I feel like I’ve been somewhat emotionally fragile – or, perhaps, vulnerable is the correct word – as of late.
In my post puzzling over my mental health I mentioned that my mom had said she found my medical records, including my diagnosis etc from when I was 15. (Please read the linked post to catch up if you haven’t already.) She hadn’t wanted to send it at the time, opting to wait till she sees me again.
Well, I got an appointment set with psych for early July, so I asked her again for them. I told her I have an appointment and so now I actually do need them ASAP.
So here’s how it went. First she said ok, then later in the day said she can’t find them, it’s not in the box she thought and it’s too hot in the attic so she’ll look again the next day. I waited a few days and messaged her again. It took her a couple of days to view the message, which she then ignored.
Something, by the way, she got snarky at me about last year – viewing a message but not answering right away, that is.
Then, on Mother’s day, instead of responding to my message, she messages me giving me passive aggressive shit about buying my own daughter books when I had recently asked her to stop sending boxes full of books that my kids hadn’t asked for, had minimal interest in, and repeatedly sending duplicates (in some cases 3-4) of the same books. Actions that caused a LOT of extra work for me because I had to sort through them all with each kid, find a place to keep the ones they wanted, then donate or give away all the extras. But Heaven forbid I buy my daughter a set of books she really, really actually wanted (of which, by the way, I had told my mom about before I even told her to stop sending books.)
Anyway, I cried because of all the passive aggressive shit and just being so tired of being treated like this. I just didn’t even want to deal with her anymore. My husband then messaged her nicely asking for my records and saying he’d pay the postage if that was an issue.
She told him she wasn’t sure she even had what I wanted.
Hello! I asked her specifically about it when SHE told ME she found the records last year. She TOLD me she had exactly what I was asking for!
So he responded asking her to look again and thanking her nicely for her “help.”
She tried to call me. I didn’t answer. Then she messaged me asking me to call her. At this point, I’m tired, my throat hurts, and I’m just too irritated and sensitive to deal with her. So husband called her back for me.
This is where I hit my final threshold for the bullshit.
He had her on speaker so he could hear better (his ears were stuffed up with a cold)… Of course that means I could also hear her say she (conveniently) has all my medical records except for the chunk in the middle of my teens that I needed. She then said she could answer any questions we’d have. (Well that’s questionable owing to the fact that she’s already told me two different diagnoses from then – Bipolar or “severely depressed”??)
She then had the gall to tell him that “It wasn’t that serious” and “it was just normal teenage stuff.” That I was “just adjusting to living in Africa.” She told him that I didn’t take medication and that if it has been serious at all, the US government would have sent us home.
Either my mother is a narcissistic revisionist of history (i.e Fucking Liar) or she has serious memory problems!
I wasn’t so young that I don’t remember being on medication for a year and a half (I even recall the name of the medication, though not the exact dose) and I have a very clear memory of the US government wanting to send me back to an institutional school back in the US. I have a clear memory of my dad telling me if I didn’t want to go, I needed to write a letter explaining my wishes and we’d hope for the best. I clearly remember writing a letter saying that I was incensed at the thought that taking me away from my family would somehow help my depression.
Luckily, I ended up having my request granted. I got to stay in Ethiopia, but I was then put on meds and had to see a therapist while I was there.
Not that serious, my ass.
I cried last week when I wrote the last post about how I was treated the Christmas when I was 18. I cried again when my mom revised history to my husband, making it clear that she doesn’t give a rats ass about my mental health or what’s important to me. It’s already been clear she picks and chooses what and who she cares about at any given time with my sisters too. It hurts to know she can be so flippant about me and my feelings. It also feels as though she is gas-lighting me.
Now that I have definitive proof of her revisionism, I don’t know that I can believe any of the answers I got for other questions from her last year. I don’t think I can believe much of anything she’ll say about the past or whatever in the future either.
Yesterday, the day after these events, my husband got around to reading the Christmas present post. He then came home from work, cuddled me, and told me how important I was to him and the kids. He told me he loved me and cared about me and my feelings. I must say, I needed to hear that.
Sometimes I just wonder how I bagged such a good one. I wonder how I even deserve him.
Though, it’s probably no wonder I feel this way when I’ve basically been trained most of my life to think my feelings are worthless compared to certain others…