Flying monkeys, wonderful strangers, and a whole helping of guilt for Lisabeth....

I received this last night about 9pm. Yesterday was a supremely craptastic day at work, and all I wanted to do was crawl into bed and I got this via social media.  I was so angry that I was trembling like I was freezing to death in subzero temperatures.  I was very triggered, and felt waves of anger, frustration, guilt, shame, you-name-it.  I cried and scared my cats.

The person sending this graduated from high school with me in my hometown 7 hours away. She is my mother's chiropractor, and her longest running 'wonderful stranger' and now, applicant to be a 'flying monkey' in Narcissistic Mother speak...

I was nearby to my NM in early April, and my mother could not be anything but a problem to any solution and, long-story-short... Declined to see me.

She has not seen me since April of 2013, three months before I nearly died and required 2 major surgeries in 10 months, (the first I was not expected to survive). In the 16 years I have lived in the state that is now my home she has never visited, and besides her toxicity, gaslighting, emotional abuse with  all the pleasant features of Narcissistic Personality Disorder, she is a level 4/5 hoarder, ergo this blog. It is not physically nor emotionally safe to be near her. As those who have read this blog over the past couple of years know, I have been extremely low contact for years.

Today is my birthday, and so far no acknowledgement of it from NM. (Not that I want a princess cake and a bouncy castle, but a timely card and a Happy Birthday call would be, well, motherly.)

Did I mention I loathe all the Mother's Day pathos?

Thanks for reading my vent. I treated myself to a new runner watch/GPS/fitness tracker that I have been looking at for a few months.  I had a lovely morning run in the May sunshine.  I am having a great work day, and plan on a lovely evening. I am over this...  

I did respond to 'Dr. Wednesday'.  My response was as follows:  

I appreciate your honesty and your kind care of her. She thinks the world of you. I tried to see her last month, and she declined. Our relationship is very complicated, and as much as I love her, she will not allow me to be a part of her life in the way that I would like to be or to do anything helpful for her. It breaks my heart, but she is the only one that can change it, and she just can't. If you would like to talk to me my number is ....

I know that Dr. Wednesday is close to her family and may not have a frame of reference.  I also do not believe the timing of this (the evening before my birthday and midweek prior to Mother's Day in the US) is coincidental.  My hoarding mother had a chiro visit with her yesterday.  

Such a little thing, and the maelstrom it awakened in me made me realize that although I have progressed by leaps and bounds, I have to accept that I have been impacted by the abuse I survived, and the craziness I still navigate now as a middle aged adult.  

It (the hoarding, the abuse, the gaslighting) is not who I am, but it has shaped me.  I have to continue to honor and resolve that, like any other human being.

Thank you for reading.  Have a great week.

What did I expect?

Hard to believe that it has been a month since my last post!  In that month, not much as changed, other than I have been focusing on work (and working too damn much), doing some consulting, trying to have a social life after what is often 60-75 hour (or more) workweeks, and a bit of running... oh... and sleeping.  A little bit of that too.

My hoarding mother is still in her self created world of limited experiences, drama, and petty annoyances overblown to huge crises.  Nothing new there.  

What is new is October heralded two major life events for me.  One is the eight year anniversary at a job that I love (most days) and the other is the completion of a major personal goal, one that has eluded me for 2 years.  I ran a 1/2 marathon this weekend.  And I rocked it, if I say so myself.  Over 32 hours later and I am still in my happy spot, and I am proud of myself... something I cannot say I have ever experienced before.  

Now some folks may be saying to themselves, "So you ran 13.1 miles.  So what?"  And I can understand if you are.  This is a personal, personal goal.  Me against myself, I was not racing the other runners, I was racing ME.  In the past 4-5 years I have slowly lost over 100 pounds and resumed running, an activity I abandoned when I was in my early 20's.  Recently, (2013 and 2014) I have missed 3 half marathons that I have trained for due to a badly scarred Achilles tendon injury, a life threatening and nearly 11 pound tumor 3 months later, and 11 months after that, rupturing my mid line incision.  

Just 11 weeks after a second abdominal surgery, I ran my first 1/2.  I had hoped to run one in September, but it was too soon, as the one 3 weeks earlier was as well.  I had been thinking about this race and was concerned I was not ready.  As is my way, I am either full go or full stop, and in September when I was cleared to run on hills and outside, I hit the road with a vengeance,  logging in 112 miles in a month (and not even a full month, more like just over 2 1/2 weeks).  Predictably to everyone but me, I over trained... And I hit the wall in early October.  My Achilles tendon injury flared again, and I feared that I would have to try a race in November as it looked unlikely I was going to meet my goal.  I did a lot of figurative self-flagellation, and was really frustrated.  

At the last minute, I registered anyway and decided to give it all that I had.  It would be for the experience if not for the likelihood of success. And by registering that late, there was little chance of backing out without losing my registration fee.  Then reality set in.  I had been adding lifting and weight work back into my routine, eating a bit differently, and mixing in other cardio with my runs, but doing frequent but short runs.  WHAT WAS I DOING?  There was a 3 hour sweep, but in my researching races I mistakenly thought this race had a 2:45 sweep.  I am not a fast runner.  My personal record recently is under an 11 mile minute, but my usual is in the mid 12 range.  There was NO WAY I believed I would finish this race before they packed it up.  

Now, several friends had said they wanted to support me in this, cheer me on and cheer me at the finish.  I was honestly touched, appreciative, and also determined that I was not going to have my imminent failure be witnessed by those I hold in such high regard.  I also felt this race, this particular race... Well, it was personal.  This was me against me.  This was me against the medical crises of the past year.  This was me against my own body... or me WITH my own body.  

Long story short, I did it.  I beat 2:45 by 50 seconds. I did it!  I realized the night before that all the negative self talk was going to ensure that I did not succeed, and I was engaging in 'all or nothing' thinking, and hoarder think.  Going to the worst and most hopeless scenario.  The day before I focused on eating and resting, and changing the commentary feedback loop in my head.  The day of, driving to the race, I focused on thoughts of consistency, being strong, and failure was not an option.  I set the goal of between 2:30 and 2:45 to finish.  I was READY.  I was going to do this.  And do it I did.  Was it easy?  NO.  Was it challenging?  Yes.  And I reveled in every mile, and although I would not be able to run a marathon, I felt I could have continued another 5-7 miles.  I had been fighting the injury and the extreme pelvic pain from my surgeries for the final 5 miles, but I was doing okay, and I powered past the pack I was running in the last few hundred yards.  I was so happy and overjoyed.  I DID IT!!!!!  

For me, it was NOT an empty success because I was alone, but that much more striking because of it.  I raced me, and I won.  And I was there to celebrate it at the finish line and to cheer others as they finished. I ran slowly, steadily, and I did it.

