idek you guys...
This is the part where I come clean about everything that I haven't wanted to think about for the last few months. I haven't wanted to think about it, and writing about it would have been like admitting that there was really a problem. And I haven't wanted to admit there was a problem, because if it was anything I could fix, it would have been fixed already.
After four or five false starts, I think I've finally found the beginning of the story. (Or I've rewound far enough that the story will make sense.)
My stepfather owned a roofing company in New York when I was growing up. We lived in a tourist-y area where a lot of well-to-do people had summer homes. One of those people hired my stepfather to do some work on his summer home, and was apparently so pleased with the work that after Hurricane Katrina laid waste to the gulf states, he hired my stepfather to come down and do the repair work on the beach resort he owns in Florida. (This is the same beach resort I work for now, by the way.)
Then, instead of going back to New York afterwards, my stepfather stayed on, doing maintenance work for the hotel, and also doing maintenance work on the small cattle ranch the guy owned, located about an hour and a half from the beach. There are three residences located on this ranch. The main ranch house, the trailer my parents live in, and the trailer I am currently living in. Their trailer belongs to them, but the one I am living in is the property of the man who owns everything ever.
And that went on for a while. Fast forward to last year, when I move down to Florida. I'm living there for a while, and then my stepfather arranges for me to get the job working as a parking attendant at the beach resort, in July. That works out well, and he and I are driving to work together, conserving gas and shit. And then January rolls around, and my stepfather gets himself fired. See, he and my mother are both heavy alcoholics, and he had a cold or some shit and took nyquil (or something similar) while he was working. And while he's supposed to be fixing a headboard in one of the hotel rooms, he falls asleep on the bed. This is during the busy season down here. The management was not pleased, and he'd already had a number of other strikes against him because, like I said, he's an alcoholic, and is so much an alcoholic that he pretty much doesn't stop drinking. Ever. So he was drinking on the job, and I'm not sure what else.
However, we don't get evicted from the ranch, because he's only fired from the hotel. He's still supposed to be doing maintenance at the ranch. Mowing the (rather extensive) lawn, fixing fences, keeping the pool clean, and a number of other things. Well. Needless to say my stepfather proceeds to not do any of these things, because he is bitter about being fired (even though he totally deserved it), and thinks he ought to be receiving payment for his work at the ranch, despite the fact that he does not pay for rent or electricity.
Now, I'm not really sure when it happened, but at some point in maybe February, March, or April, my mother has a stroke. It is only after the fact that we recognize that fact, because, she is a severe alcoholic, and kind of staggers around to begin with. But after that point, her leg was apt to give out without warning, and she was falling down, resulting in bruises and the like. Even after we figured out that she must have had a mild stroke, she refuses to see a doctor. I expect this is partly straight-up stubbornness, fear of what she might be told (or maybe just fear she'll be forced to quit drinking and smoking) and partly the fact that we don't have insurance. And as much as I'd like to insist, I can't afford her doctor bills. Now she barely eats, she can barely stagger to the bathroom, which is the next room over from hers. Her biceps are almost smaller than my wrists. I've bought her multivitamins, in an attempt to supply some of the vitamins I know she's not getting from the inadequate amounts of food she eats, but multivitamins are like horse-pills, and she can't swallow them without triggering her gag reflex. Some days, she gets so out of breath that she can't talk but in a voice that sounds like it belongs to someone who just ran a mile at a sprint.
And then, about two months ago, my stepfather starts deteriorating in almost the same way, though it seems kind of strange to me that two people would suffer strokes at almost the same time. He barely eats, either, though he seems to be better able to walk than my mom. His feet are all swollen up, like from gout. He looks almost as emaciated as my mom. Doesn't stop drinking or smoking though. He complains he has asthma (which I'm not sure he does), but then lights up a cigarette in the next breath.
The day I bought my car, my stepfather drove me to Bradenton. He left the dealership before I did, because I had to go with the salesman over to a different lot to pick up the car I was buying. I wrote down clear directions to get him out of town. He only had to make two turns to get him on the road that would take him straight home. Somehow, he got lost. (I say "somehow," but really it was probably related to the bottle of vodka he had in the truck with him.) Needless to say, he doesn't remember much from that day at all. See, what we think happened is that he got lost on his way out of Bradenton, and he stopped at a gas station to get directions. And proceeded to black out inside the store. An ambulance was called, and he was taken to the hospital, where they apparently ran tests. Tests he can't afford to pay for, nor did we get any kind of results to.
Until the next day, my mother and I assumed he got arrested for dui, but he shows up that morning saying that he was at the hospital in Naples. Apparently, he didn't bother to ask where the fuck he was when they released him, because he was at the hospital in Bradenton (possibly called Manatee County Hospital or some shit). And he thought that he'd been in town four miles away when he had his accident, not the hour and a half away that Bradenton is. Needless to say it was a headache and a half to find his truck, and I'm still not sure how he got so lost in the first place.
But that is a prime example of how fucked up my stepfather is.
