The Same Old Abandonment Issues: Insomnia Edition (Trigger Warning)

It is seven thirty in the morning, day two of an insomnia attack. I know the source. I had to trust my mother if I wanted to get the cat off of Ebay, and she made arrangements without consulting me for the spay/nueter. Then when I agreed to go forward with her plan because of course I was lied to by the shelter staff, something that in a few hours will be dealt with though I may put it off a day and try to sleep first as I may give up on dealing with them nicely… She of course does not show. I remind her. I try to sleep because I know she isn’t showing. I still, just in case don’t feed the cats or let them near water for seven hours while trying to sleep. They of course throw a fit. All night long.

It was actually quiet for the first five hours. I still couldn’t seem to rest. Of course, I am in pain, I am headachey why should my body rest? I actually didn’t let my Sunday caregiver come in because I was too tired to find out if she would do a half assed job and give me excuses that I have yet to verify but seem bogus to me. Ah well, it’s monday. Even if I don’t sleep I will call the office and broach the topics she felt I needed to know and since the local Community College is run by idiots, I don’t actually think she is lying.

I gave up on sleeping to write for this simple reason. I realized I felt the same way today as I did many years ago, ten in fact, when awaiting my mother. When I was in one of the many mental hospitals she would schedule a visit. I would get excited, and then… she wouldn’t show. She wouldn’t call. I would spend days worrying about her safety.

I have decided it is time for me to risk her shutting down and I need to tell her that she cannot expect me to respect her or trust her when she costs me money, I have no idea how the hell I am supposed to pay for Sylvani’s spay nueter now since I paid the shelter and this was supposed to be included. So I am going to send her a bill. I am going to itemize my stresses, and I am going to put a monetary value on said stresses. I will include a note that this doesn’t include every other time she has failed.

Even when I had no one left to ask for help moving in here she did this crap. Sometimes if it’s really important, life or death, she’ll show up the day she says she will. I already have stopped calling her most of the time, I already cut off Grandma and my elder sister. B is now Sixteen, she’s pld enough that if she needs me she can call me regardless of my mother’s whims and permissions.

I dislike that sensation that sits in my gut when I have to wait. I dislike the utter terror I get when being late. I also dislike the fact that as I lay in my bed waiting for her to show up I replay every time she berated me for making us all late, and not all of them were actually my fault. I replay each time she promised she would show up, and each time she failed to do so. Even though she saw my father do the same thing to me and my siblings and saw how much it hurt.

I am tempted to point out to her that when I need her to drive across the state, she won’t do it barring me probably dying and even then she puts me in danger. She’ll cost me money and will wonder why I never buy presents anymore, never call to just talk, and tend to just nod along to whatever she says without listening, though I really doubt she notices this. Yes. She’ll put me into a position where my health is in jeopardy and I am once again stressed and frustrated.

My brother and sister, who have both lived either across the state or the country however have not had this, at least that I was allowed to see. Instead, she’ll spend money that we don’t have on them. She’ll go across the country with almost no notice, and of course with me there’s always notice.

The best part of reminiscing a bunch of betrayal and abandonment issues is I realize now, whenever my mother refused to believe me after every hospitalization about trying to fit into my family, about trying to be happy, and always beleived my siblings when it came down to a matter of my pain, health, etc, and when she said “Well you never tried before, why would you try now?” She was really talking about herself.

The most hurtful thing she ever said to me was that, and when she agreed with my step grandmother that my disagreeing with their opinions meant I was full of hate. Whenever she promises me she’ll do better next time I know it’s that cycle of abuse talking. I have yet to tell her I think she’s abusive, but it’s damned well time. Screw her promises of my very own wheelchair van, it’s a lie to keep me around. Screw her in general. I am going to send her the bill after I get some sleep. I’ll find a way to take care of the cats, I always do.

I just hate that in order to stop her from hurting me I have to risk her hurting Beth. I hate that. I am enraged with this fact, and the idea that she seems to think it’s her right to treat her children like chattel, as if somehow time magically fails to pass for me.

Now that H my older sister is in the picture constantly does my mother try this crap with her? I somehow doubt it. After all I noticed a long time ago my mother only responds positively to the crueller behaviors. My mother only showed me actual symptoms of what she thinks love is when I was being abusive.

I know I write this sort of post about once a year, and I always mean it. Each year I get a little more distant. I am truly looking forward to having Section 8 and moving to California. She won’t be able to lie to me about visiting then, she won’t ever have the money to do so. I am safe once I am out of state. It isn’t as if she’ll actually call me or anything like that.

I considered adding this to the Humor section, my lack of sleep sure does make me mean.

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1 Comment

  1. 4 more years under that statue of limitations law, and I can sue you for slandering my name you cold empty you.

    The “trick?” with the silver marker is quite amusing. Your handwriting however, is distinctly stylized like a girl’s handwriting.

    I write like a doctor. I doubt any of the silver marker would ever match my handwriting, no matter how many samples I might write out.

    ~Mad Hatter?


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