Now, this is where hoarding comes in.  I was so happy with my pictures, my medal, my prize, and most of all, the knowledge that I actually did this, that I called my hoarding mother to tell her the next day, which is today.  (I let my friends know via Facebook, and the celebrations are continuing throughout the week... some folks were a bit disappointed I did this on my own, but they understood it.  And I love them for that!)

Ugh.  Why do I do this to myself!?!?  She has no concept of how big a damn deal this was to me.  NONE.  She immediately started with how my father had heart disease an I should be careful... Basically intimating that I was going to die.  I was gobsmacked.  I figured she would find some way to turn the conversation about her, or minimize my achievement, or focus on how crazy she thinks it is, or how dangerous (a woman running alone on the highways... GASP!) but this?  Really?  And she knows how freaking important this is to me.  She cannot even step out of her own stuff for a moment to be proud that I succeeded in completing something that did not come easily.

To my credit, I did not let her steal my pride in overcoming so much, and in achieving one of my goals.  Just five years ago if you would have told me I would be running a half marathon and getting a finisher's medal I would have laughed myself silly. I got off the phone quickly, and my response was one of incredulity.  

I got home and got out of my little car, and as I grabbed my handbag out of the back seat, I noticed the 13.1 sticker I put on my car the day before.  Not to brag, but to remind myself of my ability to overcome, and to never flood myself with self-doubt again.  That 13.1 sticker represents so much.  I did it.  I DID IT.  Before writing this blog, I was looking at full races for the spring.  I hope to do 26.2 before the end of next summer.  And I will do it.  My time frame may be different, and it may take many tries before I achieve it, but I will do it.  The silver lining I took from growing up in the dysfunction and abuse of a hoarding household is dogged persistence and resilience.  It has served me well thus far... And the next race, whether it be a 5K, a 10K, a 13.1 or a 26.2... I will let whomever wishes to come support me and cheer me on do so.  It does not matter if I finish before the race is over, all that matters is that I try, and keep trying.  Not only with running, with letting others be there for me.  That is a lesson that I have to keep learning, but I will get it. 

And my mother?  Her response is just another example of her illness, and her dogged refusal to see anything other than her own limited view of the world.  

Hoarding... no one wins.  But, maybe I can make the best of the challenges I have faced.  I honestly do have little other choice, as I believe life is meant to be lived at full volume.

Thank you for reading!

Mean as a snake...

Wow.  For those who have not read previous blogs on NotMyHoardingMother, in addition to her compulsive hoarding and mental illness, my mother is quite mean spirited and has no issue with going from 0 to scorched earth in under 10 seconds.  

The other day she went shopping at Walmart, an experience that she complains about sourly each time she goes.  "Where do they get these people that work there?  The idiot farm?"  "You should have seen this HUGE woman, easily 400 pounds and..." You get the idea.

She went to Walmart, and has a handicapped placard for her car (that she keeps in her hoardy purse until she is parked, which is technically the correct way to do it) and for the past 2 years has walked with a cane.  She found a handicap accessible space, and started to swing in as a young mother was approaching her car.  She had the cart either near, or somewhat in, the handicapped space my mother was getting ready to turn into.  According to my mother, she took her time, was talking to her child, having her child hand her things, placing things carefully in the car, and in my mother's vernacular, "just pissing around, taking her sweet time."  Again, according to my mother, at one point she looks up, and sees the traffic backing up behind my mother's 20 year old Honda, and motions for her to roll down her window, and informs her that she is holding up traffic.

My mother's reaction?  She went ballistic.  Screaming and yelling at her, and called her "FAT-ASS" and proudly/smugly stated that she "probably did not like being called a name, but she [sic] did not care since it was true, and besides that tub of lard knew better to open her fat mouth because she [sic] knew that I would get out and hit her."  Then she proudly recounts the other drivers looking at her, and felt their stares were those of approval and support.  

She says this to her formally FAT daughter.  Who has struggled with my weight since I was in my mid twenties, and I am now 45.  She knows I do not tolerate body or fat shaming.  So it should not have been a surprise when I told her that I did not want to hear this story, she was simply cruel and it was totally unnecessary.  She immediately started pontificating about how this 'cow' with her child inconvenienced her and the others...  And she most definitely did not appreciate my commentary on how she could have resolved that differently...

1. Politely asked the woman to re-position her cart so she was comfortable pulling in.
2. Waited a moment or two more and go about her business.
3. Drive past, and find another handicapped space, (there are usually MANY to be had at that particular store) or run one of her other errands in the same plaza and come back in a few minutes.

And my questions were even more annoying to her...

1. Did you have your turn indicator on? If she asked you to roll down your window and said that it appears that she was unaware that you intended to turn in.  She got all huffy, but I have seen her turn her signal off and sit, stewing, looking straight ahead in such situations in the past.
2. What potential positive impact did you think being intentionally cruel was going to have in this particular situation?  Even if this woman was being inconsiderate or slow, what does her body type or size have to do with anything other than your own bias?
3. What makes you think you know someone is a 'greedy, lazy, slob' from their weight?  Oh- that is right ... YOU DON'T.  

She most generally uses cruelty as her go-to response when she is irritated, annoyed, embarrassed, etc.  She is intentionally condescending and hurtful.  I know this comes from her mental illness, but she is very calculated in it, and has an awareness that she is doing it.  

It makes me sick.  Not only is her home toxic, and is she toxic to anyone that attempts to have any sort of friendship or relationship with her, but she is absolutely vile to everyone else, unless she perceives there to be transactional, not a reciprocal, benefit to her.

That poor woman.  She did not deserve what she got from my mother.  And I also realize that there may be much more to this story than I was told, if it happened at all.  But... this says volumes about her character.

This week I have seen two articles on the death of hoarders.  One was a woman in CA that was found dead in her hoarded back yard of her hoarded home with a kitten in a carrier on her lap, and she was a cat hoarder as well.  The second was in Columbus (Ohio) where a person hoarded their house to the point the floor joists gave away, and they died in the crush of the hoard.  And the comments were a mix, but plenty of blame for the awful family that abandoned the poor person to squalor.  You cannot help someone that does not want it, and you cannot want something more than someone wants it for themselves.  I am sure when my mother passes, if I outlive her, that I will be blamed in similar fashion.  I am already by many in her neighborhood and in her town.  That is unfortunate, but she has actively and deliberately chosen, ratified, and reaffirmed on many occasions that this is what she wants, and she has chosen her illness over everything, including me.  Especially me.  

Hoarding... no one wins, NO ONE.  Thank you for reading. 

Do NOT ask questions you do not want answers to, Mother Dearest...

