My Fucking Mother has yelled at me before, but for some goddamn reason her yelling at me Monday has gotten under my skin. It's been a day and I still feel like it's hard to talk about, and I don't know why.
So she called me from Vegas and she wanted to talk about some things she wanted me to bring to my brother and sister-in-law when I drop by for Christmas; they are going to visit my parents out in Las Vegas, and having them bring these things over saves all of us from the onerous amount of postage. I don't exactly remember when she snapped -- it probably is a defense mechanism -- but I got triggered when I tried to explain ... shit, I don't fuckin' remember, but it might be a situation where she was expecting her and Father's Medicare cards and I told her they haven't come yet. She then told me to bring some letters too.
In the midst of all this, she wondered how these items haven't come yet. My Fucking Mother was already wound up I told her that I would go check. And maybe she finally flew off the handle when I gave her the silent treatment. I really was just looking for these letters and cards that may have already come. I'll admit I was kind of being a dick, but she was already being a bitch to me, and when I gave her radio silence while I was shuffling through letter after letter, she turned 100% cunt. She was yelling at me for ghosting her, and for walking away from the phone when all I did was set aside these insurance cards that did come.
I had to tell her about some violation on a piece of property in town that my folks still own, and when My Fucking Mother accused me of not telling her not just the day but the minute I opened up that letter, that's when I ... well, I started yelling back, but I can't shake the feeling that as I did, I showed that I let her get to me. "I OPENED UP THIS LETTER JUST NOW, OK?!?!?!" I screamed at her. (Confession: I opened up this letter Saturday. Don't care -- again, My Fucking Mother was being a cunt.) And I basically kept screaming at her, even after she got done with lecturing me about writing down the things I need to bring over to Carver County on Christmas on some fucking list and making a left turn into asking me if I ate yet. The best comeback my non-agile brain could think of was, and I was screaming still, "I DON'T KNOW. I HAVE THINGS TO DO, INCLUDING YOUR SHI ... STUFF, MAYBE I WILL EAT, MAYBE I WON'T EAT! OK?" And then My Fucking Mother said, "I am done," and in what probably was my clearest and most in-control way to tell her I was pissed at her, I hung up without saying goodbye.
She called back twice later, the first about five minutes after I hung up on her, the second a couple hours later and after I went to a coffeeshop to clear my head. Man, I wanted to work on some chores at home -- do the laundry or the dishes, or really start cleaning up my stuff that I should put out for recycling. But I couldn't do it because I had to emotionally process and get over the fucking tongue-lashing My Fucking Mother gave me. Sure, she was actually sane in the subsequent two calls. And when I had to talk to her last/Tuesday night about a bunch of mail that came (just between you and me, it came Monday, but I didn't open it when I got bitched out by her), and she was pleasant to talk to, believe it or not, I actually felt a calmness followed by a rise in energy that helped me tackle the pile of dishes in the sink and, after going to My Favorite Stripclub (Non-Cover Edition), clearing the snow from the old car. But that's what I hate about her, and of myself: I cannot go on with my day because I'm affected by this/her. And my ability to not only do productive things but also to be happy still is dependent on whether or not My Fucking Mother mistreats me or not. And she is able to do this while she's in another state. She just reached out and grabbed me by the throat, and she still hasn't really let go of me.
They say that you should never let other people ruin your day. Easier said than done.
That fucking woman has permanently damaged my life. No wonder why I need therapy.
So she called me from Vegas and she wanted to talk about some things she wanted me to bring to my brother and sister-in-law when I drop by for Christmas; they are going to visit my parents out in Las Vegas, and having them bring these things over saves all of us from the onerous amount of postage. I don't exactly remember when she snapped -- it probably is a defense mechanism -- but I got triggered when I tried to explain ... shit, I don't fuckin' remember, but it might be a situation where she was expecting her and Father's Medicare cards and I told her they haven't come yet. She then told me to bring some letters too.
In the midst of all this, she wondered how these items haven't come yet. My Fucking Mother was already wound up I told her that I would go check. And maybe she finally flew off the handle when I gave her the silent treatment. I really was just looking for these letters and cards that may have already come. I'll admit I was kind of being a dick, but she was already being a bitch to me, and when I gave her radio silence while I was shuffling through letter after letter, she turned 100% cunt. She was yelling at me for ghosting her, and for walking away from the phone when all I did was set aside these insurance cards that did come.
I had to tell her about some violation on a piece of property in town that my folks still own, and when My Fucking Mother accused me of not telling her not just the day but the minute I opened up that letter, that's when I ... well, I started yelling back, but I can't shake the feeling that as I did, I showed that I let her get to me. "I OPENED UP THIS LETTER JUST NOW, OK?!?!?!" I screamed at her. (Confession: I opened up this letter Saturday. Don't care -- again, My Fucking Mother was being a cunt.) And I basically kept screaming at her, even after she got done with lecturing me about writing down the things I need to bring over to Carver County on Christmas on some fucking list and making a left turn into asking me if I ate yet. The best comeback my non-agile brain could think of was, and I was screaming still, "I DON'T KNOW. I HAVE THINGS TO DO, INCLUDING YOUR SHI ... STUFF, MAYBE I WILL EAT, MAYBE I WON'T EAT! OK?" And then My Fucking Mother said, "I am done," and in what probably was my clearest and most in-control way to tell her I was pissed at her, I hung up without saying goodbye.
She called back twice later, the first about five minutes after I hung up on her, the second a couple hours later and after I went to a coffeeshop to clear my head. Man, I wanted to work on some chores at home -- do the laundry or the dishes, or really start cleaning up my stuff that I should put out for recycling. But I couldn't do it because I had to emotionally process and get over the fucking tongue-lashing My Fucking Mother gave me. Sure, she was actually sane in the subsequent two calls. And when I had to talk to her last/Tuesday night about a bunch of mail that came (just between you and me, it came Monday, but I didn't open it when I got bitched out by her), and she was pleasant to talk to, believe it or not, I actually felt a calmness followed by a rise in energy that helped me tackle the pile of dishes in the sink and, after going to My Favorite Stripclub (Non-Cover Edition), clearing the snow from the old car. But that's what I hate about her, and of myself: I cannot go on with my day because I'm affected by this/her. And my ability to not only do productive things but also to be happy still is dependent on whether or not My Fucking Mother mistreats me or not. And she is able to do this while she's in another state. She just reached out and grabbed me by the throat, and she still hasn't really let go of me.
They say that you should never let other people ruin your day. Easier said than done.
That fucking woman has permanently damaged my life. No wonder why I need therapy.
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