The Cat

I'll bet if you ask NM, one of the worst things I've done to her is get my cat.  NM hates cats.  NM claims to be afraid of cats, which I think is partially true.  But she also hates them.  Which I guess says a lot about her. It's not enough just to be fearful of the thing, you also have to hate the thing too.  I mean, I'm terrified of snakes.  I don't particularly like them.  But I can recognize their beauty (except those cold, staring eyes).  But I don't hate the animal.  NM has lots of water snakes around her home.  She once told me that she runs them over with the lawnmower...FOR ME.  Ick.  No one asked her to do that.  And in fact, I wouldn't want her to do that.  It's not the damn snake's fault that I am afraid of it.  But again, there is some insight into her mentality.  It doesn't have a right to exist because of my fear.  With cats, she has no problem making comments about how she wished this or that cat dead.  Or hope that something would kill them.  She has absolutely no care for the fact that it is a living being.

Anyway, NM is deathly afraid (we'll just use this word) of cats.  She has been since she was a kid.  She will run screaming from them.  She used to jump behind me or my sister, death grip on our arm, if she was at a home with one.  It was always our job to "protect" her from the cats.  She used to profess often that she hoped my sister and I wouldn't also get her fear.  I somehow believe she felt differently.  I bet she wanted both of us to be afraid.  She wanted us to "share" in this with her.  She certainly didn't try to hide it from us.  She always has made a huge show of it.

I am very allergic to dogs.  So, due to this and mom's fear of the cats we never had a pet growing up.  When my sister left home, she immediately got a dog.  I felt so badly that she didn't have one, because I knew it was my fault and was glad she finally got to experience having a pet.  Several years ago, Mom decided to get herself a dog.  She claimed it would be an "outside" dog, as I'm so allergic that I would never be able to come to her home with the dog.  So, she kept it "outside" most of the time.  But it started to slip that the dog would come in here and there.  She would say she was watching T.V. while the dog was on her lap, etc.  These little slips were no slip at all, but purposeful digs to let me know she was doing something to harm me in a way.  But I didn't begrudge her the dog.  Sure, my allergies acted up at her house, but not that significantly because the dander wasn't all over the house.  And we rarely went to her house anyway.  And why should she have to sacrifice for me anyway?

Then several years after she got the dog, a stray cat wondered onto my porch.  It refused to leave.  It followed me around outside.  And once, when our door was open, it bounded inside and jumped on a small piece of fish on the floor that had fallen near the garbage as we were cleaning up the nights dinner.  I felt sorry for the wretched creature.  And so I opened up a can of tuna fish.  Well, that did it.  It refused to leave.  And it really was such a nice cat.  It was clear that it had, recently, been someone's pet and they'd dropped it off, far from it's home so it had no way to get back.  Everyday as  I came home from work, that cat was waiting for me and would run and meow for attention.  So, I fed it more and looked for a home for it.  I believed that I was also allergic to cats, but as the cat came more and more into the house, I noticed no allergy attacks.  The cat slept next to me, curled up next to me and nothing happened.  And then the day came that I was to take it to it's new home.  I couldn't do it.  I cried and cried.  I put off taking it to the new house.  This would've been my first pet I'd ever had and I was bonded.  I was so torn though.  I knew NM would kill me.  But I kept it anyway.  And there was hell to pay.

NM took it as a personal affront to her.  That I'd done it on purpose.  And maybe she was right in a way.   Maybe I felt it would be somewhat of a boundary that I couldn't have put up myself.  It was a way to assert my independence.  My individuality.  I didn't keep it because of her, but I certainly didn't hate that their were consequences for her.

Unfortunately, that poor kitty passed away shortly after we got it.  It was struck by a car and I was devastated.  Ironically, it passed on the same day that my mother came to visit.  I couldn't go look for him despite the fact that I knew something was wrong, because I was busy entertaining her.  But  I was guilt ridden and devastated when I found him the next day.  I remember NM calling and asking if I'd found him yet.  Well, she texted.  And she used my nickname for the cat, and she spelled it very wrong.  When  I told her what happened, she said "Oh, I can't believe that I'm crying over a cat!"  (bolding is mine) .  She didn't really ask about me much before she turned it to her.  It was always about her.

