Thanks so much for your wonderfulness. I have these painful clashes with my mother about once or twice a year, but I've never been through anything as hurtful and weird as being hit with her car. I want to thank you all so much for your loving support and kindness. You are the best cyberbuddies in the whole wide world! I want to write back to everyone and thank you individually, but I am just too weary. I'll try to get back here tonight and comment on your comments but I'm wiped out and think I need to lie down. If I weren't so sore I might think it never happened, well, that's what my mother is saying. She claims she just gently pushed me out of the way. But as my friend Ron says, "You can't gently push anything with a three ton vehicle." Although nothing I say will change her take on things. She now remains of the opinion that I called her a bitch, and said I hate her for no reason at all. Then I stood in front of her car like some kind of injury craving maniac, using my body to block her exit. I guess that reverse position on her gear shift must have been broken, damn, she just had to go forward.
I have some Mexican ghost stories to share with you. Although my field of ghostly expertise has always been Hawaiian, I am starting to gather ghostly Latin Lore. It's really exciting and deeply spiritual. I love the world of the spirit. I'll write some of it up in the next few days when I get a chance.
Just to follow up on what happened with my Mother; It's exactly as expected. She thinks I'm at fault and that I am a bad daughter, who simply gets crazy and yells at her for no reason. I called her doctor and we both think she needs to be put on anti-anxiety medication. She is really making life hell for everyone around her, and this has been going on for some time now. I tried to persuade her to just go in with me and talk about what happened, but she was indignant and furious with me for even suggesting it. She said I was the "crazy" one, and that she doesn't ever want to speak to me again, that she's had it with me, and that all I care about it her money. She said that I screamed at her for no reason, that I told her I hated her, and called her a bitch, and should get down on my knees and beg for her forgiveness. Yeah right.
Just to be decent and loving I did apologize for calling her a bitch, when she rolled the window up in my face, after not acknowledging my very legitimate complaint about her incessant ceaseless honking. I also apologized for having said I hated her, after she hit me with her car, and I was laying on the hood looking up at her. I did however feel this way at that time and continue to feel this way now; that she can be a really horrible bitch from hell on wheels, and that I do hate her when she is cruel and evil acting. But I also love her and I don't think that will ever change, family of origin stuff, I guess.
In therapy I agreed to work on accepting my desire to be kind to her as simply being a part of my nature but that I do not have to concern myself with winning her approval anymore. I am going to have to work really hard on that one.
My Mom has a really nasty housekeeper, who practically every decent person, who has worked for Mom in the past couple of years, has figured out, and learned to stay clear of. She makes herself seem so loving and God fearing. Actually I think she is a really bad wanna-be actress, who although she has the command of instant tears, has watched one too many Telenovellas, and thinks she is being heroic when she plays the role of an overwrought Christian. Personally I cannot stand her. I always had a bad instinctive feeling about her. From the way she snagged my old friend Carlotta's job right out from under her, while she was on vacation, to bombarding Mother with flowers from the flower market, where her husband works when she wants to borrow money or something.
She has pretty much betrayed me for the last time, and I won't pretend anymore that I don't know what a conniving two faced opportunist she is. She came in my house, and crying big crocodile tears, told me how horrible it was of my mother to hit me with her car. She told me how her own mother had hated her but now loves her. How my mother is abusive to her and makes her so nervous with the way she yells and orders them around. But that she loves "Meesey" Hyland very much. Then she goes to my mother and tells her how terrible it was of me to block her way with my body and then yell at her. This is someone who puts me in serious need of a good voodoo doll, and some sharp pins for it's ugly eyes. Then again maybe someone is already doing this, which would explain why hers are always so red and rheumy.
I think you really would have had to have been there, (the next day when I drove over to my Mother's house), to see how creepy and unfair it was. It felt like such a horrible, tortuous setup. Mother played the part of the poor, helpless, elderly, generous, Mommy-victim. I was the bad guy, and she had only "pushed me lightly" with her car, to get me out of the way. It was the part about Rosa backing her up by telling her how mean I was, that got my rage fires burning.