So my mother's gross obsession with sensationalized 'reality tv' and 'vigilantism' continues.

She was watching some sort of show on folks who were bullied as children or teens and who got the last laugh as adults through intentional machinations or rubbing their success in the face of their former bullies.  Again, I am someone who does not own a TV, and has not watched a TV show in 3 or 4 years.  I advised her that I was simply not interested in that type of stuff, and she launches into the story of a young woman who was bullied because of her skin, found a mentor and the right makeup and skin care regimen, and became a model.  She later snubbed all who made her feel bad as a teen.  Mother was positively CROWING with laughter and vindictive glee, focusing on a statement this woman made that if she was not good enough to be good to when she was younger, now that she is beau coup successful that she does not have time for them now.

My mistake?  Attempting to impart another perspective.  I advised her that I had folks contact me to friend me on Facebook that were bullies to me, and that some apologized and were very sorry for the way they treated me.  I do believe that hurt people, hurt people... and I also believe that people evolve from the children or adolescents they once were.  My hoarding mother cannot discern that people are not single natured...  But that is another blog for another day...

She was immediately in 400,568,231 question-interrogation-mode.  Why...this was the first she ever heard that I was bullied in elementary school and junior high!  She smugly stated, "I think it was because you were an only child... don't you?"  NO, MOTHER.  It was not.  "Well why then?"  Because I was different.  "Different?  HOW?  Why, we..."  I cut her off and ended the call rather abruptly.  I am NOT listening to any more revisionist history.  I hope for her sake that she DROPS THIS.  If she pushes it, she will hear 'why'.

I was bullied in elementary school and in the first two years of junior high because I was different.  I was different because:

• I was vulnerable, and had a fragile vibe that predators lock in on.  
• Her ridiculously scorched-earth behavior to neighbors, to teachers, to other parents.  I was never trusted to find my own solutions or to use processes that were in place.
• The lack of otherization that many hoarding parents engage in.  During my entire 2nd grade year she dressed me like Shirley Temple.  It was 1977.  I would go to the bathroom and wet my hair and comb it straight, and try to do something with my clothes.  I failed miserably.
• I could not have kids over to my place, go to their houses, or have any sort of interaction after school when I lived at home.  No parties, no sleepovers, and no phone calls that were not monitored directly, and I was never allowed to give out my phone number... I had to do all the calling.  It was like being in a gulag.  The Grey Family Gulag.  And I was in solitary... A lot.
• I was awkward, geeky, and read voraciously.  In early elementary I was skipped ahead for many classes, and that was NOT ENDEARING.  
• She was super intrusive and had no concept of the reciprocal nature of friendship, so it took me a while to figure out that friendship is not transactional.
• I was forced to dress like I was in 1935 in the 70's, when kids are desperately trying to fit in.  I was not allowed to wear shorts ever, and certainly not to school.  She tried to ensure that I never used curling irons (brush rollers or foam rollers, and a bath once a week whether I needed it or not).  I smelled funny.  
• I was constantly switching classes or schools because of her behavior, and I went out of district most of the time.
• I walked on eggshells all the time due to the off the hook, sadistic, batshit crazy behavior I endured from her (and beatings).  I was never at ease, anywhere, with anyone.
• I was not encouraged to be athletic, physical, or to participate in team sports.  In fact, she did everything humanly possible to ensure that I was not in gym class.  When I was, she made me wear her old gym suits from junior high and high school in the late 40s early 50s.  That went over well... in 1980...

I could go on and on, but I think you have a snippet.  And at nearly 45 years old, these things do not haunt me.  They are part of what makes me the person I am today, and it is what it is.  I am thankful for her rejection at age 10 that led me to being at my father's mother's home most of the time, and allowed me to have a more normal experience, friends, and showers once or twice a day... or as long and as many times as I wanted.  And I could ride a bicycle on the street!  <Oh>

But, for me, where it is an issue is I refuse to allow her to whitewash/invalidate/revise history to suit her purposes and to relieve her of any responsibility she might have in these situations.  If she is wise, she will not pick too much at this.  It is like the fact that I have little memory before age 7 or 8 or so, and whole 'the crazy ends with me' thing and not wanting children.  Due to her continuing narcissism, we have mapped three areas that are 'no-fly zones' with me.  And if she continues her efforts to traverse these areas, she will not like the enamored and offensive tactical response she will receive.  

Thank you for reading.  I hope to have more humorous material for you soon.

Hoarding... no one wins.  No one.

When is enough, simply enough?

The title is a rhetorical question... on two levels.  I will start with the larger question.

In the past few days, an 11 year old boy was found by a deputy in North Carolina.  He was handcuffed to the porch, and had a dead chicken around his neck.  The video on the story can be viewed here.  You might be saying... "How terrible... Lisabeth... how does this relate?" Bear with me a minute.  If you have the iPad or iPhone app, look at it on CNN/US.  Also, in an AP link that for some reason is eluding me... the information contained in the initial CNN mobile site story is there.  So, between the 3 stories referenced here, and the countless others I have seen over the past little bit, the "Cliff's Notes' are as follows:

• The perpetrators are both 57 years old.
• They have 4 adopted children, and one foster child.
• The foster child was the one who was handcuffed to the porch with the dead chicken around his neck.
• The woman in the case is a SUPERVISOR at the area DSS.  She is a Department of Social Services SUPERVISOR... Let that sink in for a minute, eh?
• The police officer that made this discovery was actually enroute to another house when he spotted this.  This was a discovery of misadventure.
• The man was not cooperative upon being contacted, and one of the kids opened the door and released a dog that chased the officer to his car.
• When the officer returned, the child was in the house, the chicken was on the porch...
• In the CNN mobile app this morning (11/17/2013) both a law enforcement official and a member of the press stated that the situation was one of utter misery and squalor.  They remarked on the animals running in and out, and the farm animals roaming on the property.  The entire place stunk of feces and urine, and there was lots of junk...

So- in a word... HOARDERS.  And no one said the word.  And the woman?  In the management chain of DSS.  Wonder how many other children she damned to a life in the shadow of the hoard?  Besides the 5 that are now in CPS custody out of state.  

The upshot is, until all of us as community members make our elected officials, our members of law enforcement, our first responders, et al aware that we consider this to be a form of child maltreatment, and we continue to advocate for the children, there is little hope of a child escaping the hoard without significant trauma, and some do not escape at all.

What can we do?  Advocate.  Loudly.  Many of us, vociferously.  We can contact our housing multidisciplinary teams.  We can contact the Area Offices on Aging, find Hoarding Task Forces, or demand they be assembled, and demand that the focus not be solely on the hoarding person, but on on those in the home as well.

