In a recent Google search: most of the results displayed involved things like “how to talk to a homeless person” or “things you shouldn’t say homeless people”. But I’m curious – and still left with questions – about how to address my situation.
It’s a weird one.
My car – a Toyota Corolla – is packed to the brim with all my stuff. Books mostly. I’ll never be able to let them go. They’ve been with me through everything. They’re my friends. Ironically enough, however, now they’re weighing me down…
I don’t have family to go to. The one brother that lives in the area already lives in a cramped place with his lady and two kiddos and would never want to share space with his utterly hateful sister. He’d never admit to that. Instead, he’d say something like, “stop being a overdramatic and go back home. Mom’s gonna chill out soon, just ignore her.”
She’s not one to be ignored.
Even though I’ve blocked her number, she continues to call me from random numbers – none of which I answer. Her messages are auditory venom, “where the fuck are you? There’s still some of your shit here and I don’t want to deal with it. CALL ME BACK!”
However, ignoring is the only defense in my arsenal.
Does anyone else have to avoid their parent[s] at all costs for the sake of wellbeing?
It’s gravely exhausting. Beyond that. It’s inexplicable. It’s the catalyst for constant anxiety. It’s the black bathwater of immersive depression. It’s the root of the incorrect upbringing that I’m trying to amend in my present adulthood. It’s the ingrained fear of others. It’s all I’ve ever known.
What would you do if your mother – a bipolar depressed narcissist – threatens to choke you in your sleep?
What would you do if your mother says, with the utmost conviction, that today would be your last day?
As I packed my bags, “you’ve been the worst phase of my life. You made your father go away. My one and only love. It’s your fault.”
I just kept on with the packing.
“You’d better hurry the fuck up, too. You’re keeping me up. AND you owe me money for all the time you fucking mooched off my house. You’re so ungrateful.”
Still packing. Still packing. Lugging books from shelves, down flights of stairs, and into my car. Totally tired focus.
All the while I’m craving sleep, and a warm meal, and a restorative shower.
Days later, I don’t have much figured out. And despite the teachings of my mother to never ask for and/or accept anyone’s help, I’ve been doing otherwise. Doing so has been verrrrrry difficult. Even when I use, “I don’t want to be a bother, don’t want to get in your way, don’t want to use up your stuff” as excuses to reject help, they don’t fly. Not anymore.
This is something I need to work on. There’s a lot I need to work on.
But little by little, everything will fall into place as it’s meant to, and I’m blessed to be surrounded by the amount of help that’s come along my way.