Mom and I went the rounds again about the damn shit in the living room that is mine. She wouldn’t even listen to me as I tried to explain to her that I have been working on it everyday but she was quick to point out that yesterday I slept all day and that today I slept all morning. Fine, I own that but what killed me was her saying, “So don’t tell me you’re working on it when you could be doing the laundry and the dishes at the same time. I’ve seen you multitask.” It meant she wasn’t interested in anything I had to say.
Anytime she whips out that card it’s because I’m wrong to start with and she wants me to do something her way on her timeline. I will never be good enough when she gets like that. At that point she’s talking to me like I’m still 5 years old. Then she brings up how she would do it for me but doesn’t know what I want done with this stuff. So apparently this is why she keeps fishing from me what my plans are for all this shit because she wants to take over and just get it done. And I keep telling her I need to go through it and sort it out. Nobody can do this part for me.
Fucking 4 months at this point of dealing with this God awful shit ALL BY MYSELF and not once in any of it did she lift a fucking finger until the very last God damn day. And NOW she wants to help? No, she’s just pissed that my crisis is in her fucking face. And I’ll admit in her shoes I’d be fucking pissed too. Seriously, I have boxes and bags all over the place yet a part of me says she fucking deserves it. Every time she brings it up I feel myself digging my heels it with this scream of fuck you inside and just not wanting to get it done at all. For spite. I hate this push-pull, passive-aggressive dynamic that I have with my mother. I hate what it brings out in me.
Ever since it was decided that I was going to be moving back in with them she has done a lot of shit that has hindered the process of me getting moved in. Dad said he needed to finish up the three bedrooms upstairs. What the fuck does she do? She insists that the kitchen get redone first. So it took 3 fucking months to get 3 bedrooms spackled and painted. And that’s not even counting the bullshit with the trying to redo my fucking closet so my laundry would have a place to go to when it wouldn’t have fit in there anyway or taking two whole days to rearrange that fucking living room completely to put the four of us into this one bedroom to use as a living room when I should have been packing and moving shit while Dad should have been finishing bedrooms after I put in my notice of intent to vacate. So no, a part of me truly does not care at this point that she wants HER living room back when she let us wallow in between addresses while my creep ass slumlord fuckwads that called themselves landlords continued to waltz into my apartment and do whatever the fuck they wanted every chance they got and never fix any of the shit that leaked and grew mold everywhere.
Dad stayed out of it even though he was in the room for the whole thing – kind of unlike him really but later said he agreed with me. He’s been complaining about the same shit with Mom from what I understand through other family. I don’t know what’s going on there. I just need to focus on my shit.
I am working on it and I am getting it done. Just. Not. Her. Way. And I shot her with that.
My mountains of shit invades the living room. She HATES it. She wants it gone NOW. In order for me to do that exactly the way she wants it done I have to invade and take over the bathroom and the kitchen. Which means that THREE rooms would be tied up all at once. Where does this make sense? We have ONE hot water tank that uses oil to heat it and both the dishes and the laundry need it. I’ve been running the fucking laundry machines all day long while she is at work but she doesn’t see any of that so to her I’m DOING FUCKING NOTHING and not getting this shit done fast enough.
It’s not economical to run all of that plus the dish machine nonstop for the dishes I have that needs to be cleaned too – hell to be completely honest I may need to wash them by hand. That entire nightmare is in boxes waiting for me to take care of and I had to pick something to start with so I picked the one taking up the most space which was the laundry. And then she’s pointing out all the boxes with my electronic and video game shit wanting to know why none of that is in storage. News flash: the storage unit is just about full and my kitchen stuff needs to go in there first before I put anything else in there.
I don’t even want to get into how I would need to clean the fucking kitchen first just so I can move all my kitchen boxes into it, unpack them, wash all those dishes, dry them, sort them out, and repack them for storage. Multitasking all this means there is a good chance of my shit getting mixed in with their shit or outright lost. It happened the last time I moved in here when I tried to get away from my husband. And that’s a topic I’m going to stay away from right now.
I’m sick of the shaming and guilt tripping that goes on in trying to get me to do whatever it is they want me to do. I’ve plainly stated what I feel I am capable and willing to take care of and in what order. This bullshit of “Well you can multitask, I’ve seen you do it.” is fucking bullshit. If I felt that I was capable of multitasking at this current point in time, and that it was a viable option, I would be doing it. But I am in a chaotic rage state that has been building up since September and in this particular case it is not practical.
She pissed and frustrated right now, and I get it – swear to God I do, but I can guarantee you doing it her way is going to make shit worse for everyone else. And I’m not going to complicate shit for everyone else just to make one fucking person happy.
I just wish I wasn’t a rage machine in all of this. It would be so much easier to manage if my insides didn’t feel like it was burning with so much hate. I could be diplomatic and be polite, smooth things over and get shit done. Instead the best I can do is false apathy on the outside and just seethe on the page while smacking my head on the metaphoric wall.
I hate feeling this way and I don’t know how to make it go away.