Whew, last night was NOT a good night in my world. As I’ve mentioned before, my mom is disabled and has severe schizophrenia. Well, she has chosen not to take any medication so she’s definitely not stable on the best of days. Last night I got home from work and was dragging in a large package I had received in the mail for my home business (it’s something I do on the side). As I walked in I knocked over a medium sized potted plant. This sent my mom into a ballistic rage. She began yelling at me about how my “fat ass needs to lose weight”, how I “carry myself like an elephant”, etc. She continued to yell at me about how I can’t get a decent boyfriend because I’m such a fat cow…and on…and on…and on. She also told me that she can see why my boss treats me the way she does at work if I act like such a filthy, sloppy, fat pig.
*Sigh* All of this definitely wore me out emotionally and even physically. I felt horrible afterwards. I had no desire to even move off of my bed. I laid down under the covers and felt numb. To be honest, this behavior should not bother me since my mother always yells at me like that. I try hard to remind myself that it’s the mental illness speaking, not her, but it’s trying nonetheless. She’s been so “off” since I was about 8 years old, that it’s hard to tell when the real “Alice” (not her real name, changed for her protection. This is also one of her alter egos when she loses touch with reality.)
I can almost remember when my mom’s mental health went from great to non-existent. She had always been the picture perfect stay-at-home mom. She was a member of the PTA, the Girl Scout leader, the upstanding member of the community. At home she was Betty Crocker and kept the house spotless while my dad worked as a police officer. But behind closed doors, she suffered the fate of a unfaithful, abusive husband. My dad cheated on my mom multiple times (with much younger women), hit her, destroyed the house, etc. He let the power of being a cop get to his head and took it out on my mom. Her psyche was weak and through years of this behavior and uncalled for suffering, I think it all caused her to “lose it”. She had 2 nervous breakdowns that I can remember, and was never the same afterwards.
During summer vacation when I was about 8 years old, my mom decided she would sit in the bathroom and unknot a large basket of hair ribbons & barrettes. She was very intent on making sure there was not a single knot in anything. I had a strange feeling in my stomach and knew that I was witnessing some kind of change in her. Even at that tender age, the change did not feel right. Over the course of the next few days, my mom began doing some very odd things. She started talking about how I couldn’t wear certain colors together, how I had to wear certain colors on specific days of the week, etc. On another day I caught my mom sitting in the bathroom with a stack of magazines on the floor and a pen. She called me in to sit with her and color coordinate my extensive collection of hair ribbons all the while asking me if the people in magazines looked like certain people (an old teacher, my father’s ex lovers, etc). As I confirmed the similarities, she would draw a pentacle on their forehead or other characters which I cannot remember. After that, it became worse until she had a full blown nervous breakdown at my grandparent’s house about a year later. The second nervous breakdown came about a year after the first, when my grandfather, whom she was very close to, passed away.
Anyway, last night was really bad. I know I need to be more understanding, but the thoughts of how I used to hurt myself came flooding back and I almost began longing to cut again. For those of you who have never cut before, you would never be able to understand the feelings that are associated with self mutilation. Only a fellow cutter knows the intense flooding of relief that comes with the first painful sensation of a fresh razor wound. Yes, that’s absolutely disgusting to say, but it’s what a recovering cutter like myself remembers at times like this when the temptation is overwhelming. I felt almost entranced by the idea and found myself envisioning myself cutting up my wrists like I did in the past. I started to think about my job and thought that maybe my legs would be better so I could hide the wounds easier in my professional work environment. I started thinking about how I would still scratch myself in my sleep. In fact, just a few months back I woke up with deep scratches on my cheeks from where I had basically mutilated myself in my sleep. It must be some sort of pent up aggression coming out, I think. Maybe I need a psych…
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