Ching-wah TSAO duh liou mahng

Day 08: Name someone who has made your life hell, or treated you like shit

You can click any of these links if you're interested in reading about the people who have done me the most wrong - my own personal demons, the PeopleUpStairs (AKA PUS). I don't recommend it because it's depressing, frustrating, and rage-inducing. (That last one really sums it up, IMO.)

TL;DR: These people are awful and horrendous, and hurray! Not In My Life ANYMORE!

Instead of dwelling in my past misery, please to enjoy these fabulous and completely not at all related links:

You jaundiced jumped up, vercordiously pusillanimous piffle. Upon reading this, you are probably muttering something like "Ho ho, sour grapes." You have a point. But my rejoinder, vinegar face, is what hope did those grapes ever have while you live and breathe?

How can you be so blindly unaware of the loathing and revulsion you engender wherever you go? I have had fantasies about attacking you with a machete, but I dare not.

Have you any idea how truly offensive you are, have you any idea at all? Do you know what an idea is? Sorry. Unfair question. You have singlehandedly, completely, enthusiastically, maniacally, with gusto and lip smacking delight, stovered any advancements made in the human condition over the last six million years. Congratulations. You must be so proud. If you once had any redeeming quality, it has been strangled and garrotted by your other brutish traits.

Why is it everytime I think of you I think of pus? Sea slugs are scum sucking invertebrae. Land slugs are slimy mollusc-brained cabbage eaters. But you are just PUS.

If everything in this world has some purpose, some grand plan behind its existence, then yours surely is to show everything else, whether it be a slops bucket in a fried chicken stand, or the gunk behind the fridge, how fortunate it is not to be you. This letter has come to end. But it is to my eternal disappointment, my bitter regret, that you have not.

That wordy and wonderful ode to the people who have done me wrong is brought to you by BlueSwami's hate letter generator. You can click and create your own, if you'd like.

Also of interest, (if you happen to be a geek) are these inventive Chinese curses and their pronunciations, should you choose to learn them. If you'll excuse me, I have to go practice saying the title to this post, just to have it in my back pocket.

PS: If you've never seen Firefly, and it's follow-up movie Serenity, I tell you that you MUST.
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Day 01 Something you hate about yourself.
Day 02 Something you love about yourself.
Day 03 Something you have to forgive yourself for.
Day 04 Something you have to forgive someone for.
Day 05 Something you hope to do in your life.
Day 06 Something you hope you never have to do.
Day 07 Someone who has made your life worth living for.
Day 08 Someone who made your life hell, or treated you like shit.
Day 09 Someone you didn’t want to let go, but just drifted.
Day 10 Someone you need to let go, or wish you didn’t know.
Day 11 Something people seem to compliment you the most on.
Day 12 Something you never get compliments on.
Day 13 A band or artist that has gotten you through some tough ass days. (write a letter.)
Day 14 A hero that has let you down. (letter)
Day 15 Something or someone you couldn’t live without, because you’ve tried living without it.
Day 16 Someone or something you definitely could live without.
Day 17 A book you’ve read that changed your views on something.
Day 18 Your views on gay marriage.
Day 19 What do you think of religion? Or what do you think of politics?
Day 20 Your views on drugs and alcohol.
Day 21 (scenario) Your best friend is in a car accident and you two got into a fight an hour before. What do you do?
Day 22 Something you wish you hadn’t done in your life.
Day 23 Something you wish you had done in your life.
Day 24 Make a playlist to someone, and explain why you chose all the songs. (Just post the titles and artists and letter)
Day 25 The reason you believe you’re still alive today.
Day 26 Have you ever thought about giving up on life? If so, when and why?
Day 27 What’s the best thing going for you right now?
Day 28 What if you were pregnant or got someone pregnant, what would you do?
Day 29 Something you hope to change about yourself. And why.
Day 30 A letter to yourself, tell yourself EVERYTHING you love about yourself

Speaking of fools...

**** Hey Sister of Mine - This is probably not a post you want to read, unless you feel like crying or being pumped full of rage. It's about the PUS. Feel free to skip. (This goes for anybody, of course, but my sister especially). I'd rather not write it, to be honest, but it's probably a wiser option than waiting till one of them comes by and kicking them in the face. Which is what I feel like doing. So; writing it is. ****


The PUS are just about all moved out now, with just their part of the cellar and what the realtor calls 'a few odds and ends' left upstairs to take with them. I can not fully explain how amazing it feels to be in this house and not be afraid of having to leave because of something they've done that will make me more ill. Or how it brings me peace to be able to take Lil Girl outside to draw with sidewalk chalk and not have to worry about someone pulling into the driveway and shooting us dirty looks, or worse, attempting to talk to me. It is bittersweet, to the extreme, to have this house be almost the way it always should have been - ours.


Only Nana is missing.

And she has been on heavy on my mind lately as we move into this final month of our residence here, how could she not be?

Her best friend came over to visit us yesterday. Because she's afraid that we'll move too far for her to come again, the visit was full of unnecessary goodbyes, (as we aren't moving anymore than 30 minutes away no matter what) but she also spent a good deal of time rehashing old hurts: cursing the PUS for all they did to Nana, cursing Nana for putting up with it, wishing she'd been able to convince her to do something about it. It was like listening to my own soul talking, especially when she said

"If we could've found a way, she'd probably still be alive today."

