I have torn my labrum, along with a slight tear in my rotator cuff, in my left shoulder. I have no idea when it happened, as I exercise regularly and do a lot of heavy lifting on my own. It let me know last Tuesday night at 2:30am that something BAD had happened in my left shoulder. I woke up with excruciating pain, and I could not raise my left arm above waist level. Having had two rotator cuff operations on the right shoulder, I knew from the pain, it was something bad. I also knew that I was heading into dangerous territory.

It was the first two back to back shoulder surgeries that led to my addiction to opiates. The first surgery was not done right, after, I was still in immense pain every time I moved my right arm. Physical therapy put me in agony. Each time I went back to the surgeon, he wrote me another prescription for Vicodin. I was taking them daily for close to two years before I had the corrective surgery. The next surgeon was equally as giving with the pain medication. This was 10 years ago , prior to the opiate epidemic we are facing today, but it was enough to get me hooked. There was nothing more relaxing than a pill and a bottle of wine. This combination numbed the world away, brought it all to a manageable blur.

The morning following the sleepless night of pain, my husband, the retired doctor, and I went to the E.R. Ex-rays were taken, pain pills were given, along with a prescription for 24 additional, and we were off to the orthopedic doctor who had fixed my right shoulder. He gave me a steroid shot, and set up the MRI, which gave me the results of the tear.

This all did my head in. I was closing in on six months of sobriety from the opiates, and here they are front and center in my life again. Part of my long term recovery plan for the last 3 1/2 years since I quit alcohol, was running and exercise. Now I was sidelined with one of my worst enemies sitting in a little yellow bottle on my night table.

I know my limitations, and I desperately do not want to go down this ugly road again, so I handed the bottle to my husband, the retired doctor, and asked him to manage them for me. To only give me one at the end of the day if I asked.

On day three, when I returned from an AA meeting, I asked husband for a pill. I had worked all day using the arm, which of course one uses their arm, it is an ARM. I was in pain. Husband had been drinking, and when I asked for a pill, he came out and HANDED ME THE WHOLE BOTTLE!! His comment was, here, you manage this.

It felt like someone had gut punched me. I was devastatingly hurt, as well as completely flabbergasted that he could be so cavalier, unsympathetic and show no empathy.  I felt like I was living with a stranger.

He has been with me through this struggle for the last 4 years. He knows I have stolen his pills whenever they have been around. He knows I have gone to Maine, to help my father, and have stolen all of his left over pain medicine. He knows I am an addict, yet here he was, handing me my drug. I just couldn’t understand in, nor believe it.

I called my girlfriend and asked her if I could drop the bottle off with her. She was leaving for the weekend, so I kept 3 for the days she would be gone, and I got them out of my house.

When I handed them to her, I told her I would not need them again. I had given myself the deadline of Monday to figure out how to deal with the pain without taking the pills. I did end up needing the three I had set aside, but it has been Tylenol since Monday.

I am still gutted by my husband, the doctor’s, actions. I am so angry, and hurt, I have yet to address it with him. I don’t understand how he doesn’t understand.






I had my very first drinking dream last night.  I have read a lot about people having these types of dreams in early sobriety, I never did.  I was taken by surprise by it, given that I just celebrated 16 months of sobriety on Monday.

When I awoke this morning, the dream was still very vivid in my mind.  As I lay in bed, making sure all my parts were still working, I began to delve into what made me have that dream now.  Especially after all this time.

I have a trip to Maine scheduled for the end of the month.  It is a celebration for my step mother being elected the state President of a women’s charity group she is involved in.  My grandmother was a member, my step mother is a member, and for me to be able to attend her induction, she made me and her daughter members.  When I was first asked to attend the state convention where the award would be bestowed, it was four years ago, and I said “of course I will come”.  I figured I had four years, a lot could happen in four years, it was easy to say yes without real intentions behind the yes.