Several weeks later, I went to the pound to get a another cat.  If NM  found the first cat to be a personal attack, me actually choosing to get one, was a slap in the face.  And she's never let me forget it.  She never has a nice thing to say about my cat (who I'll call kitty).  She's always making faces and disparaging remarks about him.  She and Estep-father like to make nasty comments about cats, how they hate cats, how they want to kill ones around their house.  How their dog trees cats and would kill one.  She once brought a cattle -prod to keep the cat away from her when she came to stay.  She said it with a smile on her face.  Like it was funny.  I became enraged and said their would be no way she would use force on my cat.  And let's be clear, the cat is rarely, if at all out of a locked room when she is here (he is very well taking care of in a large room with a litter box and food) but locked away, none the less.  I do allow him out so that he can visit the litter box (if he's in another room) and I let him out at night because he would scratch up our room.  Again, this is a personal attack.  She makes big deals about texting before she gets here.  She has snuck around to the back of my house to peer in the windows to see if he is "put away".  She loves to use the excuse that she is just looking for the cat when she snopes and peaks in our windows.  She makes huge deals about it and jumps and bounces around the room.  She sinks her fingernails into my skin if he walks past her.  She damn near knocked me to the ground once trying to get away from him as I was four days past a c-section and holding my infant.  She never apologized to me.  She has yelled at the cat for cleaning itself (she also yells at her own dog for bodily functions that it can't really control).  She is down right hostile towards the animal.  But now, she tells DS that she is "allergic" to the cat because she doesn't want HIM to be afraid too.  Yeah, because he would be so easily swayed by her jumping around like a freak that he'd be afraid too.  I don't mind her being afraid, I understand that.  But the fact that she openly hates the cat, talks horribly about it, and wishes him death bothers me.

And ironically, she takes very personal affront to the fact that I don't allow my kids around her dog.  Because her dog bites and growls and has snapped at other small kids.  She thinks that I'm implying her dog is a bad dog.  I don't believe that, but I believe he is and "adults only" dog and is behaving how many dogs would.  But I'm not stupid.  I won't trust my kids around him.

It's all very strange and bizarre.

The Rain (King)

Heard this song today.  It rang true to me somehow.

When I think of heaven 
(Deliver me in a black-winged bird) 
I think of flying down into a sea of 
pens and feathers and all other 
instruments of faith and sex and God 
in the belly of a black-winged bird 
Don't try to feed me 
I've been here before and I deserve a little more 

I belong in the service of the Queen 
I belong anywhere but in between 
She's been crying, I've been thinking 
And I am the Rain King 

I said mama, mama, mama 
Why am I so alone? 
I can't go outside 
I'm scared I might not make it home 
I'm alive, but I'm sinking in 
If there's anyone home at your place 
Why don't you invite me in? 
Don't try to bleed me 
I've been there before and I deserve a little more 

I belong in the service of the Queen 
I belong anywhere but in between 
She's been lying 
I've been sinking 
And I am the Rain King 

Hey, I only want the same as anyone 
Henderson is waiting for the sun 
Oh, it seems night endlessly begins and ends 
After all the dreaming I come home again 

When I think of heaven 
(Deliver me in a black-winged bird) 
I think of dying 
Lay me down in a field of flame and heather 
Render up my body into the burning heart of God in 
The belly of a black-winged bird 
Don't try to bleed me 
I've been here before and I deserve a little more 

I belong in the service of the Queen 
I belong anywhere but in between 
She's been dying 
I been drinking and I am the Rain King
---
"Rain King" as written by Adam/bryson Duritz

Monsters Under the Bed

Someone (please forgive me for not remembering who) suggested that Narcs are like monsters under the bed, laying in wait.  This image led me to a crazy train of thought.  Few people I know would describe NMIL as a monster.  Some would describe NM and NSis that way, but they are a little more "out in the open".    And my stories are not as horrible (little physical violence, no real screaming fits, little to actually be "fearful" of) and so I often wondered if I was actually just imagining my monsters.
But I think that is one of the things I've found the most confusing about all of this.  I am more certain than ever that these women in my life are narcissistic, toxic, and at minimum, difficult.  But they are not "monsters" as others would describe them.  How could I reconcile this?