To outsiders, this statement makes no sense, I'm sure. An overreaction, perhaps, or wishful thinking to the extreme. But to me, it is a mere fact --> my grandmother, no spring chicken when she died at 84, would most likely have had a longer (and most definitely a happier) life if she hadn't had to battle everyday for just the air she breathed.

Stress, we all know, is aging. It's detrimental to your body on a cellular level. It hurts physically and emotionally. And my Nana lived in a soul crushingly stressful environment. It wasn't even just stress, it wasn't ordinary familial tension - she lived in a place where she was abused, everyday.

It takes a lot for me to write that. To know that it is true and to know that there were choices we all made - choices that I made - that enabled that abuse to continue.


I hope that in all my life, I will never do anything that I could regret more than not doing what I know was right. I hope that I would be strong enough, now, to know that having her mad at me for calling the cops - over and over again, if necessary - would be preferable to not having her at all.

"She wasn't beaten to death," you might say, "She died of cancer." And you would be right. She did. She did die of cancer, but she also died because her environment was toxic; because her son and his 'family' poisoned her everyday.

By ignoring her. By making her feel worthless and stupid and vile. By treating her as if she were little more than a bank - a bank where loans never had to be repaid and interest was never charged and you could insult the clerks at will. By hurting her heart and allowing their children to say that she wasn't their grandmother, or that they'd never really loved her. By screaming at her and calling her hideous names. By not caring for her when she was so obviously sick, and not caring enough to let anyone else have the chance to care for her either. By bullying her into believing all the wretched things they said about her (or us), and threatening her if she dared to stand up for herself (or us). By treating her as though she was invisible - by showing her that her opinion meant so little it didn't deserve to be heard, that her presence meant so little it wasn't even worth noting. By making it so that no one else could stand to come to her house, since it meant being in their presence, since it meant having to sit by seething while she was belittled or being belittled themselves.

(I would say here, in order to keep myself from becoming completely enraged, all over again, and because I am listening to the Harry Potter books on cassette tape, that she was Dobby, and they never gave her so much as a sock. If that makes sense to you, I think we should be friends:) )

They poisoned her, as sure as if they'd been feeding her arsenic, and 22 years worth is a lot of arsenic to swallow. It's a long time, and a lot of damage, and if every day you're living on a battlefield, using all your strength and energy to fight off poisons, you don't have any extra resources when you need them.

And that's really what happened to her - she just didn't have the resources she needed for that next battle, and it happened to be against a foe she couldn't best.

I'm not saying she wouldn't have had cancer. I'm not even saying she would have survived the cancer, really. I'm just saying that she would've had a better shot at doing so if she didn't have to also survive her 'son' and the rest of the PUS.

You may disagree, and I haven't written it before because, well... it sounds so stupid written down like that, even to me. But they wore her down, they wore down her spirit and her energy and her self, and when she got sick, she needed all those things and didn't have them. So yeah: I think that the damage they've done is immeasurable. And I am damn glad to see them go.

But today, alone in the house, as I heard the footsteps of Hippobeast PUS (the daughter - who's 22 now & who was one of Nana's frequent tormentors) thump on the back steps, I had a moment of "What's to stop me?"

My anger was so clear and sharp and focused that if I were capable of climbing the stairs, I thinkknow, in that moment, I absolutely would have. I wanted to yell at her. To tell her how evil I think she really is; to tell her the truth.

We haven't talked in over 12 years, and I assume that she thinks I am as horrific as I think she is, but in that moment I just wanted to be able to look her in the face and say: "Listen, you need to hear this from somebody, and it sure as shit ain't going to be your fucked up parents that tell you because they're even more delusional than you are. So hear this clearly, and know that it is true - YOU are wrong.

All those things you did, at first because your parents did them, and then later just because you could? The hateful things you said and the punishing ways you acted? Were wrong. Were evil and hurtful and poisonous and led directly to the dissolution of our 'family' and to Nana's death. And you can never make that better.

I can't go back and do the right thing - I can't go back and call the cops when I should've or actually send that letter to the lawyer the way I wanted to, and that will always haunt me. But you can't go back either, you can't undue the harm you did, the hurt you've caused, and I can't let you leave this house without letting you know that I hope it haunts you. Because it should."

It's probably good that I can't climb the stairs, because even as I was thinking about how great it would be to deliver this truth to her in person, I didn't, for a second, imagine that she would just sit there and let me say all of that to her. And that would've pissed me off even more, and things would most likely have escalated. (Although, seriously? Giving her the chance to punch me might have been worth any increase in pain because you know I would've called the cops then, friends.)

And by the time she plodded her way back down the stairs, I had calmed down enough to return to my Harry Potter and plot about how to 'accidentally' aim a Cruciatus Curse at them all instead, but the wanting is still there. Because I know that they still think they didn't do anything wrong.

That they will never think they did anything wrong - that they were the victims of a family that turned their backs on them, as opposed to the perpetrators that caused a family to be shattered.

And that's not okay with me. But I'm just going to have to let it go.

So, even though we still don't know where we'll be, I am definitely looking forward to thirty days from today, when I won't have to see them again. Or hear their false voices again, or suffer under their hands ever again.

And then? I shall have to settle for the Obliteration Charm instead, wiping them from my life once and for all.

As nice as it is

to have the extra month in the house (since we still, you know, have NOWHERE TO LIVE), I could do without the additional PUS time.

Although watching as they drop a big screen tv was certainly a plus.

Looking on the 'pro' side of moving, again.