When I got to her house she would barely speak to me, and kept smiling this weird, fake, toothy smile at Beau, while glaring hatefully at me. I had to chase her around until we finally had a huge confrontation in her dining room, while Rosa stood by her side, clucking and gasping, and accusing me of being a liar. My pal Coco and Beau kept backing me up and telling my mother the way they remembered it. But Rosa kept talking louder and interrupting them.
After mother tried to oust me from her house and refused to listen to reason, she bustled off to her room and locked the door on me. That's when Rosa really brought out her carpet bag. She got down on her knees in front of me, grabbed my hands and clasped them together as if I were praying, and said I should get down on my knees like this in front of my mother and say, "Ay Mammasita linda, perdona me!!! Ay Diosito lindo, me promete que nunca me voy hacer eso no mas. Perrrrrrrdoooona me!?!" Which basically boils down to, "Oh lovely Mommy, please forgive me!!! Oh Dear God I promise to never do anything like this again!" Anyone have a noose handy?
It's a long story and I won't bore you with any more details, but the very best and most ironic part of the whole thing, is the truth that poor, sad, power-mad Rosa doesn't understand. No matter how scheming she is, no matter how good she may be at separating us, and insinuating herself, in the end she won't get a dime; my mother is a classist and would rather leave everything to her favorite charities, than help anyone she considers to be so beneath her. It's sad but so true.
As far as my father is concerned, well, he's ninety-one and wearing diapers, and spends most of his days and nights in a hospital bed in my old girlhood room. He has hydrocephalus and a version of dementia that isn't exactly Alzheimer's. He recognizes me and wants to talk to me, but he can't get his mouth to say what his heart feels, or mind thinks. But I try to understand him and read his mind as much as possible, and this gives him comfort.
For example, yesterday when I was over there crying, I went in and put my head on his arm and wept, and told him how much I loved him, and wished he were able to defend me. He had the sweetest lost little boy look on his face and I knew he was concerned about my crying, emotion not being something he sees too much of, in his orderly little blue and white gingham room.
He asked me why I was crying but ti came out as, "Red you face?" But I knew what he meant and it helped to know he cared. Sometimes he can be really mean, and say something fierce and hurtful, so I am always grateful for any evidence of loving from him.
For anyone who might not understand how insane and unfair all of this is, let me remind you that I didn't do anything to my mother. I simply expressed a perfectly legitimate request in an angry tone of voice and dared to provoke her ire. I was impertinent. I forgot to be grateful and humble for one moment and challenged her by owning my own power and speaking with authority and this incensed her so SHE was abusive and insulting and hurt me, and then in what could only be described as something akin to a psychotic break, HIT ME WITH HE CAR, TWICE!!! And while her behavior makes it very clear that she means to play a game of big brother (or perhaps I should say big mother), with the facts, I know what happened, I know what she did, I know what happened and I know what she did to me. No matter how much I turn and twist it around, no matter how I try to wring the truth out of it, and make it my fault, because it is more palatable, my own mother hit me with her car rather than admit she was wrong about something. She would rather terrorize me psychologically and risk my life, than ever relinquish one tiny, little bit of her abusive authority and control. So the bottom line is that I do not have a mother, and I do not have a mother's love and I must give up, let go with love, and move on somehow.
Thanks so much for caring. I'm going to disable the anonymous feature so that cold jerks wont be able to respond with stupid, detached responses like the one who said, "Hey Brad that was a long one huh? Duh, drool, drool, slobber, slobber, how long you think the longest one was?" I have a word for you dorkface, it's called LiveJOURNAL, not LivePostIts, and if you can't write and don't have anything wordy going on in your life don't take your callous disregard for human feeling out on me. Grrrrrrrr.
I love the rest of you forever!
Come see the diary of a real jerk
And there's always the art I made for my friend ana
Jacqui's Ana Art