So... switching gears slightly.  I know I have been rather 'on' or 'off' since my surgery in August.  I am still healing, and long story short, things have continued to not be what I would call 'linear'.  

Some of the challenges I have been dealing with include:

• Continuing to lose muscle mass and drop in weight.  I went down to under 112lbs without trying to.
• Attempting to catch up and dig out at work, and it has been hellishly busy, and I am still buried from 2 months off.
• I had an allergic reaction because I am an idiot, (I ate turkey pepperoni despite a text warning me as I was flying low from NY to my best friend's home for his daughter's 3rd birthday party.  I saw the gist of it, but did not connect the dots.  Luckily, I caught it within 3 minutes, purged the 2 slices, and got liquid Benadryl caps that I opened and swallowed immediately.  No epi pen needed... this time.  Now however, I am hoarse, (had NO VOICE for 3 days) and appear to be dead with a cold, although it is not.
• Went to my specialist who was not aware of the events since June and July.  She FREAKED on me, screaming at me that I was underweight (duh) and needed to gain 12 pounds NOW.  (Double duh).  She disagreed with some of the surgeons decisions, and set me up for nasty and unpleasant tests.  On the positive side, she took me off 2 meds, decreased one in half, and said I should start gaining weight.  I have!  I am staying between 115 and 117 for right now, and I am actually hungry.  And eating!  And now I actually have some energy, and my sleep/wake schedule is resuming somewhat a normal rhythm.  I am losing my 'bracket face' and have resumed the gym, today I did three miles on the stepper.  Not much, but a start.
• My nerve damage issues have continued to be on or off.  Travel, eating, illness, med changes... it has been UGLY.
• I had a thyroid/parathyroid tumor scare.  It is not totally resolved, but it is not the frightening issue presented to me last week.
• Once I am back to near 100%, I will be scheduled for another bone scan, and hopefully, a genetic test to look for BRCA 1, BRCA 2, and other cancer indicators.

Again, I do not need a 'wahbulance' but life has not been all rainbows and puppy dogs for Lisabeth, and I did not expect it to be that way.  I am grateful to be here, to be back at work, to be cancer free.

So... where the piss off at my hoarding mother dearest occurs... 

Last night I attended the wedding of friends.  It was beautiful, and fun.  The reception ended 6 hours later, and since it was relatively early, and I had not talked to her in a few days, I called.  

The call consisted mainly of:

• Her commenting on how hoarse I sound, and using that as a springboard to talk about her many maladies and to ask bizarre questions.  I will spare you the questions, but they are of the type that comes from someone with nothing else to do but look at every bump, lump, and excretion of her body, and pathologize it.
• She commented on the 'actress' (GAH!) that had her 'stuff' removed due to her mother dying of 'that'.  She meant Angelina Jolie, the actor and human rights activist, and her mother's death from Ovarian cancer... and her being tested for the breast cancer gene, and getting a prophylactic bilateral mastectomy, hysterectomy and her ovaries, etc. removed.  I made the DIRE MISTAKE of commenting that I would be doing the testing soon and might have similar decisions to make (not commenting that she could have done this under her insurance at no cost and refused a few years ago).  She was appalled, and started her BS about breast implants, cancer, and etc.  I cut the discussion off brutally.
• She said she had something to tell me that was not pleasant, was disgusting, and I knew she was going to turn to discussing her poo.  Again, I will save you the unsavory particulars... but she asked if I was still having 'trouble' (referring to my partially paralyzed colon).  I very quickly and acidly told her I. DID. NOT. WANT. TO. TALK. ABOUT. IT.  She responded with a rebuke that she is just trying to be helpful, and plowed on with her 'discussion' that I would clog my toliet up like she did today, and then attempted to go into the details of the 'event' and its particulars that caused it, her phone calls to plumbers, the recommendation to buy an acid product (that we have at my shelter BTW) and how she used vinegar to unstop it.  I hung up on her.  

Not that this is to the level of anything near the hoarders who severely abused that child.  But- one thing is similar, and it is this amazing sense of entitlement that they do not have to follow anyone's set of boundaries.  They are above or beyond the law, society's conventions, and the boundaries of appropriateness.  It is always about them, what they want, what they experience, their priorities, and their screwed up narcissistic perceptions.  

What was a lovely evening filled with love, fun, food, music and laughter was eroded somewhat in just a few minutes on the phone.  I should have known better.  When will I learn?  And when is enough, enough?  

Dysfunction flourishes in silence.  Abuse grows in secret.  Keeping the secret... protecting the hoard.  After over 44 years, I am done being silent and keeping the status quo.  

Thanks for reading.

Narcissism is often co-occurring with Hoarding...

Sorry, I am extremely annoyed at my hoarding parent, my friend's hoarding parent, and a pair of hoarding parents in the news on the AP and CNN (US) that abused children, and had a small child handcuffed to the front porch with a dead chicken affixed to the child's neck. The news crews discuss the 'misery' of the home, the filth, the smell, the animals- BUT NEVER USE THE WORD HOARDING.

Hoarding- It comes down to the mental illness, the refusal to do anything to help themselves or their families, the addiction, and the abuse/use of power and control.





-Hoarding... It is not about the stuff... That is merely a symptom of a life threatening mental illness.

Two memes that resonated today...

-Hoarding... It is not about the stuff... That is merely a symptom of a life threatening mental illness.

One more little tidbit...

I did not include this in my last entry because, quite bluntly, it flat pissed me off and I needed to let it roll off, sit a while, and then take a look at it.

Ahhhhh. Dissociation and compartmentalization- maladaptive coping skills we learn to survive our hoarding parents...

In this most recent conversation with the neighbor of my hoarding mother's... She shared that mother has adamantly stated to her (when I married my first, and second husbands and over the years repeatedly) in the most nasty way possible.

"I hope Lisabeth never has children! I do not want grandchildren!"

When the neighbor gently tried or tries to redirect her that my choice to have children, to delay child rearing, to not have children, to adopt, to foster... Is my choice, and not anyone's business but mine and possibly my spouse.

My mother's response to this? "Lisabeth does NOT NEED to have kids. Ever! SHE SHOULD NOT HAVE THEM!!! She doesn't take care of anything and ...[insert 1/2 truth or full out lie here of my current or past shortcomings of character or failure to do what I 'should' have done]."

This conversation has happened many, many times over the span of years since I was living with my first husband before we married. (Which she did not approve of, both the man and living in sin... Strangely, she did not want me to marry the second time or have a wedding because 'I had been married before... And she seems to forget my father was her third husband... That I know of. But I digress.)

Am I surprised? No. Just absolutely disgusted at her arrogance, her hypocrisy her mendacity, her narcissism.