Way back when, I wrote a post about how much I hate the PUS (Yes, I know, there's certainly more than one post about that here, but this is a specific one) that talked about a playlist of songs about hate. That I then created on my computer. And have since updated every time a song came out that really reminded me of just how much I hate them. And so, I now have quite the extensive playlist.

Over the past few weeks, the PUS have been moving their things out, and oh, is it a bittersweet sound to hear - the sound I should have been hearing all those years ago, the sound that should have happened when my Nana was still here, when it should've just been them leaving, and us staying. It is hard to hear that sound, knowing that we'll be the ones creating it in just a few weeks.

But I found out the other day that they are planning on moving into their new place this weekend, which means that we will have at least 3 PUS free weeks in the house! It's very exciting. And also my last chance to blast the "I hate you PUS" songs, which I have been playing all morning.

Here are a few of the lyrics that caught my ear -

"I know it's just no use, when all your lies become your truth."
from Are You Happy Now?, Michelle Branch.

"... and so my heart is paying now, for things it didn't do..." Cold, Cold Heart , Norah Jones

"Get out. Right now. It's the end of you and me." Leave , JoJo

"It's been a long time coming, but I know... a change is gonna come"A Change is gonna come, Patti La Belle.

"You can crawl back home, say you were wrong, stand out in the yard and cry all night long. Go ahead and water the lawn, my give a damn's busted." My Give a Damn is Busted, Jo Dee Messina

"We'll look any many straight in his eyes and say Kiss my Irish Ass" Kiss My Irish Ass, Flogging Molly.

"Move it move it, outta my life." Move, Jennifer Hudson, Dreamgirls


"I won't lie I sometimes cry when I think of how it used to be.... but wait one minute, I failed to mention, those tears I cry are tears of joy."How Am I Doing?, Dierks Bentley

"Prepare for the chance of a lifetime, be prepared for sensational news...A shining new era, is tiptoing nearer." Be Prepared, Jeremy Irons/Scar, from The Lion King.

A quiet house and a restless mind.

My parents have gone out with SisterJ & her husband for an early Father's Day dinner. The house is dark and quiet, still and peaceful. There's one small table light on in the dining room as darkness starts to settle in. It's the kind of night I would've been happy to have all to myself, even though I knew it wouldn't last.

A year ago, now would've been about the time that Nana would be making her way into my room, asking where everybody was. I would've put down my book and clicked the TV on to a Law & Order rerun or been searching through the menu for something vaguely acceptable for us to watch. She'd be full of conversation: having been ignored or abused upstairs all day, she'd chatter on ,relieved that there was someone who was finally listening, finally acknowledging her.

I would've turned the wheelchair when I heard the door close behind her, because if I left it sitting towards me, she'd sit with her neck turned sideways all night, apparently unable to remember that the chair has wheels and was therefore movable.

I would've rolled my eyes a million times by now, most likely over her inability to do the right thing in regards to the PUS, and ultimately, we would've changed the subject before either of us got too mad. We were the only company available for each other, after all. No sense pissing off the person you were going to be sitting next to all night.

So tonight, the quiet is bittersweet - I know she's not going to interrupt this blog post (because I think it's rude to type while people are trying to talk to you) or rant and rave about the latest atrocity those 'little bastards' had committed. I hear their heavy footfalls above me and think of how unfair it is that they are still here and she is not.

I think about how there are pictures of pictures of her at SisterJ's wedding, but no pictures of her, and how she would've laughed and cried and danced and clapped.

I think of how it's been nearly half a year without her, and how that seems both impossibly long and incredibly short at the same time.

I wonder about what the next six months will bring us, and close my eyes and hope that there'll be some peace - no matter how unlikely that seems.

And then I go back to the quiet and wish that I had treasured the interruptions more while I had them.

Everyworry

I nearly just put down the computer and headed towards the kitchen for unnecessary food... (When you have no appetite, you often have to remind yourself to eat at all, but when I'm stressed, I eat no matter that I'm not hungry.) But I've been talking to myself for the past hour about facing my fears instead of distracting myself from them. And so, here I am.

This is one of those times that I'm going to write this whole long (or short) post, get finished, and then have to make the decision whether or not it just goes in the draft folder. Or if I am brave enough to push the post button.

I want you to know that I've appreciated your kindness, your generosity, the fact that you keep coming back to read, to say 'hey,' to check in when most of what you're getting is maudlin and dreary. And most of us are feeling enough of the maudlin and dreary on our own lately, and don't especially need extra. I know that feeling: I've been guilty of clicking on a blog I love, seeing how sad the post is and moving on, because I just... can't. Not on that day. So I understand if you just can't, too. That's ok. I hope you'll keep in touch, keep checking in, stop by when there's something more pleasant on our plate.

But here's the thing: that plate? Is overflowing. With everything and everybody. And everyworry.

At least that's what it feels like a lot of the time. I know I can handle it: I actually feel like I am handling it all pretty well, but I'm just saying: it's a lot.

None of the other problems I/we have been having disappeared when Nana died. Life doesn't work that way. My illness is not on hold because I don't have the energy to deal with it. My brother's relationship to his fiance didn't become all patched up, and his preferred form of dealing with stress (by not dealing with it) hasn't magically transformed either. The premature twins aren't uncolicky, and their mother is still a tad bit overwhelmed and depressed. The housing market isn't exactly friendly, and neither are the PUS. Things that were little got magnified, and things that were eventuallys became nows. It's unfortunate, but it's true.

