ever since the first time I moved out she has begun exhibiting hoarding symptoms. We live like animals, since both of our histories with mental illness bleed together. She threw out most of our plates because she didn’t want to do the dishes. For a year we have been buying plastic cutlery, paper plates. We rarely have groceries in the house and if we do, very little. Strange bits of things that don’t actually make meals. Bailey pisses and shits in the house, on training mats that often get soaked through. Her room is a literal biohazard. Every once and a while she will do a complete overhaul and clean everything, but then she’ll blame the entire mess on me. We always fall right back into the slump. She’s always calling me lazy, disgusting, immature, irresponsible. She tells me that I’m not an adult and that if I were left to my own devices I would just rot away. It’s not true at all, actually. She has never given me a chance to be an adult. I look forward to her going away for a week. Despite the fact that I’m a huge slob (which I’m trying to change and happens to be a symptom of my depression), I have standards. I leave wrappers everywhere and plates and clothes, but never is it ever a danger to my health. There are no bugs, no maggots, no mold. Instead of buying toilet paper, she just stuck used paper towels full of shit in the tub. A pile of fucking shit and piss covered paper in the damn tub. I drew the line at that. Now, she puts them in a waste bin but it is equally as disgusting. The other day I woke up to a sink with a used tampon applicator, wrapper and bloody paper towel in the sink. There was a waste bin with shitty paper towel in the tub. I told her to get it out of my sight. Honestly, this is fucking disgusting. Yet, I’m the slob? I wonder why… I needed to shower and we didn’t even have any clean towels or underwear, so I went out and bought some. I bleached the tub and took a warm bath. I hate this fucking place. I’m cleaning up and getting rid of a lot of things when she leaves. I cannot wait for the space.

I had a real fucked up night last night, where I got stabbed at one point with a bar dart for no particular reason. Upon letting my mom know, she went apeshit. I already had a lot of anxiety, pain and triggered responses because of this incident but I’ve been trying to handle it calmly and reasonably. Not when she’s around. She called up everyone she knew and told everyone I was stabbed, to the point where I got a concerned call from her other hen friends. She has not stopped obsessing over it and keeps reminding me that this could have not been a coincidence at all, that I could have contracted aids, that I could have hep C. I KNOW all of this, that is why I went to the walk in first thing today. She keeps shaming me for not reacting the way she wanted me to. She’s pushing me to press charges. I can’t handle any of that right now in the situation I’m in.

We had a very big fight today and I told her that I couldn’t wait to move out and that if I left St. Catharines that I might never come back. I walked the 3 km home and she stayed in her room for most of the day. Until she woke up, where she began to prod again. Multiple times she has called me into the room, asking to “talk” and then refused to listen to me. All I asked was that she respected me as an adult, the only thing she could come back with was, “But you’re my baby. I’m your mother!” I told her I didn’t care if she was my mother, or my elder, that doesn’t give her a get out of jail free card for unhealthy behaviour. This sent her into a flying rage. Then she came into my room, without my permission and sat down on my bed, refusing to leave. Asking me if I loved her, touching me. Playing with her dog on my bed. I asked her to get out. But don’t you love me? Get. Out. So, she starts to fucking touch me, poke and prod at me before she exits. What the actual fuck. She just came in for the third time, yelling at me, telling me that I need to start treating her better because she is so fucking amazing. She has a messiah complex, martyring herself. Her good actions, which are bountiful,  don’t wash the blood off of her hands. That isn’t how life works. I told her that she needs to respect me and treat ME better and told her that she has been downright abusive. It sent her into a flying rage. Full blown messiah complex. I’m expecting this cycle to continue happening until I meet up with Peter.

Fuck my fucking life.

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