It is now four years later, and the convention is upon us.  An event that I thought was going to be small, intimate celebration has now blossomed into a full on party.

It is my impression that my step mothers installment as the President for the state of Maine in this charity has become an event.  It has become a THING, a rather large thing.  The small gathering has blossomed into a semi large family reunion of sorts.  My brother, his wife and two children are flying in from Missouri, and my step mothers son is making a special trip from Massachusetts.  None of these people will get to see the honor being bestowed, as it is a women’s only group, and you have to be a member.  The only people in attendance will be me, and her daughter.  The other family members have been invited for a post convention celebration.

My step mother is very excited about this position, and has worked hard to get it.  Because she wanted me there, she offered to pay for my airfare and hotel.  I picked out my flights, and she booked the hotel.  As you can imagine, there was conversation regarding these arrangements, just not full disclosure.

As the celebration got larger, I  was asked to include my daughter, who is only a two hour drive from Portland. I was more than happy to do that.  She is my heart and soul, and helps keep me grounded.  I figured this adventure would create a few trigger moments, and it would be easier with her by my side.  Plus, I had the paid for hotel room for her to stay in with me, great plan right?

Wrong.  I was informed, yesterday, that my step mother has booked to share a room with her daughter,  a woman whom I have not seen in 25+ years, and who is a black out drinker.  It was then casually tossed in that she and I will also be sharing a bed, because step mom was sure I wouldn’t mind.  I do mind, I really, really mind.

I have been under an extraordinary amount of stress over the last four months.  The stress has led me to question my sobriety regularly.  I have had far to many white knuckle days for comfort, and feel like I have been distancing myself from both my sponsor, and my meetings.  My mothers death has been an emotional challenge, and now we are packing our home and moving.  All catalysts to my old way of thinking, drown all discomfort with copious amounts of white wine, it will go away.

I also have a horrible time sleeping, crazy bedtime rituals, and hotel rooms are where I am at my craziest. (I travel with electrical tape for all of the little lights in the room.).  I have shared a lot of crazy with my family, but I really don’t feel the need for full disclosure.  Suffice it to say there are nights my husband doesn’t even want to be in the same bed, let alone room with me.

Needless to say, this information sent me into a tail spin.  I finally hit that wall that had been coming closer and closer. I had a major meltdown.  A crying, hyperventilating, rocking back and forth on the floor meltdown.  I would say that this has been lurking inside for quite some time, but the room and bed share were the straws that broke the flood gates open.

Once I composed myself, I immediately got on line, and booked my OWN room.  Easy fix.  Normal people would have just gone and done that without all the neurotic histrionics. Instead I got myself so worked up, that I no longer want to attend, my own room or not.

When my family gets together, every one drinks, it is what we have always done.  I don’t do that any more, and I have yet to find my comfort zone with not drinking around my family.  Old habits are hard to overcome.

With all of this fresh on my mind, I dreamt that I joined in with the drinking and the partying in Maine.  I was at the table having dinner, downing glasses of red wine, one after another, just like the old days.

All of this is disconcerting.  I know I need to be sober, but there is still a part of me that doesn’t want to be sober.  That girl wants to drink.  I hope she isn’t in Maine in May.


290 Days Today



I still can’t believe it.

Some thoughts about sobreity so far:

  • I can’t believe it is day 290.  In the early days if someone had said I would be sitting here still sober, AND in AA, I would have said something to the effect of…yeah right, sure, no way, and I AM NOT and alcoholic
  • I never  believed that it ACTUALLY DOES GET EASIER.  Not all the time, not every day, but if I step back and look at the big picture, yes, it is easier.
  • I white knuckled the first 73 days, but who was counting?  I spent a lot of mental and emotional energy deciding to go or not to go to AA. Back and forth, back and forth.  It was one of the scariest decisions I have ever made, but one of the best.  I am still befuddled by a lot of the God and Higher Power stuff, but I am working MY program the only way I know how.
  • Trying to find a sponsor was SO hard, but I found one right here in sober blogging land. We both took a leap of faith that this would work, and it has, beautifully.  She is one of the most amazing, graceful, knowledgeable, and wonderful people I have ever met. She has helped me in ways I didn’t even know I needed help. I got very lucky, and as Paul would say, she is a God Shot, for sure!
  • I worry about relapse at least once a day.
  • I still have immense cravings at random times, overpowering, almost crippling, and they bring me to tears, because I want them GONE!
  • I have my day count typed into my Google Calendar, it is the first thing I see on my phone every morning.  It is the push I need to know I can get through one more day, I need to see one higher number the next morning.  It is my reminder that it still is one day at a time.
  • I am filling my God box with little slips of paper, but still somehow forget that I need to accept the things I can’t change.  Then I realize  the things I want to change are things I can’t change, even though I am working hard to get them to change. So that whole serenity thing is still an elusive butterfly I am running around the backyard trying to net.
  • I am strong.  I never would have used that adjective about myself, but now I do.  I have been through so many things this summer where picking up a glass of wine would have been so easy.  Yet I didn’t.  I have tools that have made me strong, and they make it possible for me to fight against those urges.  I didn’t feel that way 290 days ago, so I have that going for me.
  • I am still working on the chronic people pleasing, and the self loathing.  It is a daily thing, some days are better than others.
  • Negative thinking is never going to get me where I want to be. I have to constantly remind myself of that.  It is so easy to get pulled into that rabbit hole.
  • I am learning to keep my head where my feet are.
  • The best for last:  MY HUSBAND HAS STOPPED DRINKING  TOO!!  It is so much better this way.  I don’t know if it will last, he is a “normie”, but I like it, and it feels like solidarity.  Our relationship has improved immensely since I quit drinking, and it has gotten even better since he has stopped as well.

I still haven’t gotten my 9 month chip.  I guess it will have to wait until my next visit with my home group.  My sponsor passed on hers, which is awesome, but I would like my own.  (My home group ones are cheesy poker chips, but still.)

75 days to one year.

There is no I in Team

download (2)

I was so thrilled when the stars seemed to line up in regards to moving my mother.  My younger brother found an assisted living center we could move her into on 9/2.  My brother began his drive, hauling his trailer from St. Louis to Fredericksburg.  I went to Lowes to get packing supplies, and the machine began to roll once again. He arrived Friday 8/29.  We began the moving process once again, one year to the day that we moved her from Massachusetts to Virginia.  Wrap, pack, load.

My Uncle and Aunt drove down from New Jersey to spend Saturday afternoon and evening with us, and to be on hand to say goodbye on Sunday morning.  We had a fantastic afternoon, and dinner out.  I only had a few uncomfortable moments during “cocktail” hour, but all in all, I weathered the drinking without a craving or trigger.

My brothers and I had done a lot of task assignment to make the transition from independent living to assisted living as seamless as possible. Everyone had their tasks.

Advanced Medical Directives were written, with an assist from my husband who is an MD.  They were to be taken to Missouri for notarization.  Task completed, or so I thought.

Medical records were collected and filed for transfer to the new physicians in St. Louis.

The codicil to Mom’s will was added, cremation and burial details.  A cremation outfit was picked out.

My younger brother lives 6 miles away from the assisted living center and will be the on site person for her immediate care.

My older brother and I are taking charge of her finances.  No need for her to worry about money at this time in her life.

Then the proverbial shit hit the proverbial fan.  Money, medical care, hospice, and alcohol all became hot button issues.  Items that had already been checked off the “to do” list were being brought back to the table, questioned, and being redone.

The emails began to fly, Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth.

The cohesive team that had gotten her moved halfway across the country in a weekend was tearing apart at the seams.

It was so reminiscent of my father and his brother fighting over the care of their 97 year old mother.  They emailed their way into never speaking to each other again.  My Grandmother died at the age of 100, and they still don’t speak.