And there's the grief. The little moments when you pick up the phone to call her for dinner, when you burst into tears because her favorite thing to teach was always the American Revolution, and she's missing a most awesome show? (Seriously, are you watching this show? It's on the HBO... and now I think Abigail Adams is a rockstar!)

I always feel compelled to put all the good things in, when I start a post like this, in the hopes of saying: 'I know it's a lot, but I've also got all of this!' I'm tempted to do that now, but that isn't what I wanted to write about. Check out my other posts from this week, if you're looking for the happiness.

And the happiness, it's here too. It's the complexity of things that's got me all churned up tonight. A night where my brother takes an Ambien and says it's for stress. Where Youngest Sister fills her plate with Harvard-y things, and becomes blind to everything else. Where Grandmother takes longer to recover from a cold than me (heretofore unheard of, I assure you). Where my doctor's appointment gets rescheduled, but I'm out of meds. Where my checking account starts to resemble Al Capone's Vault. Where my laptop's fan insists on making an extra hissing noise for no good reason. Where the Easter Bunny bought double the amount of candy, used to making twice as many baskets (one from us, one from Nana.)

It's a night for feeling overwhelmed, and I'm not going to apologize for it. I apologize too much: two people told me that recently, and I'm afraid they're right, so I'm cutting back.

Feeling everworry is a heavy thing, and sometimes you just need to set the load down for a few minutes. Thanks for letting me.

I know there are times that I have felt less like posting, but I must be blocking them out, because they were so horrid.

In point of fact, I have missed you all, but when you have the walking pneumonia, the tonsils the size of baby turtles, the sinus infection that will. not. die. And you add all of those things onto the fact that I was in exile because of the PUS and therefore not at least miserable and at home, well, you might say that I just didn't quite get around to saying all the things I've had to say.

Or, that I said them, but because they were covered in mucus, I thought it best not to share them with all of you.

You're welcome.

I am much improved (well, much improved for me anyways), and my nearly three weeks of exile has come to a semi-end. I am home again, just stuck in our own parlor, as the painting that was supposed to take place on the porch (above and behind my bedroom) actually wound up taking place in the hallway (directly above my bedroom) and my room still smells like paint.

You can just imagine, I am sure, the cheery, happy, mucus-covered thoughts I have been directing towards the PUS. Ahhh... if only thoughts could kill. Or maim. I'd settle for maiming.

Our couch, at the very least, is in closer proximity to my millions of lists of things that still need to get done. Not that I am really accomplishing any of them (certain blog friends who have birthdays this week may want to wait awhile before checking the mail for their cards, for example), but I'm physically closer to them, and that's a start.

Isn't it?

Meanwhile, I have been catching up with all of you... and if any of you are catching up here: Hallo! It is the middle of March! Already! And there's a wedding shower I'm supposed to throw in three weeks! Would you kindly tell me why nobody knows what RSVP means anymore????

Wasn't that a nice welcome back?

:)

I just want to say a couple of things

Most of those things sound an awful lot like this: Sorry I'm not here so much.

Because I miss it, the outlet, and all of you. And, even though I said it last time, I'm really hoping to be able to recommit to posting here.

I am at my Grandmother's house: enjoying long days of chit chatting & showing of baby pictures, of extra loud news programs & stories I've never heard. Although I am pissed at the PUS because they continue to be insensitive asses, before I left the house I made some decisions:

1) I knew I was going to have to leave (their reassurance that there would be no smells is about as worthwhile to me as something else that smells really bad), and I still don't know if it was for good. And that's sad. If I'm all done living there, I'm all done living there, but it's still sad. Right now, I doubt that it will be permanent, just because there's other things abrewing, but I'll deal if it is. I will.

2) I love my Grandmother: I love spending time with her, even if she repeats her stories or tries to make my uncle give me help that I don't need. I always learn something new about somebody in our family, some nugget of treasure she's forgotten to pass along to me. We look at old albums and point out the guy who came to the reunion that nobody knew, or great-grandfather Gerry and how he walked dink toed, just like me (you know, back when I used to walk). I often feel upset that so many of my Grandmother's children are so far away: for her, and for them. Look what they're missing out on. Every time we get into a discussion, I have to physically resist reaching into my bag and pulling out my camera, turning it to record, and hiding it between the pillows. And I only resist because last time I did that she caught me, and was not pleased. A displeased Grandmother is not a fun time for anyone. So, even though the reason behind my visit is aggravating and frustrating, I decided before I left that I would enjoy it. The additional pain (from laying on her old lumpy couches all day and night), the new smells to get used to, the rashes from her soaps... that's all bearable because I'm more aware than ever that someday, probably soon, she won't be here for me to listen to, won't be here to repeat to me something she heard on the news (even though I was in the room, watching the news with her, and it was just 15 minutes ago). So, today I'll hold our visit close, watch the way she laughs at Lil Girl, the way her eyes crinkle up when she talks about her mother's death (when she was almost 6, so 84 years ago now) and what she was wearing in her coffin. I'm trying to memorize every little thing, because I feel so lucky to still have her here.

