I’m in the middle of writing so many posts it’s just stupid, but I can’t seem to finish my thoughts about a number of things, including the Finishing School experience (which probably no one cares about anymore anyway).
But, when I’m stuck at my parent’s place, I’m generally stuck here alone with my thoughts for some percentage of the time (i.e. the percentage of the time that I give up trying to be an adult and just go hide in my room like a teenager again).
I really dislike my mother. I’ll write about that sometime. It’s a long story. But suffice it to say that she’s a passive-aggressive, manipulative bitch. Yeah, that kind of dislike! And this isn’t just because I’m stuck being around her – ask me again after I get back to my home on the other side of the country (coincidence – um, no…) and I’ll say the same thing. She is better in smaller doses, but she’s never actually someone to whom I’ll enjoy talking. (Best in no doses!)
Last night we had a wee family celebration – it was my sister Kiona’s fiancé’s birthday, plus we have gotten in the habit of having sushi with an adopted member of the family on Christmas eve, and this year she won’t be here, so at least my family has the correct priorities enough to know that sushi deserves scheduling around. My dear friend Tamsyn has also been adopted by my family (that is, she now gets the joy of finding them almost as annoying as I do – sorry, my dear!) so at least she was there, but it was otherwise an ordeal of an evening which I would have skipped, even if it meant missing sushi.
I won’t go into the myriad complaints about my mother, but a blog-worthy moment was when her overgrown and undertrained monster of a dog attacked my sister’s Boston Terrier puppy for the third time that night. As we hauled the dogs apart, I lost my temper and yelled, “Mother – discipline your dog!”
It sounds so funny because I was somehow managing not to say, “You stupid bitch, I hate you and your stinking evil beast, and if it you let it attack the puppy one-forth it’s size again, I will have it put down!”
I will note that the stinking evil beast was never disciplined for attacking the puppy. Of course, if she can’t train the thing, why would I think she could discipline it?!
This dog is a manifestation for me of so many of the things I dislike about my mother. Possibly, if it belonged to someone else, I’d find some things cute about it – although it drools disgustingly and does truly smell very bad indeed. It also weighs more than I do, and is almost entirely uncontrollable. It has already broken two of my mother’s fingers!
But, despite all of that, she and the beast have developed this entirely co-dependant and dysfunctional relationship that sickens me. The thing worships her, and will defend her to the death against anything, including family members who are just trying to walk to the other side of the room. She has almost no control over it.
She reciprocates the unhealthy obsession entirely. This animal can do no wrong in her eyes (even as it attacks people and puppies) and she makes these statements like, “Oh, he never barks!” which make all of us (who have heard it barking and howling like some hell-hound in her absence) (or in her presence. My mother is never the sort of woman to let a little actuality get in the way of her version of reality) wince and change the subject, because there’s no point in arguing the matter. The thing steals food she has cooked from tables (and from much higher surfaces, indeed) and she never holds it against him if he eats a whole pie she’s just cooked.
She pours her unhealthy love and devotion into this animal – but then cannot be bothered to train it properly. Which is pretty much what she did to me, as I grew up. She obsessed about me, focused on me to an unhealthy (and uncomfortable, for me!) degree … but then did not give me so many useful tools in living my life (from not teaching me to say, “Please,” or “Thank you,” — which she cannot do herself — to not teaching me any self-discipline or self-control. (She’d much rather control me herself, as she did when I was a child.)
Seeing a poorly trained dog makes me sorry for it and annoyed with the dog’s human at the best of times. But seeing my mother fucking up so royally with this oversized, emotionally-challenged creature is driving me berserk. I know I should be happy that she has taken care of her empty nest syndrome, and I should be relieved that she has chosen an animal which at least seems to make the most of her method of dog-owning (although I do think it would be happier on a farm herding sheep, as it was bred to do) but even when I tell myself these things strenuously, it doesn’t soothe my annoyance when the dog misbehaves, and she just calls out it’s name like that will fix everything, and then lets the monster continue.
(I’ve just had the most unpleasant visual of my mother talking on the phone to a friend, saying, “Oh, yes, Zille is quite jealous of Monster. It’s sort of sweet really. She just can’t stand that I’m giving the dog so much attention!” That thought really makes me sick. And I’ll just bet she has concluded that, too, as it would fit into her narcissistic world-view very neatly. What I am is angry – so angry – to see another helpless creature being messed up by her like I was.)
Another unpleasant revelation came when she was talking with me and a friend of hers yesterday. Ever since I’ve realized what was going on, I’ve been discomforted by the fact that I am quite obviously the golden child, while Kiona is rather painfully obviously second-place. I know it has messed up my poor sister (and I’m amazed that she and I actually have as good a relationship as we do have, considering what she had to put up with, growing up) and it actually hurts me whenever I see it in action – I don’t want the extra love/attention/affection. I want my mother to leave me alone. Kiona could have all the attention, as far as I’m concerned, and I’ve felt that way since I was 15.
My mother was talking with her friend, and the friend’s sons came up. She was going on and on about her first son, and the second son was simply explained away as a ne’er-do-well. She then admitted her preference for her eldest, quite openly. My mother said, “I was afraid when I got pregnant with Kiona, because I didn’t think I could love her as much as Zille.”
“Well, you always love the first one the most,” replied her friend.
WTF? This should not have been said in front of me! I realize I’m an adult now (which is usually more than my mother does), but there are some boundaries between parent and child which it is best never to cross. A.) She shouldn’t feel that way, and B.) if she must, she should only ever tell her best friend who would never tell another living soul. Or perhaps she could discuss it in a therapy session or group. (Not that she would go to those – she’s one of those who “Doesn’t believe in all that shit,” – “shit” being defined by anything to do with either a psychiatrist or psychologist. The fact of brain-chemical imbalances [or the possible need to talk through negative experiences] makes no impression in her view of the world.)
Of course, I should not be surprised any more at her ignoring a boundary. She’s ignored them all thus far, why should she honour this one?!
I’m sorry for ranting – this ran longer than I meant it to. I just have seven more days of this and I’m not sure I’m going to make it without resorting to matricide….