There is a lot of ego involved in all of this.

We still have many hurdles to overcome.

I hope that these initial interactions are the exception to what the future will bring.

As time goes on, my mother is going to get worse, and we will need to work together.  We will need to be able to talk, be reasonable and come to agreement on many, many things, bigger things than what we have faced so far.

We need to get it together.  We need to set aside our egos, we need to all get back in the huddle, and head toward the goal line together.

That goal is to get the best possible care for my very sick mother, we also need to remain a team.

There is no I in team, but there is in WIN.

download (1)

Wasted on the Way

I have to say this has been the saddest three weeks of my life.

I have been very lucky.  Three of my grandparents died when I was relatively young.  Young enough that I was too self involved to really pay attention.

I was lucky enough to have my wonderful grandmother for 100 years.  She died on Christmas day 2009.  We had a wonderful family celebration of her 100th birthday in August, everyone turned out for it.  It was very special, a special time for a special lady.

me and gg

Three weeks ago my mother was diagnosed with Stage III multiple myeloma.  This is a leukemia that affects the bones.  It is a disease that is diagnosed in it’s infancy.  It sits in the body and smolders for years, and nothing happens.  No drugs are needed, no treatment, just monitoring of blood levels every three to six months.

My mother was diagnosed with MM 7 years ago.  We all panicked, but quickly found out that MM can smolder for years before it becomes full blown.

It became full blown three weeks ago.  My mother was hospitalized, numerous tests were done, and the diagnosis came back, the smoldering had ended, we were in full blown disease.  The oncologist reassured us that this is highly treatable with very aggressive, very sophisticated chemotherapy drugs.

I came back to Virginia to get the cure going.  Booked planning meetings with oncology and began the first round of chemotherapy on August 13th.  As we sat in the planning meeting, my mother and I, my brother on speaker, I noticed the look on my mothers face.  She had completely shut down, she wasn’t in the room, she wasn’t listening, she wasn’t interested.  She told the nurse practitioner she wasn’t interested, she didn’t want this, she didn’t want to try, she was too tired, it was all to much.  We didn’t listen, we had our agenda.

We got out the rally bats, my brother and I.  Mom, there is remission, limited side effects, easy plan to follow!  Let’s try it, let’s commit to one cycle, see how it goes, see how you feel!

Begrudgingly, she agreed.

The first round began on August 13th.  It involved pills, injections, and blood work.  I spent my time making medication lists, chemotherapy schedules, injection times, medication times.  Document after amended document.  Trips to the pharmacy, trips to the cancer center for treatment, Google calendar links to everyone.  A lot of planning and doing.

Through out it all, my mother seemed to get smaller and smaller.  She became less than what she was, she disengaged, she didn’t read any of the literature, she payed no attention to my well thought out schedules, she was confused, started having side effects immediately, and was tired, just so, so tired.

Throughout it all, I was the upbeat cheerleader. I kept trying to get her involved. Ikept putting my lists and schedules under her nose.  Nothing, nada, no interest.

She mentioned taking her life during one treatment.  An antidepressant was immediately added to the medications list.  On we pressed, another injection, more pills, more lists, more driving.

Endless activity until last Friday night, when I finally put my agenda to the side, and took a good honest look, and finally heard what my mother had to say.  She didn’t want any of this.  She was tired.  She didn’t want the crappy quantity of life that chemotherapy was going to give her, she wanted what time was left for quality of life, her version of the quality of her life. Not what I was selling.

I listened when she told me she was done with chemotherapy.  I took a deep breath, and said the one thing that I never thought I would have to say to either of my parents, it is okay, you can let go.  You can do it your way.  No more treatment, you don’t have to.  And no, I don’t think anyone will think you are a quitter.  It is your life, do with it what you want, it is your choice.  My brothers and I will back you 100%.