3) When I left Thursday morning, it was after the movers came to take Nana's things to storage. That was very difficult, for me and for mum. Because it was like seeing pieces of your childhood, only in the entirely wrong context. Nana's dollhouse didn't belong in a truck, all emptied out and furniture free... It had a place of honor, and was impeccably decorated. The ceramic people (including an older woman in a maid's outfit that we called Nana) should be lined up and waiting: Mother, Father, twin boys dressed in knickers, twin girls in red dresses. Those weird post thingees that I couldn't place were the ends of the dining room table, all pulled apart. Looking at the holes we used to crawl through, endlessly aggravating whichever adults happened to be sitting there, it felt like I had fallen through a hole myself: I was Alice, but instead of a wonderland, I was stuck here.
In tears. I'd prefer the Cheshire cat, I think.

4) There are good things, good and strong and exciting things that are trying to happen in our lives, and I'm trying to be strong enough to let them happen, to make them happen. Wedding showers and christenings, Lil Girl learning to count, Youngest Nephew's first viewing of Indiana Jones. Simple things and extravagant things, and just... other things. And it's hard to be in a place where I can deal with those things, but I know it'll get easier everyday, even though it feels like it won't.

This blog is one of those things.

Getting back to reading and writing and scrapping and the merry go round of medicine: all of those things need to happen, and I'm trying. I really, really am. And other things need to be let go, and I'm trying there too. The PUS, someday soon, are going to drift out of my orbit (or, preferably, be exploded out of my orbit, like that rogue satellite), and they won't be influencing my days any more. I look forward to that eventuality. Sincerely. But, just like I can't sit and wait to get better and do nothing about helping to get there, I've gotta be open to the next steps for getting them gone. So that means I'll be here for now, and they'll be there, and if never the twain shall meet again, that'd be a-ok with me.

(PS - odor free? Means that it smells so badly they moved into a hotel room for the weekend, and Mum, Dad & SisterCh all have headaches from it downstairs. With doors and windows open, in the middle of a snowstorm. Good call. Again.)

So, I'll be spending my day tomorrow (wait, today, as it's 1:14 am), gabbing with Grandmother. Looking at the snow covered streets out the window. Wishing that things were different, but trying to appreciate what is. Thanks for sticking around.

Ok so here's the thing

I didn't mean to write this post about how much you all mean to me and then totally disappear. Things got a little heavier around here, and trying to hold up my end of things has been ridiculously difficult for me, so something had to give. I'm SOOOO behind in my bloglines, I'm afraid to check them. I have been following a few blogs who's htmls I could remember on my own, but it's mostly been quick check-ins, just to make sure everybody's doing ok.

Which is also what this is: Checking in here, with all of you, so you know that I am ok, and I know you are ok. Well, ok may be stretching it a big, but I'm definitely hanging in there. Flaring seems to be my constant state, just lately. Stress, infections, cold weather: sooo not helpful. Nor is trying to step-up & help out more...that is really one of the hardest things, wanting to help SO MUCH, and only being able to do this much.

Brief update on family situations: Tomorrow is Nana's radiation consultation, and we'll find out her radiation schedule. The other night she choked on her medication (she's supposed to take them one at a time, but forgot), and literally stopped breathing right in front of me. Thankfully I was not alone in the house with her, because I screamed for my mum while franitically trying to figure a way to heimlich her while sitting - I was trying to get her to bend over the back of a chair... but it was forutunately unnecessary, as she threw up the pill (and quite a bit more) just as I got her to stand. This damned cancer is in her throat, it is a rather large mass, and it is obviously getting in the way of important things. I will be so grateful when it is no longer there, and am cautiously reassured by what her doctors are saying as far as how treatable this is.

My aunt is improving slowly, but we'll take whatever we can get. She still weighs under 100 lbs (this is a guess, but I would say about 85lbs): She is 5'7", naturally slight, but this is majorly different. She's starting eating again, and they're weaning her off her feeding tube. So, that's good. She's not 100% back, mentally yet, but that doesn't mean that any damage is permanent. She's had some adverse reactions to drugs, so those could be contributing. Either way, it's nice to have her be able to hold short conversations, to know that she recognizes me again.

The PUS continue to terrorize us all, and I am so over them. I'm trying so hard to ignore their acts, but it is hard. I just spent two days on the couch (on the other side of the house) when Mrs. PUS decided to pour gasoline in the snowblower - right outside my room. Mr. PUS continues to campaign to get Nana to change her will, her medical proxy, her ... everything. And to maniupulate her into seeing him as the injured party - to the amazement & detriment of us all. Including his critically ill sister & mother (Auntie E, Nana), his chronically ill niece (um.. me), & his completely overburdened sister (Mum). It certainly shows that he's changed and deserves the 'benefit of the doubt,' does it not? It is beyond my understanding why Nana can not see how harmful he is, and continues to insist on inflicting him/his beliefs on all of us... even to the point where Auntie E's husband has almost banned her from her visiting Auntie E, if she's so determined to bring him up. The whole thing makes me want to throw up.

And this has turned out to be not as brief as I'd thought, and, as usual, I feel better for writing it down.

Now it's your turns: Everybody good? Anybody got good news? I could certainly use some. Let me know what I've missed, if you get a chance.

Love, Me

Tempting Fate (part 2)

Here's yesterday's introduction to what we're talking about here, in case you missed it.

Mum's sister, Auntie E, was already in pretty serious shape - sedated and on a respirator, in a safe room - when we got up Thursday morning, so we knew it wasn't going to be the easiest holiday ... our celebrations, as they were, were supposed to be pretty low key anyways.

And then Nana (Mum's mother) calls and says that E's organ's are failing and Mr.PUS (Mum's brother) is going to drive her to the hospital immediately.