I certainly hope for her sake that she never decides to share these little golden tidbits of wisdom with me, directly or indirectly. She will not like my response... And I am certain this will bring on the final estrangement.

My thoughts currently are this... Ya know mother... Even as a small child- not that I have many memories before about age 8 or 9, but the few hellish ones I do have, and the stories shared by my grandmother and dad's relatives- even as a small, small child I never played dolls to be 'mommy'. If asked if I wanted to be a mother the answer was always an empathic NO. As a teen I never thought about having a child, never daydreamed about kids or a family of that sort. You know why, mother dearest? Because of YOU. I associated being a mother with the abject, batshit-crazy, HELL I lived every. single. day... As I grew older, I made a conscious decision that the crazy ends with me. Abuse is often a legacy- and I am breaking that chain.

Do I regret choosing to not have children? Absolutely not. Maybe if I had partnered differently, I might have felt differently. I jumped into two marriages because I was seeking to find something I did not have... And still truly do not. A place I truly and irrevocably belong. It took my almost 40 years on this earth to figure that out, and thankfully, I can own my own role in my choices and the path I have taken in this life. One of my strengths has also been one of my largest challenges... My ambition, drive, success and work ethic. That is a coping mechanism as well. Like some folks drink or use substances to avoid pain, I work. I also had very little choice but to succeed. In most everything, I had one chance, and failure was not an option. It would damn me to the hoard, or the shadow if it, and YOU. Like in school. I had one shot to get the hell out of that town and away from you. And I went for broke.

Oh- and mother dearest? I was pregnant at my dad's funeral. Despite taking my birth control faithfully, it failed. (Antibiotic use). I got tested at the health center, but they said I was not pregnant. If I would have known I was at barely 19 and living in my car... I would have had to make a difficult choice. And I know that it would not have been to be a mother. But you do not know that. And if you did...
<Sigh>

I bet my mother was absolutely thrilled when after battling very early stage cervical cancer from 1997-1999 and later when I had endrometrial late stage dysplasia/early stage cancer in 2007 I had an emergency hysterectomy. This latest health issue that nearly killed me? Took most everything else 'down there'. Soon I will have the genetic testing and if it comes back positive for any of those cancer genes, everything else that is still here is leaving. Breasts too. All of it. I have to wonder if she was relieved at some level when I had my uterus removed and when I decided to remain single and to embrace my fate of walking truly alone and untethered in this world. Wonder if that made her happy? I bet it did.

But... After further thought... Probably not. I could still adopt or still partner with someone with children or grandchildren.

No worries there, mother. Even if it did happen (adoption, fostering or a new relationship with children)... You would NEVER access to the children. Ever. You would never meet them.

That is a promise. Now with this I lay this aside. Strangely enough, normally writing about things makes me feel a bit better. This makes me feel like I am simultaneously going to puke and fall over, my chest hurts so badly. It is not a panic attack or anything of that sort (thank goodness I somehow escaped anxiety d/o and depression...) but I think this hits me dead-center, close to my core. It is like the indigestion-like sickness after getting really sick on tainted food. I think I just purged myself of the worst of it.

For her sake... I hope this is not one 'scab' she wants to pick at. She will not like the results.

Good night all. Thank you for reading.

-Hoarding... It is not about the stuff... That is merely a symptom of a life threatening mental illness.

Mother's Day 2013

[Photo from a friend's Facebook page... From the 1981 Paramount Pictures Film starring Faye Dunaway].


Mother's Day... I know what our media and our culture expects, but for me, and many other folks... This day is a tough one.

I have many wonderful memories of my paternal grandmother, who did her absolute best to step into the hole left by mother, raising me when I was in essence turned out after 4th grade.

My father, although enabling my mother in many ways, also worked double time to do the best he could, and tried to be both mother and father to me.

Lost both of them over 24 years ago.

There were others, friends' parents, teachers... Who tried to give me the extra attention, mentoring, and support I needed.

To all, I am forever thankful. I survived, and I escaped. I left the hoard/hell house and have never looked back- returning is simply not an option. That house was not home.

I remember when the book 'Mommie Dearest' (William Morrow and Co.) was published in later 1978. I got the book at the library, and kept it hidden from my mother's evangelical and Pentecostal aunt who was staying at the house while my parents were away during one of my mother's 'vascular surgery' hospitalizations that lasted months. At 9 I was in junior high english classes, and read voraciously.

Folks have often asked when I realized it was not me- that the problem was my family. Seeing the meme today, thinking about its relevance to my experience just awakened a memory... THIS. This is when it happened. Reading Christina Crawford's words under my blanket at night with a tiny flashlight, reading her book all in one night. Realizing that someone else had lived with the rages, the punishments, the focus on appearances...
Not knowing that there was a concept of 'Gas-lighting', or narcissism, or hoarding... but realizing for the first time the warped reality my mother forced me to live under. And I got so angry. And the resilient, stubborn and persistent person that I became was born then.

I knew at that instant it was not me. I also knew that I was going to have to fight for myself. And I started standing up, pushing back. And being rejected shortly thereafter was my salvation.

Many times, folks have asked me 'when I knew'. So many ACOHs turn this internally, and accept it all. I have struggled with trust and intimacy... But I knew what she was dishing out was wrong. And I did not deserve it. Until now that memory was hidden from me. Like so many others, I do not remember a lot (if any) of my early childhood.

I remember that. I also now remember my mother checking that book out of the library and seeing my name at the top of the card in the pocket. And I remember the craziness that resulted.

Some things do not have to have see the light of day, or 'have the scab pulled off' so to speak.

I will call her in a bit, when I run into town to wish her a happy Mother's Day. I do wish her well. I wish she would address the mental health and childhood demons that she chooses to allow to make her life what it is.

I also realize you cannot want something more than that person wants it for themselves.

-Hoarding... It is not about the stuff... That is merely a symptom of a life threatening mental illness.

So when in the home state... I visited my hoarding mother...

Sorry for the radio silence for the past couple of weeks.  Mostly it has been the same old, same old for me... all grants are due at my agency, and the past several weeks have been 75-85+ work weeks.

So- the one week that I could potentially 'rest'? I decided to reverse my decision to NOT attend the professional conference in my home state as I had not cancelled yet... and went.  It is a 7 hour drive roughly, and I needed continuing education hours to renew my professional license that expires at the end of this calendar year.  

I did not let my mother know until I was in my hotel suite, feet up on the ottoman and working on things via my VPN client.  I made plans to meet her in a town halfway from the town I was in, and where she lives.  It is a really rural, small place about 30 miles from both of us.  

I met her at the designated location, and we went on to the restaurant.  After that, we went to a super Walmart and she shopped, and I was on my way back to my hotel less than 3 hours later.  