I used to teach preschool.  We had a discussion about strangers with the kids.  We had them describe bad guys.  Of course they used words like "ugly" "mean" "wearing black" and other typical "bad guy" terminology.  But that was actually scary.  Because the bad guys that could harm them probably wouldn't look like the bad guy lurking in the shadows at all.  He wouldn't be some shady figure hiding in the corner.  Because, really, what kid would go near that?  And then how would he get to them?  No, bad guys are your neighbors, and friend's of your parents, your teachers, the football coach.  Bad guys have shiny trinkets to lure you.  Bad guys seem like nice guys.

And when you look at "grown up" bad guys, most of them aren't wearing horns either.  Of course, we have masked robbers and the creepy dude on the street corner.  But the real bad guys are better at hiding themselves.  They look like your friends, and neighbors, and relatives.  They are financial advisors, and friends, and coaches, and the nice guy down the street who you discover is a serial killer but you never knew because "he seemed like a nice guy.  Kept to himself.  Mowed his lawn.  Always had a treat for my dog."

Bad guys can't be bad guys by advertising it.  Lions don't sit in the open waiting for prey to walk by.  If we all saw it coming, we'd all run for the hills.  Bad guys look like good guys.



Post Note:  I've found so many words that describe narcissism sound very violent.  For example, "narcissistic rage".  Although, it's clear to me that many, many people suffered violent retribution, for me that wasn't really true.  My narcissists "rage" is very covert, sneaky, and passive aggressive.  Do any of you have examples of narcissistic rage that is really about anger but is hidden because it is not out and out violence?

Temporary Post: Need Advice from Blogger Friends

**Note, I've realized I left some names and will have to change them, so this post is being updated.  Also, I should've mentioned that this is a typical email.  I get them several times a week, and almost all emails contain something of this kind.

I am copying and pasting the email I received just minutes ago as I wrote my last post.  It will be up temporarily, as it is an exact copy and I fear that if I leave it up for too long, I will get discovered.  But I look forward to comments from my blogger friends before I take it back down.

This FB message was sent to me by NM:
(and this is it in it's entirety)

(THIS EMAIL HAS BEEN REMOVED TO PROTECT MY ANONYMITY.   PLEASE NOTE THAT IT WAS A LONG, DRAWN OUT DESCRIPTION OF A HER LATEST BOUGHT OF MEDICAL PROBLEMS, FINANCIAL PROBLEMS, WHICH REALLY ARE NOT PROBLEMS AT ALL) 

What the hell do I respond to THIS?

