I Am Writing a Book(s)

Yup. I am writing a book. Maybe 2. Or more. We’ll see what it turns into. I’ll see what YOU think. If YOU find it interesting or viable. And my laptop won’t launch Word.

So here goes nothing. Or everything. All words as written are true and as I lived through them, experienced them. This has been MY LIFE.

I was adopted. Though I wasn’t told until I was 48, I knew when I was 11. Dad didn’t confirm, but he didn’t deny it ether when asked. He said, “It isn’t something we discuss. It upsets your mother.”

I was 11, as I said. Upsetting Mom was something I knew too well. A homework assignment set her off. It was a biology type of thing. A list of questions we had to answer – when were you born, what time of day, what was your family’s reaction, who found out first,  who was at the hospital, what foods did your mother crave when she was pregnant with you, what was your favorite first food, your least? You know. Questions about my early life.

Mom was irate! Who wanted to know her private business? Why? She went into hysterics and cried and screamed from her bed where she had fled when she heard of the “homework”. “No one will know about my private business!” But it wasn’t her private business, it was my life and my “business” at its foundation. Well, I didn’t need to know, I was too young.

I guess 48 was the right age. Only thing with that – it was self preservation on her part. It was in the emergency room and she had Alzheimer’s Dementia, supposedly,  and I couldn’t speak for her. She was denying I was her daughter as adopting me was Dad’s idea and she hadn’t agreed with his terrible choice. I never did as I was told. I didn’t speak for her. She was tricked. And since Dad was dead, my hold over her was dead too. Odd, that doesn’t change my birth certificate. Her name is still there.

She was a sociopath and a narcissist too. There are examples. Decades worth and I won’t bore you with all of them. Just the ones that really stood out. That still hurt and harm. That will impact me until I draw my last breath. Her poison still kills my happiness even though she has been dead since May 2015.

I never thought she was a sociopath. That’s what a doctor said when they couldn’t accept her into the psychiatric ward at that hospital. They didn’t have the correct staffing and they couldn’t transport her to a psychiatric hospital as transport was not available.  I could take her, of course. I could arrange it. If her doctor would sign off on her Alzheimer’s diagnosis, of course.

I’d been trying for months, but even though her medical chart stated dementia as a condition, I could get nothing in writing. Even though I was taking care of her 24/7. took her to every doctor’s appointment, every lab or test, for years at that point, even after failing and trying to cheat on a Mini Mental Health Test, keeping her autonomous was all important – even if she needed me to be “Autonomous”. To eat, to go to the doctor, to the grocery store, to pay her bills, to pay the electricity even when she thought it was too much and she didn’t want to pay it because she wouldn’t allow them to cheat her.

Dishonesty was an issue for her. The auto insurance was a car loan, and she owned her car (Dad’s car that I paid off when he died and refinanced the house so she could keep it). The A/C was dying, needed repair, as she lived in the High Desert and it ran from May to October since it was so hot and she couldn’t take the heat. Not that she would set it at 78F and let it kick in when it was needed. No. Let the house heat up to 85F then turn it on and complain it was so hot, but turn it off at 10 pm since she was going to bed and the draft hurt her neck and having a window open was inviting a rapist into her home so she could be raped and murdered. The same could be said if you sat on the patio into the evening. They didn’t care about me – they wanted her!

She lived in a gated Senior community. There were no cases of rape or murder. There was no rampant house thefts in this community. HOA issues to the extreme. but no home invasions. Mom would see the news and home invasions in Los Angeles County, she would screech and point excitedly at the TV.  But we were in Riverside County – a hundred miles away from that. “It can happen here! Just wait!”

Just like a sample of Tide Detergent could be Anthrax being sent specifically to you, Mom. That happened. Dad had to call the police to get Mom to calm the fuck down. She wouldn’t stop until he did. There were many things she wouldn’t stop doing, even when told. Dad was better at it than I, but in reality Mom owned us lock, stock and barrel. She dictated how we could breath, and she dictated when we would die. She succeeded with Dad. She failed with me, but she was almost successful.

That’ll come later. There is a lot to unravel with the mania I lived with.

Author: Vykinghart

A divergent catalyst trying to make the world a better place while screaming from a tiny soapbox.

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