In the past three days, I have written and added funeral and cremation instructions to her will, filled out advanced directive forms, and picked out her outfit for cremation.  The whole time holding on, not breaking down.

She then got out her jewelry boxes, all of which were to go to me.  One was filled with heirloom pieces given to her by her mother and aunt.  The others had a lot of costume pieces.

The soul wrenching, gut sobbing tears started when I opened the box of stick pins.  Remember stick pins?  She used to wear them all the time.  I couldn’t get a grip, I was like a little kid again, holding onto my mommy and sobbing.  Stick pins in a box, she will never wear them again.  Oh my god, my mother is preparing to die.

This was a pain like I have never felt before.  This was not the plan, the plan was for her to get better.  The plan was life was to go back to normal.  Too bad that was my plan, and I forgot to check with her, because it certainly was not her plan.

My plan involved closure, telling her how much she had hurt me, airing all my resentments, letting her know how messed up our relationship had always been.  Hugs and kisses and starting anew.

As I sat looking at that box of stick pins, I let it all go.  Life changes in the blink of an eye, what was so important to me for so long, what has festered in every encounter we had,  has no meaning now.  I can’t waste any more time.

I am making the most of these last few days we have together.

This weekend we are moving her to assisted living in St Louis to be near my brother and his family.

If we are lucky we will get a year.

No more wasted emotions on past resentments, we no longer have the time.

Look around me, I can see my life before me
Running rings around the way it used to be
I am older now I have more than what I wanted
But I wish that I had started long before I did
Crosby Stills Nash – Wasted On The Way Lyrics 




2010-01-14 09.33.14 2014-08-25 09.30.14





Doing the right thing with RESENTMENTS!!!

56467-48128I am struggling a lot in this care-giver/daughter role I am in here.

I know I am doing the right thing, but I have big, huge, woolly mammoth sized RESENTMENTS!

I resent the fact that both my brothers lives are going along as normal.  One went out to dinner Friday night, and then went to a vineyard yesterday.

The other one, who lives overseas went to a farmer’s market, the playground with his two year old, and out for lunch and drinks.

I know I am doing the right thing, but I am MAD!

I was supposed to go to a medical staff party on the beach, go to a friends summer cottage on the water for the weekend, and run a 5k road race today.

I know I am doing the right thing, but the RESENTMENTS keep closing in.

I went to a meeting yesterday, it was a woman’s meeting.  It was awesome, they give out monthly chips, I got an 8 month one!  On 8/30, when I am STILL HERE, doing the right thing, I will collect a 9 month one.  So, I have that going for me.

2014-08-16 11.32.50

My husband, who I often feel is an emotional vacuum, got up early and went to the check in at the road race and got my shirt for me.  He called me first thing this morning to tell me.  I cried, and then felt a huge RESENTMENT about being here, and doing the right thing.


Today is 260 days.  I always try to do something special for myself on days that end with zeros.

I am going to an aerial silks class at 2 pm.  Something for me.  Something to get me out of this apartment, alone.  Something fun.  Something that may help to take away some of the detritus of these major RESENTMENTS.

2014-07-23 12.26.09

If I keep saying it over and over, maybe my attitude will change:

I know I am doing the right thing, I know I am doing the right thing, I know I am doing the right thing….



Is My Higher Power Testing Me?

That was my thought this morning as I was running. I was thinking about all of the stuff that has been happening this summer:
My husband and his 99 year old father,and the trash, the dirt, and the driving.  The fact that the hubs hasn’t set foot in his own home since 6/3.

Me and my mother, our awful relationship, and me now having to be her caretaker, decision maker, and part time therapist. Having to be brutally honest with myself and come to terms with the fact that this relationship is so toxic and damaged that I just don’t care what the outcome of all of this is.