Epiphanies and Cowards

After a discussion today with another blogger about how a narcissist likes to display herself to the world I got to thinking about my NMIL.  I had discussed how, particularily as of late, she has been dressing way beneath her years.  Not just trying to be young.  But wearing things outfits more appropriate (if even then) for a teenager.  Exposing herself and dressing up in a way to gain attention.  Again, much like a teenager, strutting and preening to gain some desperately needed attention.  That I've seen her try on so many identities like a preschooler in the dress up clothes bin.
And as I did the dishes tonight I thought, how very, very sad for her.  How sad she is and how sad of a person she is.  And how I really ought to feel sorry for her.  But I don't.  And I've never been able to figure out why.  In describing her behavior to my mother once (yes, my own NM, oh the irony) she said "well, she really does sound like she has low self-esteem.  It's very sad."  I thought, well, yeah, it is.  But, why the hell don't I care.  I mean, I'm usually very compassionate for people like this.  I'm a champion of the down-trodden.  And I could see that so many of her behaviors stem from this sad, little place in her.  And for some reason that she is hurt.  And, in other situations, I would have compassion.  I would extend a little for someone like this, cut them some slack.  I mean, to use a completely simplistic example, when my kids are sick, they are not always pleasant to me.  They've raged and yelled and cried and become angry with me.  But I cut them some slack because they are sick.  Why couldn't I do this for MIL?  And then came the epiphany.  Because when my kids are sick, they are not 'attacking' out of a desire to hurt me.  They are like a wounded animal who swipes at you.  They aren't trying to hurt you but protect themselves.  NMIL is trying to protect herself, but she's also trying to hurt me.  The difference is that she believes that because she is hurting, so should everyone else.  I had a flashback to when NM was going through the worst of my Nsis's craziness.  I can vividly remember her crying to me "Why do I have to go through this all alone?!  It's not fair!  If I have to go through this, you and your Dad should have to too!!".  And that's the crux.  It's not bad enough that they are down in the hole.  They are bound and determined to pull you kicking and screaming into the hole too (as any good mother would).  They are going to be miserable, refuse to help themselves, and YOU are expected to keep them company.  If they feel rejected, you are going to feel it too.  If they feel slighted, they'll make you feel slighted.  An eye for an eye.  And that's what makes me so damned angry.  First and foremost, I didn't cause the harm in the first place.  I didn't have a damned thing to do with the hurt and anger and rage they are feeling.  So, for them to direct their "retaliation" back at me pisses me off.  Especially because their is nothing I can do to make that hurt better.  BECAUSE I DIDN'T CAUSE IT.  And secondly, I'm pissed off that they are such cowards that they can't direct their anger where it should be.  NM is so anger and vengeful and resentful against her parents.  She had a right to be.  But she's never said a word.  She's just gone about being the dutiful daughter.  And then playing the martyr for "all that she does" for such "horrible" people, but turns around and makes me pay for it.   I really don't know what NMIL is so pissed off about, as I actually know very little (as does husband) about what her childhood was like (weird, huh?)  Her parents seem like nice enough people, but we all know that "nice" people can be anything but.  And there is enough evidence for me to assume that something happened to turn her into this cold, childish, control freak who is hell bent on making me suffer too.
Well, fuck them.  I'm not your whipping boy anymore.  And I don't feel sorry for you because you are COWARDS.

Choosing An Identity

This topic had been on my "list of things to write about" for awhile now, but this morning I saw something on Jonsi's blog about why she choose her name and I felt compelled to do the Post now.  Thanks Jonsi for the inspiration!
Choosing my "pen name"  for this Blog was surprisingly emotional for me.  It took me days.  I struggled with the courage to even do it.  It was like the first step in this process and it scared the crap out of me.  I can remember shaking as I punched things into Google, looking for the right name.  I somehow knew that once I made that choice I would be committed.  Something in me would be reborn.  I can only imagine how many other people would find this truely ridiculous.  But for me, it was about finding my identity.

I wanted a name that describe what I was trying to accomplish.  When I came across the name Sheridan, I found that it meant "seeker".  I had been seeking the truth, seeking me, seeking a way out of this hell hole, so this seemed perfect.  (Side note, as I google it today, I find it means "life long treasure".  Hmm. Interesting).  Jesse (I changed it to the -ie) meant gift, offering to God, and one who is.  Perfect.  This blog was my prayer to God, my offering for change, and my attempt to just be.  I liked how the two names sounded together, as it implied a bit of the location that I'm in (my identity does have lots of influence from where I'm from).  I also liked that it sounded a bit like an outlaw.  Some gunslinger from the West.  I felt like an outlaw.  But one of those who steals from the rich and gives to the poor.

