Tired of living

in reply to @brandysparks and @grammy82 I was perusing this sequence of posts, and a distant memory came to me that I have not thought about in years. When I was a kid my mother used to put me in the car and drive to the Children's Receiving Home, a place where kids without parents were placed before being taken in as foster kids or adopted. I do not live far from this facility. She would drive into the parking lot and say to me: "this is where you are going to end up if you do not behave accordingly" or something like that. Every time I have been by that place I still think of all those times she took me there as some sort of sick threat. I attribute this to the fact that my mother and I were never close, as it was clear to me that my older sisters were her favorite, and that I was the unwanted, mistake. In fact, this past summer I was so convinced that I was not related to my sisters that I did one of those DNA kits from Ancestry, and kept hoping that I would find out that I was not really her child. No such luck. However difficult it was growing up with her abuse, as well as my father's, I am glad that I was able to overcome the shame I always felt for being "different." I was only able to do this at great personal expense and time, but I was determined never to be like my mother, sound like my mother and things of that nature. She was hearing impaired, as am I. And I made it my mission never to sound like a hard of hearing person. In fact, because I have such a soft voice, many are unaware of my own hearing impairment. Yes, I lived a fake life for a long time until I could not.
Anyway, thank you to all of you who have read my posts and have offered me such wonderful encouragement as I navigate this journey to better health.

in reply to @brandysparks and @grammy82 I was perusing this sequence of posts, and a distant memory came to me that I have not thought about in years. When I was a kid my mother used to put me in the car and drive to the Children's Receiving Home, a place where kids without parents were placed before being taken in as foster kids or adopted. I do not live far from this facility. She would drive into the parking lot and say to me: "this is where you are going to end up if you do not behave accordingly" or something like that. Every time I have been by that place I still think of all those times she took me there as some sort of sick threat. I attribute this to the fact that my mother and I were never close, as it was clear to me that my older sisters were her favorite, and that I was the unwanted, mistake. In fact, this past summer I was so convinced that I was not related to my sisters that I did one of those DNA kits from Ancestry, and kept hoping that I would find out that I was not really her child. No such luck. However difficult it was growing up with her abuse, as well as my father's, I am glad that I was able to overcome the shame I always felt for being "different." I was only able to do this at great personal expense and time, but I was determined never to be like my mother, sound like my mother and things of that nature. She was hearing impaired, as am I. And I made it my mission never to sound like a hard of hearing person. In fact, because I have such a soft voice, many are unaware of my own hearing impairment. Yes, I lived a fake life for a long time until I could not.
Anyway, thank you to all of you who have read my posts and have offered me such wonderful encouragement as I navigate this journey to better health.

@ricm58 yep … “the difficult, neurotic, mean one” is exactly how I have been viewed as by my kids - and husband!

Sometimes at funerals I can’t help thinking we show appreciation of a person - often the mother - only when the person is lying there in the casket, or at the gravesite, eh! And why not give flowers when a person is still living, rather than filling a church or funeral parlour … or even a roadside …?

in reply to @brandysparks and @grammy82 I was perusing this sequence of posts, and a distant memory came to me that I have not thought about in years. When I was a kid my mother used to put me in the car and drive to the Children's Receiving Home, a place where kids without parents were placed before being taken in as foster kids or adopted. I do not live far from this facility. She would drive into the parking lot and say to me: "this is where you are going to end up if you do not behave accordingly" or something like that. Every time I have been by that place I still think of all those times she took me there as some sort of sick threat. I attribute this to the fact that my mother and I were never close, as it was clear to me that my older sisters were her favorite, and that I was the unwanted, mistake. In fact, this past summer I was so convinced that I was not related to my sisters that I did one of those DNA kits from Ancestry, and kept hoping that I would find out that I was not really her child. No such luck. However difficult it was growing up with her abuse, as well as my father's, I am glad that I was able to overcome the shame I always felt for being "different." I was only able to do this at great personal expense and time, but I was determined never to be like my mother, sound like my mother and things of that nature. She was hearing impaired, as am I. And I made it my mission never to sound like a hard of hearing person. In fact, because I have such a soft voice, many are unaware of my own hearing impairment. Yes, I lived a fake life for a long time until I could not.
Anyway, thank you to all of you who have read my posts and have offered me such wonderful encouragement as I navigate this journey to better health.

