"You isolate, Sam..."

And that is what I've always done. And I like doing so, thankyouverymuch. Trying to do the opposite has cost me far too much emotionally over the years, and I'm really sick of the sappiness of looking for that proverbial needle in the haystack that is a person in this spoiled society who doesn't put themselves first.

I was never part of that group called "accepted", I was always the girl that was so nerdy and so awkward, as to spark hilarity. Even now, I have little idea how to comport myself socially, so I usually end up having that last gawky laugh, that makes the other members of the group that I'm in (only because of some shallow idea or outing that we have in common, like the playdates I go on because they like my kid more than me...until his autism gets in the way and he steps on their kid) cringe and wish I weren't there. I know they don't want me around. I know they feel themselves too polite to say so, but their actions speak far louder than their words ever could. I'm on the periphery. When you've spent a lifetime there, you become an expert field guide on the climate. Cold, with a touch of pity. Samantha, get tested for Aspergers.

It's soon to be summer in the Krzewski household, and cabin fever is setting in. For all of us. Only two more summers tops of being robbed blind by the "other party", and then we might actually  be able to afford to see a beach. But for now, I'm bored to death. Steve's bored to death. Little Steve is going to hate me for that six weeks he doesn't have school, and I have to figure out what to do with him during that time in the blazing heat, without a car. Our apartment complex doesn't have a pool, and there doesn't seem to be one that is easily accessible anywhere near here. The park is nice...but we need water. And my friend is scaring me about freshwater brain-eating amoebas, so the creek behind the complex is out.

Being bored does not sit well with me. I got some cross-stitch material today, so that should keep me occupied for a while. But honestly, I feel very stifled. It's in my nature to create things, and that's not happening. In talking to my therapist today, we continue to agree that the recurring theme is one of feeling stuck. Situational stressors, finances and health all contribute to me having a life that is so different than what it was six years ago. And I want out. I went to a mall (for the first time in well over a year) with a friend a few months ago, and I felt like I was in the most awesome museum ever. Then I felt bad, because I couldn't buy anything. Yes, I've eschewed a lot of the material world since I got sick, but shouldn't I be able to dip back in it if I felt so inclined? I don't want to be greedy, but it would be nice for me and Steve to afford going on a date once a month. Without the boy. Speaking of the boy, he can completely escape the apartment now, without any assistance. Meaning, unlocking doors, navigating hallways...all that stuff.

But back to my stifled spirit...though Big Steve wants to get out more, he's satisfied with watching cooking shows and reality TV most of the time. I want to go star in a musical. Can I ever make that happen?

I turn 31 in less than two months. Honestly, the older I get, the more depressed I get over the lack of action towards what I KNOW I'm supposed to do with my life. I've got to get my mojo back, somehow. Go whup somebody in a singing competition or something, before my head explodes. Ugh.

Starting Over

That's honestly what it feels like. The situation I'm in, though with the same people, feels decidedly different. The atmosphere isn't buzzing with stress and anger all the time. My son is deliriously happy. That in and of itself is priceless. I think he feels things much more deeply than the people around him, and I know the atmosphere at my mom's was not the happiest for him.

Steve and I found an apartment, nine months after losing the first one we got. We had to each put down a couple of limbs and a vital organ as a deposit, but this place is ours, and that's what matters. It's a quiet place, has a creek and a playground (with a fence! WHOOOOOHOOOOO!) out back. We had a couple of days of cold showers (until maintenance adjusted the hot water heater), and the garbage disposal leaks water every time I turn the sink faucet on (yay buckets), but the place is clean, bright, and Steven gets to run around to his heart's content. I don't even bother to pick up his toys anymore, he's just going to pull them out when he gets home. I just sweep them aside to vacuum. Speaking of, we need a better one.

Steve has finally come to the realization that he needs to tend to his health and his inner wounds. Things are a lot different between us, it didn't feel like this when we first moved in together. Maybe it's because things are the way they're supposed to be, we're married, settled, and we each have individual projects to work on, as well as ones as a family. I feel hopeful. I have not felt that in a while.

On a more troubling note, both of us have health problems. Steve started drastically losing weight a couple of months ago, and when he finally got in to the doctor, they told him that his sugar was so high, he was on the verge of a diabetic coma. Insulin is expensive, and at that point, he hadn't had any in almost a year. The doctors are helping us with that. The insurance we were forced to get doesn't completely cover the insulin. There's a $300 copay for maybe 3 months. We used to pay at most, $40 for a month's supply. He also has other health concerns to address. But at least he's taking his proper medication. His son and I want him around for a lot longer.

Me, I still have the constant headaches. Now, I get dizzy each time I move too fast or go from a sitting/lying/crouching position to standing. It's annoying. It definitely limits my movements, and I'm afraid to go too far from home. I don't go anywhere alone now, it's just too risky. My resting heart rate is often above 120bpm, so I have to address that as well. Several years back, a neurologist that I had at the time told me that I could have a tumor near my pituitary gland. The current neurologist mentioned the possibility of a cyst (same thing). So, possible brain surgery in the future. Meh, I take it in stride. I just wanna figure out what's going on.

