Monday, July 30, 2012

We did some rearranging of our crap today, visited the apartment for some things we need, tech, blankets, junk...

"I wonder what it's like in Women's prison"

This is in reference to threats of turning me in to the police for poisoning him.  If you know me, you would laugh or cry at that thought.  It's one of the many paranoid accusations from his life in delusion.

Some of the highlights are: I smear feces around the house to mark my territory, I stay up all night watching him, I break into his locked bedroom (for what purpose is elusive since nothing has ever gone missing),  my 10 year old daughter broken into his room in the middle of the night to stare him down, that my 10 year old daughter scratched at his door and when he opened it she was hissing like a feral cat, I'm a dyke (not an insult in my world but clearly a bigoted insult in his), my father sucks she-male cock (see previous), I stole the laundry key, I open the door to the apartment in the middle of the night and leave it open for serial killers and rapists to enter ( I have witnessed him do this in his sleepwalking), I put poisonous spiders in his bed, I purposefully broke the phone (needs a new battery- I have a cell and never use said phone), turn down the temp of the water on the dishwasher, stole his mail, I'm a sociopath, psychopath, a nazi bitch cunt whore etc.  Every female-negative epithet.

His mother's proclamations of his miraculous healing have clearly been exaggerated.

I am looking at this pile of stuff wondering how we will manage hauling around the sound.  The last time we were "on vacation" I at least had the minivan.  Now it's just a granny cart and some rolling luggage.

Sunday, July 29, 2012

donate bags of clothes and toys outgrown

move stuff out of the apartment and into the car or storage unit (with a bus pass?)

pack up bags for "vacation" around the sound for august

find a place in NK district for september

laundry, dishes, cook, clean, take pills

remain calm.


It's kind of crazy over here, I feel I can do little to help other than to lend my calm.  Meanwhile, I am watching time drip like a cosmic drop of the last bit of coffee as it splashes into the unknown vessel below.  The anxiety is easy to quell because I have this blind faith that we can handle anything that comes to pass- not that it will be enjoyable, or even comfortable, but that we can handle it.

I want to help but I feel helpless.

It's only a few days between the choice of crazy abuse or crazy pain.  I'll take the pain because it is only mine, whereas the abuse will belong also to my daughter if we stay.  Her grandmother is continuing to support the abuser and is perpetuating the cycle of dysfunction, determined to believe that if she prays hard enough it will all be well- in effect tossing aside the disabled single mother and grade school child in order to support the unemployed fully capable family member who has been perpetrating insufferable emotional and verbal abuses.  I have a hard time forgiving her for being the benefactor of such, especially when everyone else around her can see clearly the suffering it has caused.

It makes it very difficult to feel at all thankful for the manner in which she had opened her home to us.  Free rent is never free.  It has been at a great cost to my health- physiologically (dealing with the purposeful use of chemicals which trigger my chemical sensitivities) as well as the weight of such constant stress (from verbal abuse and consistent defamation of character).  

If my adult child had been caught abusing a disabled woman in front of her young daughter, I suppose the easiest thing to do would be to deny the behavior.  I do understand the disbelief, the things he has said are indeed unbelievable.  But I generally don't do the easiest thing and prefer to act with honor and honesty (as much as possible) with myself and with the perceptions of my family and friends.

I keep ending up with crazy.  I don't know if it's because if my karma from  previous life or from this one.  Perhaps I have a neon "open" sign above my head which is perceivable only by a specific set of behavioral disorders.