So. I'm pretty sure they're both dying. Dying slowly. They aren't trying to take care of themselves, and I am trying to do the best I can, but I can't afford any hospital bills, and they refuse to go in voluntarily. Apparently last week my mother fell down and couldn't pick herself back up, and my stepfather called the ambulance, but she refused to go with them. (She thought it was amusing to tell me that apparently the EMTs were very attractive. I was not amused.) And I just don't know what to do.
And now I just spoke to the guy that owns the hotel I work for, and the property we live on. His son was at the ranch a few weeks ago, and saw how my stepfather hadn't been doing anything to keep the ranch in shape, and now the owner is pissed. And he told me to tell my stepfather that if my stepfather isn't going to do what he is supposed to be doing at the ranch, then he is going to be kicked out. In no uncertain terms. I'm not sure what this is going to mean for my living situation, because he didn't say anything about what would happen to me if he ends up kicking my stepfather out, but I'm inclined to believe it might mean I have to pay rent if, in fact, I am not also going to be kicked out, and I really cannot afford to pay rent. Basically, if the owner shows up to the ranch and the grass is taller than like, an inch, my stepfather is screwed.
We have a tractor lawnmower, so it's not as if it would really strain my stepfather much to do it. And all the other maintenance that needed to be done was taken care of when the owner's son was at the ranch, so my stepfather wouldn't even need to do anything very heavy. But I just don't see him doing it. And I'm so afraid. I'm afraid I'm not just being overly pessimistic about my stepfather. I don't know where they're going to go if they get kicked out. I don't know where I'm going to go if I am also kicked out. And if I am kicked out and happen to find somewhere to go, chances are I won't be able to afford the payments for this stupid new car I have, and that's going to fucking suck too.
It's like. I honestly don't want my mother or stepfather to die. I want them to act like responsible adults and take care of themselves properly, because if I fucking wanted children, I would have children. And they would be tiny and cute, not emaciated adults who smell like cigarettes and booze. I don't think it's selfish of me to think that way. Quite frankly, if they were taking care of themselves properly in the first place, they wouldn't be in such bad shape, because they're really not even old enough for their health to be so poorly. My mother is only fifty. My real father is older than that. My real father is also an alcoholic, but he is apparently not as bad an alcoholic because he's still gainfully employed as a pipefitter, and I'd be willing to bet that if I saw him tomorrow, his biceps would still be as big as calves, like they were the last time I saw him, three years ago.
However, if my mother and stepfather are going to continue their self-destructive behaviour, I wish they wouldn't bring me down with them. And that is selfish, but their lives are their own to live, and if they won't listen to my advice when I tell them they need to eat more and take vitamins and lay off the fucking vodka, then what exactly am I supposed to do? If they are set on drinking themselves to death, some small, bitter part of me wishes they would just get on with it already, because I'm tired of constantly feeling nauseated and on the verge of tears.
After four or five false starts, I think I've finally found the beginning of the story. (Or I've rewound far enough that the story will make sense.)
My stepfather owned a roofing company in New York when I was growing up. We lived in a tourist-y area where a lot of well-to-do people had summer homes. One of those people hired my stepfather to do some work on his summer home, and was apparently so pleased with the work that after Hurricane Katrina laid waste to the gulf states, he hired my stepfather to come down and do the repair work on the beach resort he owns in Florida. (This is the same beach resort I work for now, by the way.)
Then, instead of going back to New York afterwards, my stepfather stayed on, doing maintenance work for the hotel, and also doing maintenance work on the small cattle ranch the guy owned, located about an hour and a half from the beach. There are three residences located on this ranch. The main ranch house, the trailer my parents live in, and the trailer I am currently living in. Their trailer belongs to them, but the one I am living in is the property of the man who owns everything ever.
And that went on for a while. Fast forward to last year, when I move down to Florida. I'm living there for a while, and then my stepfather arranges for me to get the job working as a parking attendant at the beach resort, in July. That works out well, and he and I are driving to work together, conserving gas and shit. And then January rolls around, and my stepfather gets himself fired. See, he and my mother are both heavy alcoholics, and he had a cold or some shit and took nyquil (or something similar) while he was working. And while he's supposed to be fixing a headboard in one of the hotel rooms, he falls asleep on the bed. This is during the busy season down here. The management was not pleased, and he'd already had a number of other strikes against him because, like I said, he's an alcoholic, and is so much an alcoholic that he pretty much doesn't stop drinking. Ever. So he was drinking on the job, and I'm not sure what else.
However, we don't get evicted from the ranch, because he's only fired from the hotel. He's still supposed to be doing maintenance at the ranch. Mowing the (rather extensive) lawn, fixing fences, keeping the pool clean, and a number of other things. Well. Needless to say my stepfather proceeds to not do any of these things, because he is bitter about being fired (even though he totally deserved it), and thinks he ought to be receiving payment for his work at the ranch, despite the fact that he does not pay for rent or electricity.
