I am royally fucked up. Completely. Absolutely. Entirely. Fucked. up.
For quite some time now, I've stopped watching "Intervention". While I completely agree with the show and wholeheartedly believe in its beauty, most times, I just can't bare to watch it.To be honest, it's just too hard. In the beginning, it was calming and it was healing. Knowing other people were going through the same things, feeling the same way, brought a sort of comfort to me. I'm not even sure I could truly explain it to someone who doesn't already understand it.
But tonight, I caught an episode. And then watched two more. And once more, I was reminded why I stopped watching it. The people on the show - the family members - care so much about their loved one that they are willing to go on national TV and exploit their problems for all the world to see. All in hopes of getting that one person treatment. Many times the family even goes into some sort of therapy so they can all learn how to handle the addict and learn how to help the addict one s/he has graduated from rehab. Sometimes the addict is absolutely horrible, making atrocious comments to family and, in some cases, physically hurting them. But most of the time, the addict agrees to treatment and many times ends up sober in the end.
What all those people have in common is this: They all admit they have a problem.
My mother won't.
Not only will my mother not admit to having a problem, but neither will my father. He defends her to the end of time, no matter. He enables her to the point where he needs to go to rehab himself. It doesn't matter how many times she's had a seizure or how many times she's almost died because of them. It doesn't matter if she crashes her car or if she has children in it when she does. It doesn't matter if she lies in bed. all. day. It doesn't matter if her eyes are droopy, or her speech is slurred, or she can't walk without falling down. It doesn't matter if she loses some pills on the floor and someone else's child finds them. None of that matters. Because she doesn't have a problem. She has pain and the doctor gives her pills for that pain so she doesn't have a problem.
But the truth is, she does. Every doctor, outside of her drug dealer, agrees that she has a problem. The pharmacists all agree she has a problem. Any one who has even been a friend of hers or the family has agreed she has a problem. Her own family agrees she has a problem. But she doesn't. And neither does he.
One thing the families all have in common: They want their family member to get help.
I don't think I do.
The truth is, I just don't care anymore. I don't feel she deserves the help because she will never actually believe she needs it. And therein lies the problem with me. I am completely fucked up. I do hate my mother and I do believe that she doesn't deserve to be helped. She has had the opportunity and has said "no". I have tried talking to her but all she does is scream and yell and tell me I'm wrong. I've practically cut her out of my life and she still doesn't get it. She still doesn't believe she did anything wrong. If she died tonight, I wouldn't care. And yes, I honestly believe that. She just doesn't care.
Sure, my mother has been there, but not in the way I needed her. Growing up, she was always at the same maturity level I was. If I didn't like a teacher at school, she would call and bitch at that teacher. How does that help me? What does that teach a child? If I wanted something, I pretty much got it. For the most part, she just bought me off. She was always too busy going to this doctor and going to that doctor, getting on this medication and getting on that medication. I was an only child and she just didn't have the time for me. Or the patience. So she bought me things to make up for it.
Some of my earliest memories are of my mother being passed out on the couch, with her basket of pills beside her on the floor. I never wanted to bring friends over because I didn't want them to see that. I remember sitting in my room, waiting for her to come upstairs and read me a bedtime story. She kept saying "on a commercial" but she never came up. I feel asleep with the book in my hands. I remember her horrible mood swings, which she still has today. I remember never knowing what I was coming home to, if she was going to be passed out, really happy, or really angry.
I don't want her in my life and I most certainly don't want her around my daughter. She's much too self centered and stressful. She truly cannot understand that if I want family time, it means me and Dan and Maeleigh. If I say "family time" she goes on a rampage about how she's family. But that's not what I mean. I mean my immediate family, which doesn't include her, but that just pisses her off to no end. I honestly cannot explain to her why I want to spend holidays just us, because she cannot accept it. When I tell her I just need time to myself, she starts yelling at me, saying "what about me? how do you think that makes me feel?". Well, this isn't about you. I need to take care of myself and my family. You're an adult. You can take care of yourself. Of course that answer isn't good enough for her either. Because nothing is. And nothing ever will be.
Whenever she gets angry at me - which is pretty much all the time - she pulls the same line, or at least a variation of it. "I know you hate me." "I don't know why you hate me so much." "You may hate me, but ..." Ya know, you keep focusing on the idea that I hate you, but you never seem to wonder why. You focus on me being this horrible, ungrateful bitch (because, yes, she has called me that on several different occasions) yet you never seem to ask yourself why I may feel that way. Never.
I don't like her. I don't care about her. I don't want her in my life. She is a liar, a manipulator, a drug abuser. She's self centered, cruel, immature. She has said and done things that I don't think I could ever repeat. And those are my main reasons for hating her so much. Yes, I do hate her. I really do. I really, truly do.
And there again lie the problem with me. I am so. completely. fucked. up.