(no subject)
my mother irritates me more these days than she used to.
When I was little, and she had gone on disability for her back injuries, I had wanted to protect her, as all little kids should.
They never mentioned that she had underlying mental disorders. I saw 'unipolar disorder' on her medic alert bracelet, but never really knew what it was.
She would be active one day and have to lie in bed all the next day; I thought that was solely caused by her back hurting after she had overdone it.
Really, even after going to visit her in Bridgeway on two different occasions, the fact that she was crazy never really stuck me until she went to college for a semester or two and wrote a paper she had me read about her entire ordeal.
And I don't know, but since then, my dad has become my more favored parent; this may be because I have some underlying bias against insane people.
Or perhaps it's because she keeps herself in the mindset of a small child.
I'm not saying she thinks or functions on such a level; She has been beset with grandchildren for six years now (though none of them are six years old) so that's obviously a factor, playing Grammie to them. (but dad is JimPa and doesn't have the same affliction)
But when she bounces into the living room of a mornin', and makes a big play of finding her 'bankie' a la Baby-Bop from Barney. (you all remember that, right?)
The only audience is her, myself, and dad. no children. and this irritates me to no end.
It feels like she doesn't want to treat me as anything besides a *little* kid (because once you turn five, barney is "stupid")
This is further illustrated in her attempts to clean up after me. Now, it's not entirely mature of me to disregard the mess on the living room table, but if she would ask me to clean it up, I would do so. I had started Sunday morning in tidying up some.
I had also placed three items that I needed to remember to bring to school in close proximity to the couch I habitually inhabit on school mornings.
This morning only one of them was present, the ACT registration form.
The second, a library book I barely spotted before leaving, as it was under two other books she had started 'tidying'.
I never saw the third until this afternoon, therefore I did not remember it, a video of Blast!, until third hour when band crossed my thoughts and I recalled that I had intended on returning the video today.
Good intentions and good housekeeping do not mesh.
At its most basic, this is a violation of my "stuff". It would be akin to her coming and clearing off my dad's desk in this room, where he keeps his business's paperwork. And then perhaps he would forget to inquire about that bill Mr. Burger hasn't paid, or forget about the balance he owes on some parts. And then where would he be?
I had to tell her not to throw any of the paperstuffs away before I left this morning. I could feel that she would like nothing better than to dump all that 'clutter' into the closest trash can. She may have anyways. Sometimes I do make notes on the bulletins they give us at church; even though most of them I transport to this room, the den, for safer keeping, perhaps I circled the name of a hymn that i liked and wanted to remember in future. (if she had thrown away my thoughts on the angelicness of Lowell then I would've been quite ticked off, same for if she threw away that envelop that baylor sent me, which has my most secret tic-tac-toe strategies on it)
Anyways, "why are you telling us this stuff, allie? We are not your mother!"
True.
But any time I try to tell this to her, she withers and protests.
If I suggest that she should leave my stuff alone, she acts like I'm accusing her. And perhaps I am, although I try to be as level toned as possible whenever I say anything.
But she refuses to let herself listen. I don't know if that's some delicate condition she's worked herself into in the last 35 years, but still.
It's aggravating.
When I was little, and she had gone on disability for her back injuries, I had wanted to protect her, as all little kids should.
They never mentioned that she had underlying mental disorders. I saw 'unipolar disorder' on her medic alert bracelet, but never really knew what it was.
She would be active one day and have to lie in bed all the next day; I thought that was solely caused by her back hurting after she had overdone it.
Really, even after going to visit her in Bridgeway on two different occasions, the fact that she was crazy never really stuck me until she went to college for a semester or two and wrote a paper she had me read about her entire ordeal.
And I don't know, but since then, my dad has become my more favored parent; this may be because I have some underlying bias against insane people.
Or perhaps it's because she keeps herself in the mindset of a small child.
I'm not saying she thinks or functions on such a level; She has been beset with grandchildren for six years now (though none of them are six years old) so that's obviously a factor, playing Grammie to them. (but dad is JimPa and doesn't have the same affliction)
But when she bounces into the living room of a mornin', and makes a big play of finding her 'bankie' a la Baby-Bop from Barney. (you all remember that, right?)
The only audience is her, myself, and dad. no children. and this irritates me to no end.
It feels like she doesn't want to treat me as anything besides a *little* kid (because once you turn five, barney is "stupid")
This is further illustrated in her attempts to clean up after me. Now, it's not entirely mature of me to disregard the mess on the living room table, but if she would ask me to clean it up, I would do so. I had started Sunday morning in tidying up some.
I had also placed three items that I needed to remember to bring to school in close proximity to the couch I habitually inhabit on school mornings.
This morning only one of them was present, the ACT registration form.
The second, a library book I barely spotted before leaving, as it was under two other books she had started 'tidying'.
I never saw the third until this afternoon, therefore I did not remember it, a video of Blast!, until third hour when band crossed my thoughts and I recalled that I had intended on returning the video today.
Good intentions and good housekeeping do not mesh.
At its most basic, this is a violation of my "stuff". It would be akin to her coming and clearing off my dad's desk in this room, where he keeps his business's paperwork. And then perhaps he would forget to inquire about that bill Mr. Burger hasn't paid, or forget about the balance he owes on some parts. And then where would he be?
I had to tell her not to throw any of the paperstuffs away before I left this morning. I could feel that she would like nothing better than to dump all that 'clutter' into the closest trash can. She may have anyways. Sometimes I do make notes on the bulletins they give us at church; even though most of them I transport to this room, the den, for safer keeping, perhaps I circled the name of a hymn that i liked and wanted to remember in future. (if she had thrown away my thoughts on the angelicness of Lowell then I would've been quite ticked off, same for if she threw away that envelop that baylor sent me, which has my most secret tic-tac-toe strategies on it)
Anyways, "why are you telling us this stuff, allie? We are not your mother!"
True.
But any time I try to tell this to her, she withers and protests.
If I suggest that she should leave my stuff alone, she acts like I'm accusing her. And perhaps I am, although I try to be as level toned as possible whenever I say anything.
But she refuses to let herself listen. I don't know if that's some delicate condition she's worked herself into in the last 35 years, but still.
It's aggravating.