But over all, I'm happy. I have my own again. Even my mother is being nicer. She seems to like me better when I'm not living with her. Go figure. I like her better when I'm not living with her, too.

I's Free!!!

Escape from witch mountain. That is all I can say right now. I shall blog more this coming week. Steven is determined to pluck my last nerve today. He loves his new place so much, that he is determined to explore every little bit of it. And don't let me walk out of his sight...meltdown.

Lots of new things to share!

Purgatory

I'm sitting in the local library because I do not want to go back home. I hate the fact that certain words in my life have zero meaning whatsoever, or that they are so hollow, I might as well not use them. I refuse to believe that this is just my depression, I've had this all my life. No, I feel that what I am going through is the direct result of purposeful disenfranchisement. And I long to escape.

Years ago I had a "day-mare", a nightmare in the middle of the day...and it's coming true for me right now. I'm in the prime of my life alone, surrounded by people who choose to either ignore me or ridicule me. My mother's smear campaign is ongoing, her family seeks to undermine me any chance they get, people I once called friends don't even bother to call anymore...and all I mostly get in the form of "advice" is to get over it.

I'm honestly at the point where I don't even want to bother anymore. I don't want to bother with my health, I don't want to bother with my future, I don't want to bother with relationships or dreams. I only bother because my son didn't ask to be conceived, and I owe him a decent chance at life. But it's so hard dealing with my special child with the grinning monkeys that are my parents dancing around every time it's time for me to struggle with any aspect of taking care of him. I hate both of my parents, I'm not even going to be in the least tactful about it now. They have declared all out war on me, and if I cannot fight back, at least I'm not going to sit here and smile and act like nothing is going on.

My brother told me that I just "let mom get to me". What? From the time she reluctantly squeezed me into this world, my every movement was controlled by this woman. She has crippled me, and I'm trying to make a life out of the rubble. I sit and feel ashamed of myself because someone stepped in to block my natural progress, and at 30 years of age I should have more to show for myself besides a stroke history, depression and a kid. I'm tired of everything being such a damn struggle. But I don't trust anyone enough to take care of my child...so I just try to keep moving. But I don't know how long I can. I need help. I deserve a support system, more than just a half-assed family who only appears to jeer at me. I long for peace, to be able to have a quiet day, instead of the turmoil that is my everyday. I run as fast as I can from dysfunction and addiction (not mine), and they still follow me. Still.

For the first time in many years I can honestly say that I am back in the valley again. And I have no idea what I'm going to do now. Mild depression is one thing; you can move and fight through that. But when you just don't give a shit anymore?

Marking Off the Days...

They sent home a calendar in Steven's backpack today. I decided to put it up on the wall. I can't use it for the purpose they intended (it has suggestions of things to do with your children, but Steven is not developmentally ready for that yet), but I am using it to mark off the days.

I'm reading a book on Borderline Parents, and it's sad that my mom embodies all of the subsets of the borderline person (waif, queen, hermit, witch). I feel kind of upset that I'm back to reading books on psychology to validate my experiences. To keep telling myself, "It did happen".

I spend my days looking for work and meticulously cleaning up after myself. Mom is rarely home. I guess she feels driven out by her child who is trying to be invisible. Read up on BPD, the histronics these people exhibit is insane. What's really scary is that I could become just like her. So I have to watch how I deal with my son, how I deal with others.

I've been re-evaluating my relationship with my brother today. I've always considered us to be close, hell Mom forced us into it. But I am hurt by the fact that he can only admit Mom's abuses to me in private. When asked to say it to the family, he claims they already know. Well if they do, then they must think it's all okay...because no one has ever spoken up in my defense. The women in my family on my mom's side are notorious for trying to screw with their children, especially their daughters.

I've ceased communication with my brother, because each time I try to break free of my mom's abuse, he tells me I'm just like her. That's his way of keeping me quiet. Little did he know that I almost didn't have kids...because I was afraid I'd be an abuser. People, words have power.

My brother has always played the middle ground. My strongest witness, and the most he can do is claim that he tells mom about herself. It's not doing any good, mom still feels that I've made my entire childhood up. No, she insists. I think she knows the truth. When you try to bring it up, she'll attempt to self-destruct.

But right now I'm thinking about my relationship with my brother. Was it abusive as well?

Sure he meant well. He protected me from bullies, and he at least admits mom treated me unfairly. But I also got tied up, put in the trunk of the car, once he hit me so hard it left a knot for days. I've had dirty socks stuffed in my mouth. But the worst of all has been the ridicule. Every time my brother did something to me, he told me, "you know you want to laugh", and being a child, the power of suggestion did me over. So for years, I have been laughing as he has laughed at me. He often refers to me as his "psycho sister", and is very condescending about my "book learning". I don't understand why.