And just a random thought on the issue of names.  I spent a lot of time finding the perfect names for my sons.  I wanted them to have names with limitless possibilites.  It was important to me that they have names which grounded them in a sense of family, provided them a foundation (we gave them each a family members name whom we loved), but also a name that would allow them to be whomever they chose to be.  A name that sounded good on a toddler but wouldn't embarrass a grown man.  A name that could be for a lawyer or an artist.  A name unique enough to not be "one of the herd" but not so crazy that they stood out like a freak.  Of course, NM suggested variants of her name if the babies had been girls.  I thought, how weird.  I NEVER would've suggested or implied that someone name a baby after me.  Besides the obvious that I didn't like her name, nor did she deserve this honor, but that she would even have the arrogance to suggest it blew me away.  NMIL had the middle name of my first born son all picked out already.  It was a "tradition" and it never occured to her that we wouldn't use it.  I remember her telling us that she had paperwork for us to give the baby on why we gave it this "tradtional" name.  I remember being blown away that she would just make this assumption.  This story is such a hallmark of my NMIL.  Most of the time, it NEVER OCCURS to her that someone would have other ideas, thoughts, or opinions.  I think having so many sons, she just herded them around and they followed her like mindless robots.  She just the expectation that everyone will fall in line.  Maybe that's why she's not more underhanded.  She's never really had to use such tactics to keep the troops in line.  They've been so brainwashed, they do it naturally.  Until now.

Anyway, sorry for my rambling.  I tend to get off track.  But back to the thoughts on identity.  I don't remember my parents allowing me hardly any opportunity to develop one as a kid.  Maybe not that they didn't allow it, but they certainly didn't encourage it.    Like NMIL, I don't think it occurred to them to cultivate my own personal sense of identity.  I just was to be what they had been.  This was how it was, how it'd always been, and how it would always be.  Little clones producing more little clones.  It's not that they stifled my "other" interests.  They just didn't acknowledge them.  They went through the motions, but never encouraged them.  They didn't really pay any attention to them at all, beside the obligatory parental requirements.

My family did have labels for me.  I was "smart".  I was thinking the other day that this was one of the positive things I took from my childhood.  At least I knew I was smart.  I had the achievement tests to prove it.  But as I really thought about how my parents viewed my intelligence, it was never as a credit to my character.  First and foremost, my intelligence shackled me to expectations of perfection.  I was not allowed to get anything but As.  I was better than that.  I didn't matter that I really did struggle in some subjects.  I was too intelligent for that (and not that they helped me, or asked about school, or knew what in the hell I was doing beyond the end result).  I could bring home straight As forever, but man, that one B...well, that would be the end of the world.  Dad also used to say that I was book smart, but naive.  "Some of the people who are the smartest with books, are the dumbest in the real world."  While this may be true, he always used it to take me down a peg.  My mother was jealous of my intelligence.  She still is.  My intelligence was a direct insult to her.  As if I did it to her on purpose.  She liked to throw it in my face that I somehow had something she didn't and I should feel sorry for her for it.  Still to this day, she likes to "correct" me (although she's usually wrong) and when backed into a corner, she'll pull the whole "you're calling me stupid" card out. I don't remember ever being told I was pretty.  I did get compliments for my outfits (usually one that NM picked out or if my hair looked nice.  But I always got the distinct impression that I was not the pretty sister. Good behavior, good grades, basically anything beyond perfection were critized and judged.  However, when I attained these goals, they were treated as if I'd just done what any kid would be expected to do.  My opinion was rarely asked, by parents never knew what I thought, and I get the distinct impression that I annoyed them more than anything.