So sorry to hear this. Unfortunately some of the "bad" things have been programmed into us and we unknowingly follow these programs. When I married I hoped I would never have daughters because I was afraid I would take out my anger at my mother on them. My wish was granted and I had two sons. We are still speaking and have a good relationship. I hope things work out better for you.

My mother grew up with a very, very rigid and overbearing mother.

Later, she married and began a career. But she chose to move abroad to encourage my father to grow in his career.

In their new country my mother worked, but in a local government department that was later closed and she took early retirement.

With time, her pain, her unresolved conflicts (mother, living far from family, etc) and perhaps OCD (never diagnosed, but mine recently was) made her VERY bitter and unhappy.

So, yes, she was neurotic. But she deserved sympathy and help, for goodness' sake. Love, patience, and maybe medication.

Instead she was treated like a difficult presence, like someone who was loved but around whom we were always treading on eggshells.

As I said, yes my mum was indeed neurotic. But so was my father. However, as apparently happens in families, one member becomes the designated "weak link". And my mum was that person.

So sure, society must learn to understand emotional difficulties. But first families must find tolerance and compassion for loved ones with problems.

By the way, to my shame, I was forced to realize when my willful and incredibly stubborn daughter was being put by us parents in that role, the "problem one". Thank God she was strong enough to push back and make us wake up to what we were doing (and therefore seek therapy). With time, proper limits, understanding, and exiting adolescence, she's learning to be more patient 🥰

And, though sceptical by upbringing, I mean it when I say thank God 🙏.

in reply to @brandysparks and @grammy82 I was perusing this sequence of posts, and a distant memory came to me that I have not thought about in years. When I was a kid my mother used to put me in the car and drive to the Children's Receiving Home, a place where kids without parents were placed before being taken in as foster kids or adopted. I do not live far from this facility. She would drive into the parking lot and say to me: "this is where you are going to end up if you do not behave accordingly" or something like that. Every time I have been by that place I still think of all those times she took me there as some sort of sick threat. I attribute this to the fact that my mother and I were never close, as it was clear to me that my older sisters were her favorite, and that I was the unwanted, mistake. In fact, this past summer I was so convinced that I was not related to my sisters that I did one of those DNA kits from Ancestry, and kept hoping that I would find out that I was not really her child. No such luck. However difficult it was growing up with her abuse, as well as my father's, I am glad that I was able to overcome the shame I always felt for being "different." I was only able to do this at great personal expense and time, but I was determined never to be like my mother, sound like my mother and things of that nature. She was hearing impaired, as am I. And I made it my mission never to sound like a hard of hearing person. In fact, because I have such a soft voice, many are unaware of my own hearing impairment. Yes, I lived a fake life for a long time until I could not.
Anyway, thank you to all of you who have read my posts and have offered me such wonderful encouragement as I navigate this journey to better health.

in reply to @brandysparks and @grammy82 I was perusing this sequence of posts, and a distant memory came to me that I have not thought about in years. When I was a kid my mother used to put me in the car and drive to the Children's Receiving Home, a place where kids without parents were placed before being taken in as foster kids or adopted. I do not live far from this facility. She would drive into the parking lot and say to me: "this is where you are going to end up if you do not behave accordingly" or something like that. Every time I have been by that place I still think of all those times she took me there as some sort of sick threat. I attribute this to the fact that my mother and I were never close, as it was clear to me that my older sisters were her favorite, and that I was the unwanted, mistake. In fact, this past summer I was so convinced that I was not related to my sisters that I did one of those DNA kits from Ancestry, and kept hoping that I would find out that I was not really her child. No such luck. However difficult it was growing up with her abuse, as well as my father's, I am glad that I was able to overcome the shame I always felt for being "different." I was only able to do this at great personal expense and time, but I was determined never to be like my mother, sound like my mother and things of that nature. She was hearing impaired, as am I. And I made it my mission never to sound like a hard of hearing person. In fact, because I have such a soft voice, many are unaware of my own hearing impairment. Yes, I lived a fake life for a long time until I could not.
Anyway, thank you to all of you who have read my posts and have offered me such wonderful encouragement as I navigate this journey to better health.