She was on relatively good behavior.  Relatively.  She was shocked when she saw me, as I am now 102 pounds lighter than I was, and this has been a three year journey of watching calories, adopting a mainly pescatorian eating strategy, and eating mainly fruit, veggies, and organics at that.  She made it quite clear that she thinks I am:

1. Going to die like my dad did of heart disease because I am losing too fast!  Um... over 3 years? and the last 40 lbs has been since October?  I am not Karen Carpenter, and my BMI is 24.  No danger there.
2. Look bad.  I did grab a pair of Levi's since I my jeans are too large even with a belt.  I found an Missy size 8 (US sizes) and could have worn a size 6 if they had them.  That is the smallest I have been since I was 23 or 24, but I was much thinner in high school and college.  And at 5' 4 1/2'' I am not a big woman.

Being in Appalachia is always interesting.  The folks are resilient, giving and open people.  And they will stare if you do not fit in.  And I do not.  And I am okay with it.  Mom, however, was making a big deal out of it.  And apparently it was my fault.  I was wearing a cute little swing (yet modest!) dress with an empire waist (black) and a hot pink shrug that matched my hot pink patent leather stilettos/pumps.  

In Walmart a gentleman with his family complemented me on my dress, etc.  Mom kept asking questions in a loud tone of voice... "What did he say?  Why did he say that?  What did you say?  Well, you are attractive and a clothes horse... it would not hurt you to be nicer to men... maybe you would have a boyfriend..."  I wanted to puke, and die.  

She would occasionally, and in a way that was apropos to nothing in our conversation, start talking about the hated neighbor in the turn, and she "knows he has been in the house!  The skunk sh*t is proof!  ..."  I did not react, ask questions, redirect, or say anything.  I simply just acted like she had not said anything.  Wonder if she has decided the 'snake poop' she found in the basement is now 'skunk poop'.  She also asked if 'court stuff' could be found on the INTERNET.  She started going on to this neighbor's arrests for DUI, driving on a suspended, etc. and that if she knew he was still under court supervision/revocation of license she would 'make a little call' if she sees his truck leave.  I advised her to mind her own business.  Like THAT is going to happen.

I also lost my mind apparently, and rode in her car from the restaurant to the retail store.  And immediately my eyes felt sticky, and I felt the need to clear my throat.  Over the next two days I felt really tired, and wondered if I was coming down with something.  The answer to that is yes... and on Saturday I woke up with a sore throat, gummy eyes, and congestion.  And it has gotten worse to the point that I sat my birthday out rather than engaging in fun with friends.  It is okay, I did have lunch with my best friend, and spent the rest of the day with my two favorite 'people' in the world, my cats, and I do not require hoopla and party hats... but being sick on your birthday sucks.  And I am getting worse.  I have to work tomorrow, but we will see how this plays out.

I first thought that since tree pollen was at the absolute highest the past few days, that maybe I was having a reaction to the culmination of the 'tree orgy'. Now as this continues to play out, and reflecting back to my extreme physical reactions just being in her house for less than 10 minutes... (I ended up with a largely asymptomatic sinus infection that went systemic... resulting in my bout with endocarditis).  I think it is a reaction to her, and that car.  The car smelled slightly of the hoard, and was dusty/grimy inside.  

What the hell is in the car?  Or on her?  Maybe her NOT being in my car was a good thing.  This takes things to another level.  

Knowing I was going to see her stressed me out.  I had very little to say to my friends, and based on the extreme negativity of her monologues in general, and especially towards me, I was prepping myself to pull the plug on the meeting, and perhaps our contact ... period.  I was struggling with my typical coping mechanism, just shutting down, numbing out, compartmentalizing and disassociating a bit.  But not to the level of Sybil.

I am no longer willing to play nicey-nice with folks who I have shared the secret.  And one of my former co-workers kept harping on ... "well it will be nice to see your mom won't it?  Bet you are glad to see her since it has been so long!  Bet you want to visit more often!"  When I quietly but firmly stated that I was not looking forward to it and was prepared to bail to preserve my well being... The response of my friend was "You don't mean that!  That is your mother!  It does not matter what she does, you only have one mother..."

And so it goes.  I will not give this secret and dysfunction any more free rent.  I do not want to be identified by my mothers psychopathology, and I have no desire for this to 'walk in the room before I do'.  But, I will not perpetuate the ignorance that many have that results in placing accountability on the COH rather than where it belongs... on the hoarder.

Sometimes families are broken or in some level of estrangement for a valid reason.  If she were an alcoholic who engaged in the behavior she has, I sincerely doubt folks would be advising to 'just deal, it is the only mother you have' type of crap.  So much education is to be done, but I struggle with wanting to be an agent for change and to push for understanding, treatment, and resources for hoarders and their families (victims)... but I also do not want to be the ACOH poster child.  So much ambivalence.  

It was good to see her, just as a reality check- I had not seen her since July of last year.  She is walking slowly and bent over with a cane.  I am not sure how much is a production, because she scoots along normally with a shopping cart.  She refuses a walker, and she refused a motorized cart at the store.  She showed me her 'groove' in her leg.  I cannot see anything there.  Her color was good, and she looked healthy enough.  I know looks can be deceiving...  but she does not look ill.

The kicker for me?  Now I am sick.  I will run to the doctor next week if I am not significantly better just to be looked at... I think giving myself a week more to 10 days is reasonable.  Honestly, my staff have articulated/wondered when I would get something since I have been working such killer hours, not sleeping, etc.  I was a welcome mat for a bug... but I am a bit paranoid that this feels more like an allergic reaction, and cold/flu meds are doing NOTHING for it.

Sorry for the long, tangential and whiny blog.  Back to your regularly scheduled irreverent humor next time:-).

Has the hoard progressed to the level that she is carrying who-knows-what on her person?  And what does that mean at some point in the future and the legacy of the hoard?

Hoarding... no one wins.  And the stuff?  The stuff is just a symptom of the underlying disease.  

Appropriate meme

Resonated with me...



-Hoarding... It is not about the stuff... That is merely a symptom of a life threatening mental illness.

Some salient points have been reinforced of late

To those that celebrate Easter, Happy Easter!  Today I spent the day recharging myself, spending time with the 2 most amazing cats (my furry family).  This weekend I took a large part of it off, and although I will have a large price to pay over the next month, I needed these three days ... to only do what I wanted, needed, had to do. 

I reconnected with some friends that I have sadly neglected due to my crazy work schedule the past few months... and I am working to once again achieve balance.  I am really working to move past the 'all or nothing' or perfectionist perspective that I was indoctrinated with by my hoarding mother.  I have a huge list of things that I have a deadline for at work.  And I will get them done.  I should have 'deep cleaned' my apartment (although it is company ready now!) and went to the grocery.  I did not.  Because this weekend, self care was the priority.  And reconnecting with those most important to me... my family of choice.