Today, I'm often labeled my family as controlling, anxious, oversensitive (I got this ALL the time as a kid too.  I was not allowed to be upset about anything), inflexiable, anal, a worry wort, and compulsive.  They see me as an organizational freak who must control everything and won't allow any dissension (projecting much?).  I am the "bad" family member.  They one who isn't there enough, doesn't call enough, doesn't do enough.  The laughable part is that I AM that family member.  I always call, check in, send cards, remember birthdays, acknowledge accomplishments, put thought into gifts, send thank you cards.  I get the distinct feeling that with them, I'm damned if I do, damned if I don't.  My dad likes to see my efforts at being a good hostess (providing dinner at a good time, showing were things are, providing entertainment) as controlling.  I'm anal if I announce that we should head to dinner by a particular time.  I'm anal because I planned the friggin meals (someone has to buy all the groceries for 10 people, so yeah, I had to plan it.)  Here I think I'm being thoughtful and making things easy, but no, I'm anal and a control freak.  Any advice that I won't take is because I'm a control freak.  NM's husband loves to point out that he thinks I'm a compulsively anal control freak.  If I state that my son likes something a certain way, he'll say "I wonder who he gets THAT from".

My in-laws also have labels for me.  I'm rigid, inflexible, organized (this is one they actually admire, except when it puts them at a disadvantage or makes them feel jealous), stuck-up, snobby, and just plain odd.  They have no idea who the real me is, other than what they've decided me to be.  They very rarely ask my opinion, unless they already know it will be similar to theirs.  They fully ignore any topics in which I'd have a differing thought.  In the early days, anything I brought up about myself was turned back to them.  I'd tell NMIL that I had danced as a kid.  "OH, you did.  Well (DH) won a dance contest once!"  And then on and on about the dance contest...once...that she didn't even go to.  And for the record, husband is a good dancer, but not a dance contest winner.  I used to write and was in speech, well hubby was a speaker at a state contest.  I used to think she was just trying to connect.  Now, I think she had to one-up me.  The things she does take an interest in, she covets.  I like to wrap Christmas gifts.  I like to take a glass of wine, watch a Christmas movie, and layer ribbons, wrapping, etc.  I find it relaxing (I'm fully aware most people don't).  Kind of like arts and crafts.  NMIL's packages always looked like they'd been through the garbage disposal.  But what do you know, now she spends all this time on her gifts.  They still look like they've been through the garbage disposal, but it looks like she did it on purpose.  Anything that I do well, she has to do to.  If I have a nice pair of earrings, she exclaims that she wants them too.  She's always asking where I bought stuff.  I know, imitation is the greatest form of flattery.  Except when you feel like someone's trying to steal any sense of identity away.  And if she can't compete directly, she just figures out a way to minimize what  I do.  She can't ever just thank me for the damn Christmas card.  She has to comment on how she simply just didn't have time (the woman who is retired, has no kids at home, no hobbies, didn't have time.)  My favorite was when she heard through friends that I make a good lasagna.  So, I made it for her once.  I thought I was being NICE.  Her comment: "Well, you make a good lasagna...BUT I MAKE REALLY GOOD SPAGHETTI".  WTF is that?  I'm still trying to explain to husband why this comment irritated me so bad, and continues to irritate me.  Needless to say, I haven't cooked for her since.
But I think the worse for me with the in-laws (and my family in general) that they don't know me at all.  With the in-laws I feel like a bunch of "tags" (I think Jonsi referred to it this way).  Mom of their grandkids, wife of their son.  I'm a label.  I fill the slot (not that I fill it well, and in fact, I often feel like the round peg in the square hole).  Anything that they don't like about me, they simply ignore.  I'm a 2-dimensional character that they don't give a crap to really know.  I am not appreciated, loved, or accepted for me.  My family doesn't know who the hell I am.  Again, labels, projections, images in their head, is all I am.  I can't be me, I can't share me, because they'll use it against me.  Use it to hurt me.  Use it to further their own little agendas.

So, I'm searching.  Who the fuck am I?  What is my identity?  What can I live with in myself?  It's weird to be 30-something and finally trying to decide what I am.  To quit being the labels and just be human.