Now, in an attempt to not flood the internets (and my brain) with vicious hate, I have tried to keep the PUS postings to a minimum. (PUS, by the way is both the noun for what they are and the acronym - People UpStairs.) But there's a reason I call them that. They are, truly, despicable people. They are verbally abusive to all of us, most especially my Nana. If I must give a concise sort of encapsulate of their vitriol, I will say that the following things have been said, by them, to another member of our family: "If I have to, I will go down there and beat the shit out of them, I will set him on fire... you won't be able to stop me." "Your mother is a slut who hasn't worked a day in her life, because she couldn't keep her legs closed and just kept popping out kids." and... probably most important in this situation, "The wrong sister died." As said to Nana, about the death of her eldest daughter 20 years ago this month, and referring to his 2 remaining sisters, Mum and Auntie E.

Both Mum and Auntie E have refused to speak or deal with him, for about 3-4 years now. He, of course, considers himself the wronged party. It's all his sisters' fault for not speaking to him, for making him an outcast, blah de blah. So, this, of course, excuses his - and his family's - behavior towards us and towards Nana. It is ok to spread rumors in Nana & Auntie E's place of work, because it's our fault. It's ok to TOTALLY IGNORE Nana for more than a week - and I mean not speak a single word to her, even though you live in her house, on the same level as her - because it's us who are being mean to you.

It is all ridiculous and childish and hurtful and tense and disgusting, and, on its best day, makes me nauseous just to think about.

And, of course, this was not our best day.

So, long story short, Mr. PUS is not allowed to visit Auntie E - her husband has put a restriction on her visitors, and he is NOT ALLOWED.

So when Nana called and said that, Mum immediately said no, and said she'd take her. Nana - who, while I love her, totally makes this whole situation worse by not just doing something about it.. instead she plays both sides: she plays up her victim status to us, and let's him be the victim on his own side... says "Oh, but if it's that bad he HAS to see her... he's his sister."

No mention of the fact that it's his sister's RIGHT to choose, no, it's all about poor him.

Ahem.

Anyways... Nana has been sick out of her mind with worry this whole week - Auntie E is in bad shape (her chances, when last given, have been pretty evenly split), and Nana knows it. Not to mention that this time of year reminds her of when her daughter, Auntie M & her husband died (different years). Add the fact that she's got her own health issues: scary tests and possibly dangerous diagnoses to deal with.

But Mr. PUS doesn't care about that... it's all about how HE can't get in, how HE's trying to do the right thing, how SHE's doing him an injustice by not letting him in, how it's Mum's fault because she won't tell him anything, won't even look at him. And he's badgering Nana, all week long. I can see it; I can hear it.

And Nana, she just takes it. Snaps at us for interfering. Tells us he isn't, when he obviously is. Takes his side, again and again.

To the point that, Wednesday night, I got so upset and started planning this whole little speech (1 of about a million) I would give her the next day. About how she's constantly playing both sides, and it isn't right. How she keeps telling us that she's making them leave and then she never does. How all her daughters have ever done is stand up for her, their families, and themselves, and yet, somehow, she tries to make them seem like they are in the wrong.

But I never got to give the speech.

Because after Nana's phone call (and a quick check on Auntie E, who thankfully was not failing...she was, in fact the same - stable, and holding on), there was a little altercation between Mum and Mr.PUS (and me! Yay... blech~!) and then he took her to the hospital anyways.

He couldn't get in to see her (even though Nana tried to manipulate my uncle and cousin out of the room in order to get him in!!), and - here I am only guessing a little - took Nana aside and started berating her. He didn't scream (or else my other uncle and cousin would have heard & intervened), but he's capable of such a cold, blank intensity that it is frightening. And I am sure that he used it on her then. Then he left her there - without a ride - and came back home to slam the outer door and storm his way up the stairs.

My other uncle, Auntie E's husband, called Mum and told her to come get Nana... she left right away (leaving me in charge of the food).

And then she called, 25 minutes later, in tears.

Mum never cries... I mean... I have seen her cry, but maybe 10 times, total. So, I knew it was bad.

Nana had collapsed, she said. She'd thrown up and then passed out cold. My cousin had caught her, but they were taking her down to the emergency room.

Dad and SisterJ went to the emergency room right away - Mr. & Mrs. PUS both raced off as well - and I was here alone, left to call the rest of us and put Thanksgiving on the back burner, both literally and figuratively.

What followed is another, long, too-tiring-to-write-right-now post, but as of today, Nana is OK. She was dehydrated and stressed past her limit...and they've been giving her fluids and running tests. Since we already know that she's got some sort of mass (although we haven't really had a chance to digest that information yet, coming, as it did only a day and a half before my aunt's collapse), they're being extra careful and making sure the two things are not related. But she is much more her normal self, which is to say pissed off that she's still in the hospital, more than slightly scatterbrained (a whole nother worry), and ignoring that which she chooses to ignore.


Case in point - that SOB Mr. PUS is acting like the perfect son - taking her the paper in the morning, peeling her banana, acting solicitous to the doctors and nurses, trying to find out what he can. It makes me want to throw up. And here is one reason - in a post that is supposedly about my aunt and grandmother, who have I talked about the most...? He always manages to make it about him, when it is NOT ABOUT HIM!! And... even better... she lets him.

It is so hard to love someone so much, and still be so angry at them that they allow things like this to happen - to themselves and to our family. I'm mad at her for not taking better care of herself, or for not letting us take better care of her... but my being mad just adds more strain, which is dangerous for her. Does this make any sense? I feel like, even though I have a perfect right to be angry with her, I can't be angry with her because she's so sick.