Now- bear with me, this may be a bit a long and twisty, but...  In the past few months work has been demanding.  Lots of lobbying, advocacy, new staff, and all grants are due for renewal... plus 2 events coming up and ... you get the picture.  I have worked crazy hours, worked every day, and let my life get out of balance.  Somehow I have drug myself to the gym 3 times a week, but it was a fight.  Happily, I am 92 pounds down, and 21 lbs from goal.  Only 8 from a calculated BMI of 25.  Through all of this, although I am an introvert and enjoy my own company, I felt isolated.  I was isolated.  By my own excess... (work).  And to that end, I thought about the isolation my hoarding mother imposes on herself.  About her inability to see things from another perspective, to be part of her own (or anyone else's) solution, to set achievable goals that are set in reality, and to accept responsibility/be accountable for her own life.  Not that I am perfect.  Obviously I am not. 

I spoke with some other COH's online this week, and have lurked in the online support group.  On top of that, speaking to my mother, highlights the true sickness, the narcissism, the addiction of hoarding.  To her and many, if not all, hoarders- their overarching coping mechanisms focus on the abuse of power and control.  Within that framework, several things are relatively consistent with most hoarders, if you can dig deep enough.  They are:

• Narcissistic and manipulative parenting
• Lack of empathy or compassion 
• Extreme rigidity
• Lack of boundaries and limits
• Refusal to look at data in a holistic way that would result in a reasonable conclusion

If you were so motivated to look back at the 40-something posts here on this blog (if you are a complete masochist), you would be able to group them into these categories.  Much of my posting has been on the horrendous things that come out of her mouth, and her refusal to see things from any other perspective than her own.  I see her constantly revising history and her rumination and negativity as stemming from the above. 

It appears to me that the life of a hoarder (especially one as close to the utterly dysfunctional/abusive end of the behavioral continuum as mine) is both full and empty at the same time.  It is empty of the things that most find rewarding... like reciprocal friendships, evolving and loving relationships with family, activities that bring joy to them and others... the list could be huge.  What the hoarder's life is chock full of, other than useless stuff, is bitterness, anger, and fear. 

That is simply so sad.  I heard a statistic from a respected hoarding researcher that less than 7% of those who receive therapeutic intervention for hoarding show any sign of substantive improvement.  And more frighteningly... there is a 100% failure rate on curing it.  (Now, I have an email into the person citing these stats so I can annotate/cite them correctly).  That tells me that to date, the current way of treatment is an utter failure.  This, in my mind, would be like working with the perpetrators of domestic violence and asking them gently about the times they used power and control, and asking them to maybe not use a baseball bat on their significant other, but to just punch them.  And the family?  Sorry!  If you are not willing to submit to the continued abuse, you are obviously part of the problem.  Is this a harsh analogy?  Yes.  Exaggerated for effect?  Yes.  Accurate nonetheless?  YES.

Dear Prudence - Hoarding

See the last story/question...

http://www.slate.com/articles/life/dear_prudence/2013/03/dear_prudence_my_boyfriend_won_t_marry_me_despite_our_having_a_child.html



- Hoarding... NO ONE wins. No one.
And, no matter what, your hoarding parent's situation is NOT your fault.

No appropriately snarky title for this one... Out of the mouth of a hoarder... Take 231,984

What do you say to these types of things?  All are direct quotes from the past few days.  

"You know what that ba$t@rd did when he broke into the garage?  He got in my car and loosened my seatbelt.  Now where it bolts onto the floor, it is floppy!  I have to find someone to fix it!  The last worthless [add the past 5 or so service places she went psycho on] said there was nothing wrong with it."  Could it be because the car is 20 years old?

"I know 'in the turn' [her supersecret name for her hated neighbor- because 'someone' might be listening or recording her phone calls]has been up here again.  He stuffed dirt and sticks into the drain in front of the garage [that has a dirt/gravel driveway and bushes around it].  He also has been cutting branches off my pear tree, and throwing them down like they fell..."

"[Discussing her newest 'Wonderful Stranger' the next street over who seems to be seriously hoardy if not a hoarder herself...] He [hated neighbor] stood and watched while she pulled the stuff out of my gutters a couple of summers ago, and guess what!  Last night all her sensor light bulbs are broken out.  I think it is a bit too much to be a coincidence for her to have lived her over 40 years and this is the first time something like THAT happened.  Why I just bet that he saw her car and..."  SMH.  Of course.  The 2, 3 or 4 year lag time was just to throw you off the case.  

"I wish there were bands of vigilantes I could hire..."  *crickets chirping*
"That s*n of a b!t@$.  I was on my last bag of birdseed, and he took it!  Took my dustpan too.  [Begins long monologue of everything that family has done to offend her since 1968... Such as breathing, existing, stealing soda returnable bottles off the porch in 1975 when he was a preteen, making different choices and setting some boundaries with her.  And a lost dustpan and a partial bag of birdseed is a fate equal to sentencing someone to death.]"

"There has been a black truck in [hated neighbor's] driveway for weeks now!  I first thought it was his daughter's or maybe he found another tramp, but some guy came out today and got in it.  I think he must be renting a room!  That house is too small to be a rooming house!  And you know that 'crony' has to be as big of a piece of trash as he is!  People of that caliber hang together!  Wonder if that is allowed on his probation?  I wonder what is GOING ON THERE!..."  Maybe he has company?  That is sinister!

"[Dramatically]I have a question for you... and I want an answer! "  
*Crickets chirping, with such a hard eyeroll that I think I sprained my eyeball...*  
"What color is the [goes into great and bizarre detail describing the chin spoiler on her 20 year old car] supposed to be?  Chrome?"
No.  It is black plastic, but by this time I assume it is more of a charcoal to medium gray.  Why?
"Well I saw it today and I wondered if someone had switched it out with a crappy one or ..."
The only thing 'chrome' looking on your car is the manufacturer emblems on the hood and the tailgate, and your tailpipe finisher.  Your wheels are aluminum.

There are many more, but it is again the endless speculation and assumptions that are not based in any sort of reality.  

Simply... Ugh.

Relevant to COH's

-Hoarding... It is not about the stuff... That is merely a symptom of a life threatening mental illness.

More from 'out of the mouth of a hoarding mother'

Today I left work to travel to a town a couple hours away for my consulting gig as a trainer.  It is a small town, and the road there is mainly 4 lane and interspersed with 'Miracle Mile' types of findings.  Since I left the office almost at 6pm instead of 3pm, I drove for the majority of the trip and decided to check in.