Wow...what a sinister, cruel, intentionally mean thing to do to anyone, let alone a developing child dependent on a parent to survive.
Your art attached to your post speaks volumes to me...hope that is an outlet for you...inspired!

in reply to @brandysparks Yes, my art helps me in so many ways, and recently I have been up cycling wood pallets to make patio furniture, and so far I have made a garden bench, a small table and a raised planter. All was going quite swell until earlier this afternoon my upstairs neighbor/friend (?) threw some plastic bottles into my patio, presumably because of the noise generated by my power tools. She followed up with not only a text message after I thanked her for the plastic bottles which will be given to the maintenance man who recycles them, but later left a letter on my front door telling me she would be filing a formal complaint with the apartment manager about the noise, saying this is an apartment complex, not a construction site, and that I should do the work indoors. I sent her a text based upon an old Indian saying about walking a mile in one's shoes. It is a good one that my father had hanging in his garage, and I have never forgotten it. The gist of it is that it is about empathy.

Later after coming home from visiting my 84 year old friend, I felt broken. My spirit feels broken. I cannot please everyone, and God knows I have tried. I have been nothing but kind to this person without expecting anything in return. It is not as though I am firing up this saw 24/7, or using my electric sander to finish the tables and flower presses I make for my cards all day long. This "friend" is very passive aggressive, thus the text message and letter on my door. As much as I would like to scream at her, I will not allow myself to stoop to her level, whatever that may be.

I am so tired of being sick, of being undiagnosed, of having all kinds of procedures and being no further to being cured than when I was initially diagnosed. I now understand more fully why so many are "tired of living." This is not to say that I am going to do anything stupid, but having so many health issues at once has suddenly become overwhelming, thus this feeling of being broken. I still have gratitude and many others who I can count on to support me in different ways, I never ask for help unless I really need it. Later, I remembered her comment to me several months ago when people in my community began shunning me because I have lost so much weight, " As your friend, I am telling your appearance is shocking, and people are shunning you because they are afraid you will ask them for help." While working on an art project earlier, I paused and thought to myself, "that is HER issue." She is shocked at my appearance and is afraid I will ask her for help, which I know better not to because she is always unavailable, This past weekend I had a very bad reaction to Macrobid, and texted her asking if I could call her if I needed something. No response. All of this is quite telling to me, and now I will have to reassess this friendship. Whatever is going on with her is beyond my comprehension, Yes, I have compassion for her, but this does not mean I have to tolerate such behavior. I work on many projects because I find it better to stay busy, because if I stop my mind wanders to whatever is going on inside this now 95 pound body of mine and it makes me crazy.

We live in a wild world now that is so lacking in humanity that I am astonished. However, I will not let this ruin my ability to continue to do what makes me happy and proud of myself. My weight lifting has certainly paid off, as I can now drill screws in without first drilling pilot holes, I broke a drill bit because I was using too much force, My only male neighbor and friend is moving out in a few days, and out of all those in my building, he has been the kindest person to me. His absence will create a lot of neurotic women whose needs I cannot even begin to fathom.

Thank you for reading this. I rarely post things so late or things of this nature, but something happened to me after reading that letter because it was so astoundingly cruel. She asked for her mail key back because I collect her mail each day. I taped it into a card with two quotes I found, "Words are like keys, If you choose them right, they can open any door and shut any mouth" and " I don't know the key to success, but the key to failure is trying to please everyone." End of story. I am so done with this person, even though doing so pains me deeply. There's a picture of my best friend, now gone, and this pains me beyond words.