The fact is that  I am really only here so that if and when something happens I can get up in the morning, look at myself and realize that I did the right thing, no matter how painful this is to my psyche. No matter how many body shots I have to take from her foul, bitter attitude. No matter how many drinking triggers this sets off.  No matter how many times I have to see her snot flying drunk.

Is this my higher power throwing down lighting bolts, laughing and saying, “Will she really stay off the bottle? Is she up to this life on life’s terms? Can she manage everything I am throwing down and not go get drunk?”

Maybe it is payback for being a shitty person for so long. Putting a glass of wine before everything and everyone. Maybe my metal is being tested. I don’t know.

As these questions consumed me during my run I shook off the negative thinking, and looked up. This is what I saw.

2014-08-14 11.35.24

Maybe my HP decided to shine on me for a few minutes. Whatever it is, I’ll take the strength it gave me to keep on keeping on for the rest of today.

Tomorrow, who knows. Right now I am looking down at where my feet are.

Cancer and Booze

My mother was diagnosed with Stage III multiple myeloma last week, it is a form of leukemia.

She had started to feel crummy when I left two weeks ago, but we both thought it was just a bug.  She went to urgent care a week ago Monday, and the rushed her to the hospital in an ambulance as she was beginning to have kidney failure.

As I was geographically closest to her, being in NY, I immediately offered to get in the car and drive to Virginia.  She said no, that she would be home in no time.  What I wasn’t aware of was that she had hypercalcemia and that caused her to be slighlty demented and she had no idea what she was saying.  I stayed in NY awaiting a diagnosis.

She was in the hospital for a week.  She had renal distress, anemia, elevated calcium, lesions on her bones, and blood cell counts.  While in there, they discovered that she has bullous emphysema from smoking for 60 years.  (That means she has large “holes” in her lungs.)  On Wednesday they had the diagnosis, at that time, I was told she needed to be kept a few more days.  I began to make my plans.

I was in constant contact with her doctors, nurses and anyone and everyone involved in her care while she was hospitalized.  I spent hours on the phone setting up follow up appointments and making the arrangements to begin her chemotherapy.  Additional time was spent dispelling the nonsense she was telling me, which I thought was the truth.  I am sure the nurses on 4 South were never so happy to see a patient and their annoying health care proxy leave.

I left NY very early Monday morning to arrive by the 4:30 pm discharge time.  (So close, I got there at 5 pm.)  9 hours in the car for a 6 and 1/2 hour drive while she wore my phone out tracking me down route 95.

I got her home, unpacked her belongings, did her laundry and got her situated.  On Tuesday the prearranged home health nurse came for the initial visit, I  took her prescriptions to be filled, and went back to the hospital to pick up things that were left behind.

Today, we had a two hour meeting with the staff at the oncology office and set up her plan for treatment, which will begin on Friday. I have held her while she cries, talked her out of her ridiculous decision to just throw in the towel and talked her into just giving a round or two of treatment a try.

Needless to say all or this has been highly stressful.  I am not sleeping because of my own personal crazy; the room isn’t blackout dark, and my brain knows it even though I am wearing a sleep mask.

There have been land mines in my path every hour of every day since I arrived on Monday. All of the mines have a beautifully chilled bottle of sauvignon blanc attached to them.  I have dodged and weaved them all while holding tightly to my sobriety.  As always mother’s fingers are firmly planted on every single button as they always have been.

Since she got home on Monday, my mother has not had an alcoholic beverage.  I have been amazed, and slightly impressed.  That was one week in the hospital alcohol free, and two nights at home.

I asked her about it today, and she told me that the alcohol just isn’t tasting good to her right now.   I was jumping up and down in my head, I was so happy to hear that. I was thinking that this situation may not be so bad after all. I can probably handle the anger, passive aggressive comments, and nastiness if she isn’t getting shitfaced every night on top of it.

I jumped too soon.  Tonight around 6 o’clock she announced she wanted a glass of wine and asked what I thought.  I told her to do what she wants, it is her body.

