Mama Sick

Warning:  Strong Language to come.  I must use, it but honestly they haven’t even invented language to begin to describe the horror that is my mother’s husband.  I must write this before my throat closes up and my own husband has no other choice but to commit me due to the damage this beast has done to me today.

First off, if you have never read about “Max” or need a refresher, you may want to click here.

I don’t talk a lot about my mother’s husband because I am of the “If you don’t have something nice to say don’t say it” type of person.  I love my mother dearly but today I fully realize just how much Max has poisoned her against me.  What else can happen when you are married to a person who is so ignorant, prejudiced and so obviously going to Hell?  I’ve only dated people who have profoundly affected my life, so it does stand to reason.

Please note that I will never use the word “step-father” in any way shape or form when I speak of him.  He is not deserving of that “f-word”.  He should have never been a father much less someone’s “step”.  I have met his daughter once and never met his sociopathic son, whom, on many occasions, has threatened to kill my mother.  I have not seen him since he kidnapped my mother.

He embodies everything in a person we chronically ill people fear the most, and if you are chronically ill, you really get what I mean.  You healthy people, here is a taste of what we have to deal with:

I needed to speak to my mother, I needed her help, I needed her to cry to and have her tell me that I should not worry, that she would help me.  Instead I got Max.

I politely asked how he was doing since I have been instructed by my mother that Max times the exchanges he and I have, and states that I do not stay on the phone long enough with him before asking for my mother.

Politeness can kill you.

I knew I was in trouble as soon as Max said, “You know, I need to say this to you…” Fuck my life.

He proceeds to tell me that every Mother’s Day my mother visits us and takes us out to dinner but we (my brother and I, who are both disabled and live under and around the poverty line) don’t treat my mother.  It is her day, shouldn’t we be the ones giving her something?

Even as I write this, my heart is still pounding.  I am still shaking.  I am trying not to vomit.  I can now add Post Traumatic Stress Disorder to my many diagnoses.

I said, “Well, Max, I cannot speak for my brother, but I live in poverty, I cannot afford to give her anything.  Besides that, my brother’s birthday falls around Mother’s Day so it is his day too.  And besides that, I am a mother, so it is also my day.”

What I am really wanting to say is You petty fucking piece of shit.  You asshole, I am a mother who is disabled, unemployed  and in debt.  I have to worry about how I am going to clothe my son, do you fucking think I can even stop to give a shit that it is even Mother’s Day?  My husband and I are so troubled we do not even remember our own anniversary.  The ONLY time I ever eat out or take my kid to eat is when my mother pays, you waste of breath.

Your own fucked up children live under the same roof as you and pay you nothing, they are employed, yes they should be kissing your ass constantly.

I also said, “My husband and I are very ill and we are about to declare bankruptcy. When I had the money I treated my mother and my father very generously.  My husband and I had our own charity, we had a foundation, when we were well and able to work.”

Take that, you cocksucker.  You, who think you are so high and mighty when you give ten dollars a year to the orphanage who took care of you when you were two years old when your mother needed surgery and recovery time???

What he says to me is now so unbelievable…if you have mental illness or love and know me, you may find this very troubling…Ok, you were warned.

“Well yes, that is true, I am healthy and I do very well.  I have no money problems.  I have no debt.  I pay for everything.  Why, in the past years since your mother has been with me I have bought a new sofa, dishwasher, gone to Las Vegas and The Grand Canyon…”  He named so many other things I can’t even wrap my mind around them, I had to stop listening, I HAD to.  “And I paid for them all, I have no credit card debt.”

You fucking piece of self-proclaimed pious trash, how could you dare say something like this to a sick and poor person, to any sick and poor person, much less your own wife’s daughter???  How is it fathomable that a person could be so wrapped up in themselves, so immune to the daily horror that is my life??  Oh, dear God, when is he going to hang up on me, how much more can I bear??

And then, he tells me his fucking CREDIT RATING!!!

“Yes, Max” I say, trying with ever fiber of my being to hold on to what little sanity I had left.  “My credit rating was very high when I was well too.  When I used to lease cars, the associates would tell me that my credit rating was one of the highest credit ratings they had ever seen.”

I can brag too, you fucking, mother fucker.  Does what I say even make a dent in your single cell brain?!

There was some more unbelievable shit he spewed which included my husband but this is already a very long post.

I ended with, “Max, I wouldn’t wish my situation on my worst enemy.”

Which is YOU, you cocksucking, motherfucker, and I am LYING,  I wish YOU FAR, FAR worst, you sorry excuse, whom people look and instead see only a lovely old, friendly Orthodox Jewish man.

And then we hung up.  I think he agreed with me, but the rest is hazy, small talk.  I know he said that he would tell my mother I called.

How can I take my mother’s call until I speak with my therapist?

Last Friday I picked Tyler up from his pre-school.  Before I got to him I was stopped by his teacher.  “We had to write up an Observation on Tyler”, she said.

Oh no, what now?  A new Tourettes’s tic?  Another threat to cut a child’s head off?

“Tyler pulled his pants down and showed another child his butt”, she said, trying to hide her smile.

Here is Tyler’s story:

Tyler’s class was studying the body.  He and another boy sat looking at a book with a picture of a skeleton.  “That is the butt!”, the child laughed, pointing to the facing front skeleton.  “No”, said Tyler, “The butt is in the back!”  The boy and Tyler argued back and forth for a bit.

Finally, Tyler pulled down his pants and said to the boy, “See, I told you, the butt is in the back!”

The teacher said that the director and she didn’t think Tyler pulled his pants down to be “bad”, but for “regulation purposes” it had to be written up.

I think my son is a genius.  And will keep me in blogs for years to come.