Now, I'm not really sure when it happened, but at some point in maybe February, March, or April, my mother has a stroke. It is only after the fact that we recognize that fact, because, she is a severe alcoholic, and kind of staggers around to begin with. But after that point, her leg was apt to give out without warning, and she was falling down, resulting in bruises and the like. Even after we figured out that she must have had a mild stroke, she refuses to see a doctor. I expect this is partly straight-up stubbornness, fear of what she might be told (or maybe just fear she'll be forced to quit drinking and smoking) and partly the fact that we don't have insurance. And as much as I'd like to insist, I can't afford her doctor bills. Now she barely eats, she can barely stagger to the bathroom, which is the next room over from hers. Her biceps are almost smaller than my wrists. I've bought her multivitamins, in an attempt to supply some of the vitamins I know she's not getting from the inadequate amounts of food she eats, but multivitamins are like horse-pills, and she can't swallow them without triggering her gag reflex. Some days, she gets so out of breath that she can't talk but in a voice that sounds like it belongs to someone who just ran a mile at a sprint.
And then, about two months ago, my stepfather starts deteriorating in almost the same way, though it seems kind of strange to me that two people would suffer strokes at almost the same time. He barely eats, either, though he seems to be better able to walk than my mom. His feet are all swollen up, like from gout. He looks almost as emaciated as my mom. Doesn't stop drinking or smoking though. He complains he has asthma (which I'm not sure he does), but then lights up a cigarette in the next breath.
The day I bought my car, my stepfather drove me to Bradenton. He left the dealership before I did, because I had to go with the salesman over to a different lot to pick up the car I was buying. I wrote down clear directions to get him out of town. He only had to make two turns to get him on the road that would take him straight home. Somehow, he got lost. (I say "somehow," but really it was probably related to the bottle of vodka he had in the truck with him.) Needless to say, he doesn't remember much from that day at all. See, what we think happened is that he got lost on his way out of Bradenton, and he stopped at a gas station to get directions. And proceeded to black out inside the store. An ambulance was called, and he was taken to the hospital, where they apparently ran tests. Tests he can't afford to pay for, nor did we get any kind of results to.
Until the next day, my mother and I assumed he got arrested for dui, but he shows up that morning saying that he was at the hospital in Naples. Apparently, he didn't bother to ask where the fuck he was when they released him, because he was at the hospital in Bradenton (possibly called Manatee County Hospital or some shit). And he thought that he'd been in town four miles away when he had his accident, not the hour and a half away that Bradenton is. Needless to say it was a headache and a half to find his truck, and I'm still not sure how he got so lost in the first place.
But that is a prime example of how fucked up my stepfather is.
So. I'm pretty sure they're both dying. Dying slowly. They aren't trying to take care of themselves, and I am trying to do the best I can, but I can't afford any hospital bills, and they refuse to go in voluntarily. Apparently last week my mother fell down and couldn't pick herself back up, and my stepfather called the ambulance, but she refused to go with them. (She thought it was amusing to tell me that apparently the EMTs were very attractive. I was not amused.) And I just don't know what to do.
And now I just spoke to the guy that owns the hotel I work for, and the property we live on. His son was at the ranch a few weeks ago, and saw how my stepfather hadn't been doing anything to keep the ranch in shape, and now the owner is pissed. And he told me to tell my stepfather that if my stepfather isn't going to do what he is supposed to be doing at the ranch, then he is going to be kicked out. In no uncertain terms. I'm not sure what this is going to mean for my living situation, because he didn't say anything about what would happen to me if he ends up kicking my stepfather out, but I'm inclined to believe it might mean I have to pay rent if, in fact, I am not also going to be kicked out, and I really cannot afford to pay rent. Basically, if the owner shows up to the ranch and the grass is taller than like, an inch, my stepfather is screwed.
We have a tractor lawnmower, so it's not as if it would really strain my stepfather much to do it. And all the other maintenance that needed to be done was taken care of when the owner's son was at the ranch, so my stepfather wouldn't even need to do anything very heavy. But I just don't see him doing it. And I'm so afraid. I'm afraid I'm not just being overly pessimistic about my stepfather. I don't know where they're going to go if they get kicked out. I don't know where I'm going to go if I am also kicked out. And if I am kicked out and happen to find somewhere to go, chances are I won't be able to afford the payments for this stupid new car I have, and that's going to fucking suck too.
It's like. I honestly don't want my mother or stepfather to die. I want them to act like responsible adults and take care of themselves properly, because if I fucking wanted children, I would have children. And they would be tiny and cute, not emaciated adults who smell like cigarettes and booze. I don't think it's selfish of me to think that way. Quite frankly, if they were taking care of themselves properly in the first place, they wouldn't be in such bad shape, because they're really not even old enough for their health to be so poorly. My mother is only fifty. My real father is older than that. My real father is also an alcoholic, but he is apparently not as bad an alcoholic because he's still gainfully employed as a pipefitter, and I'd be willing to bet that if I saw him tomorrow, his biceps would still be as big as calves, like they were the last time I saw him, three years ago.
However, if my mother and stepfather are going to continue their self-destructive behaviour, I wish they wouldn't bring me down with them. And that is selfish, but their lives are their own to live, and if they won't listen to my advice when I tell them they need to eat more and take vitamins and lay off the fucking vodka, then what exactly am I supposed to do? If they are set on drinking themselves to death, some small, bitter part of me wishes they would just get on with it already, because I'm tired of constantly feeling nauseated and on the verge of tears.