Memories

It surprises me that I can think of so few memories of my childhood (pre-divorce) with my parents.  I have a great memory.  I can recall in vivid detail some memories of my life.  I can recall with great clarity staring at the yellow school buses in the dark, mangled by rain in my vision as Mom told me my Dad was moving out.  I remember my(now) husband sitting on the steps of his house, in my rearview mirror, as I drove away when he would be moving the next day.  I can remember, vividly, my desire to be an OB.  And I remember vividly my realization that it meant I also must be a GYN (and what the hell a GYN actually did).  I remember outings and vacations, but the pop into my memory in images of the photo albums that I have.  I don't have the actual memory, just the image I've memorized from the album.  Sure looks like we had fun.

But I don't remember a lot of things with my NM.  I remember she cleaned alot.  And mowed the lawn.  And had a lot of things to get done.  I always liked it when she spent the afternoon cleaning and cooking a nice meal and offered us warm chocolate chip cookies.  It was such a treat and I remember feeling so cared for.  I remember her being brisk, and cold, and distant.  I remember her putting me in charge a lot.

I remember that she picked out my clothes a lot.  That I didn't have a lot of choice about personal style.  She decided that for me.  In fact, sis and I were often part of a coordinated set.  I don't remember her taking any real interest in me.  I don't remember her asking me how my day at school was.  I don't remember her ever taken my part with a teacher, or going to school to defend me, or even being really interested at all.  As long as I excelled, behaved well, caused no problems, it was all good.  She didn't bring me flowers to my school players.  She often expressed that it was difficult to get time off of work.  I remember one time fighting over a part in the school play with my teacher.  The teacher had been nagged by another parent to split the part-there were four performances-because she felt her daughter should've gotten the part (you know, give another kid a chance to be the lead).  I remember arguing with my teacher that this wasn't fair.  Not because it wasn't fair to yank the part from me after I'd had it for weeks, but because my mom didn't know what show she could attend and I wanted her to see me perform.  And I was 11.

I remember that mom always ticked the boxes of being a good mom (again, credit to Kara "The North Wind).  Buy nice school clothes, tick.  Enroll in dance lessons, tick.  Attend parent teacher confrences, tick.  But she never seemed interested.  I don't remember a lot of love, or affection, or consideration for me.  I wondered for a long time if this behavior from her started only as I reached adulthood.  But I can see so many mini-signs as I grew up.  We went on vacations, we rode bikes together, we went shopping (mainly I watched her shop).  But we didn't have a relationship.  We didn't have a connection, at all.  She didn't really know me then, and she sure as hell doesn't know me now.  And in fact, I don't think it would've even accord to her to think about me as an individual.  I was just a kid, what did I know.

I do remember that she favored my sister.  Always.  She let her get away with murder and she expected me to do the same.  She made me her "littler helper."  I was her assistant, and that made me feel important.  But I often felt more like a pet than a human being.  I remember her braiding my hair into tight braids because that was what was easiest for her.   I remember her picking out every outfit I had for a special occasion, with out me.  I remember always feeling that I needed to be with my family.  I always felt, even at 8,9, 10 that going out with friends, was somehow a betrayal.  I remember she never helped me with my homework or inquired about what I needed.  All so distant.

I remember one time in the summer (Sis and I spent summers pretty much locked in our house.  We weren't allowed to go outside because it scared NM who was at work.)  I babysat, cleaned, did chores, and sat around.  I had started to start suppers for her before she came home.  She would call on the phone and give me the instructions on what to do.  Brown the hamburger.  Boil noodles.  Pretty soon I became adept and could cook whole meals.  I noticed that her kitchen was a bit disorganized and disheveled.  Not horrible so.  So, I thought, in my little innocent mind, that I would clean an organize her cupboards.  I didn't rearrange things terrible.  I didn't overhaul the whole thing.  But I wiped the drawers and the cupboards.  Lined up the spices.  Put like things with like and moved a few things to where they would be easier to access.  NM flew into a rage.  Not at me directly.  She screamed at my Dad about what a horrible person I was.  How dare I arrange HER kitchen?  I had screwed up all of HER things.  Where did I get off thinking I needed to do that?  Yup, that was mom.  No good deed went unpunished.