SisterJ and I were talking about how, you always hear that when there's emergencies or difficulties, families are supposed to put aside their differences and come together. But how do we come together with him, with the rest of the PUS, knowing that their behaviors are one of the main factors in her being so sick? Having heard them screaming at her the night before, knowing how scared she was about her daughter, and still obviously not caring? How can you put that aside? I don't know that I can, even if it is what she wants us to do. I can't ignore it, knowing that this part... this solicitousness... is all an act, that nothing in his/their behavior has really changed. It would be nice to think that this scare has woken them up, but it hasn't: he continues to rail at my mother, at not being allowed access to Auntie E, at not being the one in charge of Nana's medical decisions (Mum is). He continues to try to manipulate things.


He hasn't changed, and neither has she: she refuses to see him for what he is, but I feel like I can't just put what I know about him aside.

I don't know if I can do that, not even for her.

And wow, this post is long and morose, and I thank you for listening, letting me babble it all out this way. Needless to say it's been a very difficult week, and adding my Flare to this all hasn't really helped - I was totally out of it Friday and Saturday, but my brain hasn't shut off since. The intensity of this Flare is largely because I tried to do to much - in the face of such crises, I couldn't exactly just go lay down whenever I needed to, plus there were a million things that Mum does for me that I had to attempt to do on my own, plus there were the million other things she normally does that I was trying to do. So, I'm not in the best spot, physically, right now either.

Which brings me back to the point: Things are getting better today. Yesterday, Auntie E was being taken off her ventilator, and the hope is that she'll be much improved today (Mum hasn't gone yet, so I don't know). Nana's ok right now, just pissed because they haven't let her go... she's hoping to come home tomorrow or Wednesday. And I am stuck in bed, but off to lose myself in the glories of the blogosphere (and maybe some internet shopping?): I really appreciate the chance to just get this all out of my head for a little bit.

And not typing anything else about how grateful I am that things are getting better, because I ain't tempting fate again.

Tempting Fate (part 1)

It took me more than an entire day to find the energy/block the pain long enough to type this much, so I know y'all won't mind if this post comes in fits and starts... here's the beginning. But let me just say this so you won't worry too much: today, we are all making do. We are all pushing through. We are all, hope to God, getting better.

From Wednesday's Post:

Because of issues - health, family, other assorted craziness - tomorrow is not looking like the easiest day, but also it is definitely not our hardest, and that is something to remember.

Why, exactly, do I feel the need to tempt fate? Was it our worst day ever... no. I've had a lot of worse days. And, sadly, will probably have more in the close-future. But... it was certainly our worst Thanksgiving.

Which makes it a prize, because five or six years ago, my Thanksgiving was spent in bed, while the rest of my family went to my aunt's house. And while I did not miss the in-law who laughs like a hyena, scarecrow girl, or the constant smell of wet dog, I did miss the family, the dinner, the connection.

Three or four years ago, in the week coming up to Thanksgiving, the PUS decided to spread mothballs in our basement, and I had to evacuate. I spent the week leading up to, and that Thanksgiving morning, bunked on the couch at Grandmother's house, and eventually got home in time to have a Thanksgiving meal with one sister, Mum & I, all laying on my bed, watching The Grinch. (And, this is all without mentioning my usual Post-Holiday Flare.)

And then, two years ago on Thanksgiving my Grandmother (my father's mother) passed out on our kitchen floor and we had to call the ambulance. She left looking like a ghost, and my brother said as she did "I feel like I'm never going to see her again." Fortunately, he was wrong: she's still alive and in pretty great health for a 90 year old. But it was unbelievably scary, impossibly chilling.

But, somehow, this Thanksgiving beat them all.

In which I find...

I find, this week, that I am more than a bit exhausted, and I don't want to deal with anything or anybody.

I find that I have been taking some things for granted.

I find that the PUS is doing their best to make our lives miserable, and ...
too often, I find that we are letting them.

I find that getting upset at night isn't really helpful with the whole CFIDS-insomnia thing.

I find that the more I want to say here, just lately, the less able I am to say it coherently.

I find out that hoping can be dangerous; again.

I find myself totally apathetic about tomorrow's doctor's appointment, because I am too tired to even think clearly, let alone hope to make sense while I'm there.

I find that midnight is a terrible time to be writing, when you are feeling this poorly.

Things I have to say today

• in random, bullet style:
  
  
  
  • Chicken Fingers should not be spicy.
  
  
  
  • Going to the dentist is scary, I don't care how old you are. (Even if the dentist is very sweet, probably younger than me & definitely better than last pervy guy dentist.)
  
  
  
  • Dear Channel 7 - Please stop with the alliteration. ("College Co-ed Caught and Kidnapped" and "Coffee Caper: a Horrific Holdup" is a bit much, don't you think??)



• Younger sisters need to stop traveling the world, buying new apartments, & going on blind dates (with pickle phobic strangers). I am feeling very left behind (except for the whole pickle thing). (And also, I should so stop beating up on myself for feeling totally jealous...ugh).



• Any commercial where people get hurt (Have you seen the new Corelle/model spot? LOL) will make my mother laugh. And I know it as soon as I see it... is there something wrong with us?



• I need to stop putting everything on the "when I get (even the tiniest bit) better" list. A lot of things I can't do until then, but I'm going to weed through it, find out what I can do now. There's gotta be some things...