One of the most enduring pieces of his ridicule has been him teasing me when I danced. He always told me I had no rhythm. But I have loved dance and longed to dance all my life. Shirley Temple was my idol, because she could sing and dance, and so could I. My childhood was filled with dreams of being the first black girl to play Annie on Broadway. My brother laughed it away, my mom beat it away.

I hope that one day I can regain all that I have lost at the hands of my family, both those overt in their abuse and those who were covert, in that they let it happen. I really do not like that I have to deal with this stuff all over again. I thought I was free. I guess I was wrong.

One thing about having a borderline parent is that you do not know how to have healthy relationships. I will not even presume to say that my relationship with Steve has always been healthy. But he's stifled me far less than my family has. And our love for our son has changed a lot. That little boy does not deserve to suffer like we have. Steve had his own hard road to travel as a kid. I'm still cracking open that Pandora's Box.

Every day that I'm blessed to get up, I'm going to mark off the previous day on the calendar...if I didn't do that before going to bed. And then I'm going to do whatever it is I have to do that day, until I find myself ready for bed. Before I know it, summer will be here and we will be leaving this place forever.

Immaculate

There's a chess app on my nook, I wonder if I should learn how to play. It'd be a good way to pass the time. Besides, I feel like the strategy would be helpful to me.

Apparently the best way to survive this war is to make myself as invisible as possible, to give my mother nothing to complain about. Which strangely enough upsets her.

At this point in time, I exchange few words, make no eye contact, and I have erased evidence of my presence from every room in the house except the bedroom that I sleep in. My son's high chair is still in the dining room, but apparently Mom likes to pretend she has a grandchild and not a daughter. So long as she doesn't try to hurt him to get to me, that's fine.

My room is immaculate. Occasionally she sees me picking up lint balls off the floor (they have wood floors...dust magnets), or washing something, and I see her tense. It'd be so much easier for her to complain if I was as sloppy as she says. But now there's nothing to complain about. And I plan to keep it that way.

I managed to set up a little workspace in the bedroom; I'm looking for jobs when Steven is at school. Hopefully soon I'll find something. Preferably before the holiday season. I could use a routine right about now. Anything to keep me out of the house when my son is not here to take up my time and attention.

Onto Steven...something good to think about:

Steven is really doing well in school. He likes to color now, so I went out and got him a whole bunch of crayola twistables crayons. I have to keep him from eating the wax, though. But he loves to scribble. He loves the colors. They read every day in school, so I think that he'll finally be ready for me to read to him from books other than the ones on my nook (he was attracted to the glowing screen). I plan to read to him nightly, he has a pretty good book collection.

Big Steve and I talk when we can, and we see each other when we can. The distance is hard, realizing the circumstances behind it is even harder. But I feel like the situation is going to cement our family bond. It was our child that caused us to reconsider, and discussing him and his future is always a favorite thing for us to do. The pastor at my church said to read your children, not script them. I think that both Steve and I were scripted. Me, especially. At least Steve's mom loves him and will allow him to make his own decisions. She even accepted our marriage. I was shocked at that.

One day at a time. I just keep telling myself, one day at a time. I'm reading a book on dealing with a borderline parent, I really feel like my mom has BPD. I guess I'm back to just coping. But it'll all get better. I'm determined to morph into who I'm truly meant to be, to break this cycle of just coping with pain from day to day. It doesn't have to be that way.

I think the reason why it's so hard right now, is because I've had a tentative taste of freedom, even though things were not easy in that situation either. Anything other than Mom has always been the lesser evil. But Mom knows that too, and deep inside she's fighting to keep me imprisoned, while I'm fighting like hell to escape. She knows this goodbye will be the final one. But it needn't be that way if she could only admit to what she's done. Just tell me I'm not crazy. Still, she'd literally rather die than do that. She'd rather keep up the oppression. So I must needs go.

Paranoia

I wonder if the people involved in the family drama with me and my mom understand just how mentally ill she is. She is a Borderline Mother.

I fully admit that I struggle with depression, anxiety, and now paranoia. I don't believe in hiding my anger. I don't always express it loudly, but I express it.

Apparently now that I just don't speak to my mother, and I shuffle through my day, not asking for anything and not hoping for anything, my mother feels unsafe in her own house.

Of course this is but another of her carefully orchestrated lies. Since she's not getting the normal reaction out of me, she's recruiting new troops in her war against me (people I thought I could trust), and laying the foundation that I'm plotting to do her harm.

I just want to escape. I never wanted to come back here.

It's hard, not knowing if tomorrow my son and I will be put out because I refuse to play in the farce. I just hope I can find work soon. Meanwhile I'm doing my best to give her nothing to complain about...which only angers her. Is that not sick? I'm trying to do what she wants...leave no trace of my existence in this house. I clean more than she does, ask for no rides, cook when they're not around, and stay in the room I sleep in. I come out to run errands, take Steven to the park, go to the doctor...things like that. Then I retreat.

But it's not good enough. I'm alive and determined to have a happy ending to my life, and my mother will stop at nothing to destroy that.


Yet she is afraid.