She then said,  “Well they are going to start poisoning me on Friday, so I am going to get smashed tonight.”

Spoken like a true alcoholic with a truly sick alcoholic brain.

I ate dinner with her, and immediately retired to my 6 by 12 room, and my blow up bed.  (Yes, the bed almost touches that sliding glass door.)

2014-08-13 21.26.52

I may have to be here to hold her hand, calm her head, and take care of her if the chemo makes her ill,   but I do not have to watch her get shitfaced.



PS.  I bought blackout curtains today.  If I don’t sleep someone may get hurt.sleep





Life on life’s terms


Overwhelmed is my word of the day.

  • Making no progress getting the 99 year old driver off the road.
  • No progress in getting a cleaning person for the 99 year old.
  • No progress in getting the 99 year old to get trash pick up so he isn’t running all over town putting his garbage in other people’s dumpsters.  (They HATE that out here, it is a huge fine if you are caught.)
  • Had a third showing on our house that has been for sale for 3 years, and no offer.
  • My mother was hospitalized on Monday via ambulance in Virginia, where I just was.
  • Today she was diagnosed with full blown multiple myeloma, blood cancer.
  • Waiting, waiting, waiting for the oncologist to call, he told her at 11 am EST he would call me to discuss the diagnosis and options.
  • Can’t get any of this to stay in the God box.
  • Still waiting…..
  • Practicing patience, impatience is winning.


Jealousy or Mental Illness?



I had a very disturbing conversation with my mother Friday evening.  It brought back a flood of emotions from my childhood.  Her jealousy and contempt was laid bare, and she wasn’t even talking about me.

I have a very beautiful, vivacious, intelligent niece.  She excels at most everything she does, and is in accelerated classes in school.  She is a pleasure to be around, sincere, sensitive and sweet, not a malicious bone in her beautiful presence.  She was the target of my mother’s vitriol during dinner Friday night.

Our Friday evening dinner consisted of the usual, meat, carbohydrate and vegetable.  The vegetable was broccoli.  My mother did something I had never seen before: she dumped blue cheese salad dressing all over her broccoli.  I made the comment that the blue cheese on the vegetable was something new.  She told me that my niece, A, had introduced her to it, and she LOVED it.

She then said, that after the first time she had it, she sent A a thank you email for telling her about it.  She angrily said that A had never responded to the email.  My mother was beyond angry that she didn’t get a thank-you for the thank-you.  (This is the same person who will send you a card, and if you don’t immediately call and thank her for it, she gets extremely annoyed.)

At this point, the diatribe that my mother launched into has disturbed me since.

She told me that she had asked A if she had gotten her email about the dressing.  A said that she does not use email, she uses Instagram and Snapchat.  Nevertheless, she thanked my mother for sending the email.

My mother then sneered, and with a perverse smile on her face, she informed me that she likes to DIG at A about the email.

“I like to DIG her, I DIG at her every time I see her. I ask her about it every time I see her, just so I can get to her.”   DIRECT QUOTE.

I was stunned beyond speech.  I scrambled around in my brain for a response, yet came up completely empty.  HOW does one respond to something so disturbing?

As I tried to go to sleep that night, the conversation kept swirling around in my brain.  I couldn’t reconcile the contempt, hostility, and malicious hatefulness that I had witnessed emanating from my mother

All of the feelings from my childhood came flooding back.  Her contempt when my father paid any type of attention to me.  My confusion as a young girl as to why my mother would be SO angry with me, when I had done nothing but try to have a normal father daughter relationship.

The longer I thought about it, the pieces began to fall into place.

My mother had begun to refer to my brother, A’s father, as her HUSBAND.  Therefore, A was the competition that I had been.  A was no longer a niece that she should lavish love on, she was the rival for the affection that my mother felt should be showered on her by my brother, her husband replacement.

So, tell me, is that jealousy or is that deranged?   download

I know what I think.