• If the 1 against 100 questions don't get any harder, I might just sign up to play. Because I could probably get over all my "I hate being on cameras because I am fat and semi-broken" hang-ups if it meant I could win $1,00,000,000. Those questions are easy enough for my nephew (age 6). Are they going to get harder?




• I am too tired for family drama. Grown-ups need to stop acting like babies; sisters need to stop squabbling; everybody just needs to plain get in gear, here. I have spoken, so shall it be. (hahahahaha--- yeah right!)



• Must actually mail letters I have already written, instead of just letting them sit there on my desk.


I think that's it, but who really knows?

I'm off for double Jeopardy, which better be easy.

Songs to hate by

So there are these people in my family who, while they are technically related to me, I'd like to disown. They've behaved hideously in various ways & towards various people, for a number of years, and little hope for reconciliation. We don't talk to, or interact with any of them, if we can manage it. Personally, I've only broken my silence once in the past three years (when my aunt was trying to poison me by painting the back porch, and I asked her not to... she declined and I had to leave my house again, because she's a lunatic). But anyways, the point of sharing this tiny slice of my family insanity is that sadly, they still live upstairs from us.

The other day I was alone in my house, and the 17 year-old, at-least-as-crazy-and-dangerous-as-his-mother ex-cousin was upstairs by himself. (He's stopped going to school for whatever reason, so he's home everyday, playing video games loudly.) And it seemed like every six minutes or so, he came barreling down the stairs, (which happen to be right on the other side of my room) to check the front door for the mail. Our mailman doesn't seem to have any sort of regular delivery time -- sometimes it's as early as 10 a.m., others it's as late as 7 p.m. So there's no way to predict when it will come, and the only way to know if mail has come is to check the door. So, yes, if he wants to know if the mail came, he's got to come down and check.

Since my window looks out on the front door, I generally see or hear the mail come, but it isn't that big of a deal, because I'm not usually expecting anything either.

Well, crazy boy must've been expecting something very important (a truancy card addressed to his parents, perhaps)? Because he just kept racing down to check. Again and again and again. And he doesn't just walk down the stairs, like any normal person. No, he bombs down them... thump thump thump... And it sounds like he does that heel slide on the last few steps... you know, where you're too lazy to keep actually putting effort into walking, and you just flip flip down the last couple of steps? He does that, then bangs the door open and slams it closed again, even though all he really had to do was twitch aside the curtain and look out the window.

After about the 7th time he did this, I was starting to get really annoyed. It wasn't only the issue of the considerable noise, it was just his presence. Just knowing that they shouldn't be upstairs in the first place, his repeated interruptions kept reminding me of all the horrible things that they subject us all to, all of the tension and hatred that boils constantly around here. It was making me more frustrated and upset about this situation that just won't end.

But I know that getting upset over this crap isn't really helpful, and I really wanted not to let it bother me so much. Instead, I decided to have a bit of fun... It so happened that I was downloading songs onto my new laptop at the time, and I decided to find some songs wholly appropriate for our situation and then play them loudly each time loser boy came back.

So the next time he came roaring down the stairs it was to the tune of "You could drive a person crazy" sung by the lovely Bernadette Peters. After that came a little "Superfreak" chorus. Next mail check? "Less of You (is more)."

Not only did I build a fabulous music library on my computer (many of these songs/artists were new to me), I got out some of my pent up frustrations at this God-awful situation, and nobody really got hurt (ok... a few of the songs are a bit harsh... but he's clueless, so it isn't like he knew... and besides... harsh or not, they're still on point).

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Here's what else I picked up:
"You don't own me"(from the First Wives Club)
"Why don't you do right" (made popular by Jessica Rabbit)
"What is this feeling (loathing)?" (From the musical Wicked)
"Wake me up before you go go" (only because I want to see it actually happen)
"Tomorrow belongs to me" (In other words, you're not in it.)
"Time to say good-bye" (Yup... take the hint)
"These boots are made for walking" (So figure out how they work, and give 'em a try)
"Something stupid" (Yeah... it's you.)
"So long, farewell" (Could I be any clearer?)
"Schadenfraude" (From Avenue Q: has a very clear definition of shadenfraude itself, and illustrates many of the reasons I don't feel too guilty about this list)
"Punch in the nose"
"No one mourns the wicked" (Can you guess who I'm talking about here?)
"Last chance to lose your keys" (Isn't this just the greatest song name ever?)
"Time to change"
"I'll be glad when you're dead you rascal you" (Well, dead is certainly unnecessary... just... not HERE would suffice).
"I wonder what became of you" (Because I remember when you used to have morals, and, gee, I don't know... care about the people you claimed to love)
"Homewrecker"
"Hit the road jack
"Leave (get out)
"Movin on
"Leave right now
"Everything you know is wrong" (and let me underline the word everything)
"One way ticket"
"Na na na na good-bye"
"Get lost"
"The theme to the good, the bad, & the ugly" (Guess which is which)


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Wow, how's that for venting? And airing family problems in public? This post is the reason I haven't told my family that I have a blog. Not that anybody down here would do anything but chuckle about my rather odd manner of protesting, but still.

The list is still open for updating, so if you think of anything that should have been included, I'd love to hear about it. Because one of them will come down those stairs at least once everyday, and, even if the computer isn't on, I can still get a smile out of which song my mind chooses to replay at that moment.