I mentioned that due to interviewing back to back today, I did not have a proper lunch, so I had best find food.  (My new size 10s?  Hanging off me.  I need to remedy that.)  So I said I was going to stop in the next wide spot in the road to get a bite to eat... (and to relieve myself of the pain of failing brain cells due to the monologue that was occurring from my mother).  

"Will you go in or get it to go?"

I am honestly not sure.  I have zero appetite, so I am just looking for anything that might be appetizing to me at this point.  I should get it to go/hit a drive through so I can keep rolling.  Meeting any of Bambi or his extended family for an automotive Harlem Shake does not interest me.

"Aren't you afraid to eat like that?"

Like what?

"In the car like that, alone, in the dark."

Um NO.  [Why should I?  At this point I am seriously not getting where she is going... I am a big girl, I seldom make a mess, and besides, it is MY CAR.  The luxury one I bought 5 years ago lightly used and am about to make the final payment on!  And it now has 160K on it.  I am over the 'new baby' gloves with it.]

"Aren't you afraid someone will do something stupid and you only will have one hand driving?  I just had .... [devolves into a story]."

No.  I am not.

"What if you get choked?"

It will suck to be me.

"What if someone follows you?  Woman out alone, nice car, dressed nice..."

Um-  I am sure the 7 year old Acura beats walking, and yes, it is nicely kept and you would be hard pressed to tell it is closing in on 200K, but it is a grandma car.  

The questions continued, getting more and more bizarre and more frantic.  Then I did it.  I was laughing silently, and I ...

I snorted.

"What was that?"

What?

"You!  You were laughing!  You are an asshole!"

Okay- am here.  Gotta go.  Buh bye.

Earlier in the conversation she was obsessing over me leaving my cats for about 36 hours.  That was a LOVELY one sided conversation.

I am trying a new technique.  When she is mining into the ridiculous, the absolute worst case scenario, I do not say anything, and answer in closed statements.  And the silence draws out until she is compelled to fill it.

Interesting.  I may keep a grip on my tenuous sanity yet.

Maybe.  Have a good night all!

Now what?!?

Oh boy.  I am sitting here wondering what in the hell is being mailed/shipped by direction.

My first day off in over a month or longer 12+ hour work days... whooo hooo!  My first night of full and uninterrupted sleep since November (I wish I was exaggerating) so I am being lazy.  My plans for today are the gym, and NOTHING ELSE.  Including talking to my mother.  

So much for that.  My phone rang, and without looking at it I answered.  Ugh.  It was my mother.  

No hello, no greeting like a normal person... And in a tone I assume someone would use if he or she were conducting business that would impact international safety for all the free world...

"No questions!  I am going to ask you a a question and I just need the answer and nothing else... What is the last 2 your house number?"

Gave her the 2 digits...

"Shit!  Are you sure? Oh, oh right.  I will talk to you later."  

<Call ended>

Seriously?  What the bloody hell?  And yes, Mother, I have lived here 5 years.  I hope that I know my address.

So- is she not respecting my wishes to NOT receive packages from hell?  Is she continuing her coupon mailing madness?  Or is this simply more of her gaslighting?  It would not be cricket to let me have a peaceful day/weekend after the days and weeks of work HELL that I just endured.   

(For those not familiar with the movie that spawned this term... it is known as a 'mindfuck' in the most basic of vernacular).

This is triggering.  As a teen who had just been recently dumped back into public school and was traversing the craziness of junior high, she would tell me all kinds of things, then when I would share them, she would deny it.  Crazy things that I so blindly believed because mothers don't lie like that ... do they?  Things like:

• I was born enroute to NY to visit some of my dad's family's friends.  
• Truth- she has flown ONCE.  To Tampa in the 50's.
• Truth- Dad was raised all over the country.  His dad was in the Bureau, and he spent the majority of his pre-Appalachia existence in NY state, and a couple of years in Manhattan.  He did not maintain many friendships in NY, thanks to her.
• 'Sheila'- a second or third cousin died of MS when I was a teen
• Truth- I am still not sure how this chick enters into the family... the only thing that makes me think she was related was her strong physical resemblance to me, other than she was blue eyed and lighter haired than I.  (Well, and she sounds just like me, my mother, my aunt, my 1/2 niece and my first cousin... we sound almost identical in voice).  Oh- and she was a troublemaker and batshit crazy.  I know nothing about my mother's family to speak of.  Do not know surnames, etc.  Who the hell knows?
• Truth- I do not know where she is now, but she  was alive and well in Ohio somewhere 15 years ago.  Uses a power chair now, and you would never know we are the same age or once could pass as twins... 
• And who gave 'Sheila' phone numbers, details of my friends and boyfriend's lives?  By listening in on my private phone line?  Mother. She caused me a lot of drama... and how do you explain this?
• 'Megan'- her sister's daughter... I was told she died of an overdose.  She lived with us briefly in hell-house when she was kicked out of my aunt's hell house.  She was accused of stealing much of my jewelry when she 'snuck out'.
• Truth- She reappeared alive and well 2 years later at my maternal grandmother's funeral.  Wearing much of the stolen jewelry.
• Truth- If she is to be believed, my mother told her to take it, that I did not appreciate it/take care of it anyway.  I do believe her... on that.

I could go on and on, these are remote and the more minor of the gaslighting she has done.  She is an expert on invalidating experiences, and rewriting history.  It could drive someone as crazy as she is.  Since I have such large gaps in my early memories... I have no idea if the few things I 'remember' are just because I have heard stories so many times from a young age through now... an indoctrination of another sort I guess.  I have no memory of anything before the age of 5 or 6, and little but flashes of this and that (maybe all together 10-20 snippets) before the age of 8 or 9.  Doing what I do for a living, I know that is a sign of hardcore trauma to a child.  I also was shocked to learn that many, many, MANY COH's have similar lack of memory in their early years.

Hoarding and the base mental illness/abuse of power and control (as in the interpersonal/relational violence model) that seemingly drives it.  It is truly the gift that keeps on giving.

Ugh.  Have a great Saturday everyone.

Update- Sunday 2/24/2013

All of that?  It was simply she had multiple envelopes of coupons, and addressed one incorrectly.  So she goes out to the car ... remember this is the woman who REFUSES to:

1. Carry a purse into a store or business
2. Carry her cell phone with her (see #1)
3. Leave her cell phone on so she can use it quickly if she DOES happen to have it
4. Do anything in any sort of way that facilitates convenience...hers, others, you get the picture...

I am still not 100% convinced that there is not something else to this story, but time will tell.  

Dreading.  The.  Mail.  Delivery.  On.  Tuesday.