Okay, so maybe the proper way to phrase that is that my house is clean and I’m feeling better. Every dish is done, the floor is swept and mopped, my books and movies reorganized. All that’s really left is a heavy duty bathroom cleaning and then you know what I can start doing? Spring Cleaning to be ready to move, whenever I choose/have to.
But then in a backwards move, I must be honest and admit that I participated in an email war with JDawg’s mom. I was petty on some points, I was defensive in ways I feel were just, and I put some blame on her for his lifestyle. She’s already feeling pretty sorry for herself and him, so maybe it was cruel, some of the things I said. I was not alone on that one, though. The final response from me basically said ‘good riddance, enjoy denialville,’ which might have been the most severe thing I could have done.
I’m not perfect or overly mature. I am extremely reactive. And if you critique my selfish behaviour as not fitting a mother, the selfishness of allowing courts to decide how and when JDawg should have visitation; if you tell me that someone’s problems are ten times more my fault than the person who raised them, when they came to me with these problems? I’m going to call you an asshole.
On to different stuff.
Tomorrow’s going to be crazy busy with visiting of courts, and orders and aide applied for. I’m semi-nervous about going through with all of this, but as anyone knows who has followed this intimately (or otherwise), I’ve been back and forth so many times in the past nine months, I just need to get off my ass and get it done.
[warning, philosophical tangent, here]
I’ve given permission to a number of lofty individuals to slap me across the face, should I back down. I’m bestowing that honour on you guys, too. Feel free to tell me to STFU should I start making excuses and feeling guilty and crap again. I’ve got to stop making allowances for something that honestly should never have happened, and should never continue. I’ve played a vital part in all of it and maybe the biggest thing I can do is just to quit – quit trying to be there for him or wait for him to wake up or change.
The hardest thing to do, being so close to an alcoholic, is not to absolve them of their behaviour, choices and lifestyle. To not think you’ve done X to drive them to drink and so whatever they do during said drinking, you deserved it. Call it a broken home, an abusive childhood, call it a martyr complex – I need to stop telling myself that JDawg is somewhere wrecked and depressed right now because of me.
Because ultimately, no matter what I could say, do or threaten to take away from him, including Isobel, it’s happened because of his actions, right? He’s made choices, committed offenses and kept coming back to do it all over again. And if I don’t want Isobel growing up in this cycle, I’ve got to end it myself – even if it means that everything is always hard from now on, and that we’re always poor and begging for hand me downs. Even if it means she grows up with as much money as I did, it will be okay with me because I’ll know it was for a good reason – that I loved her and never wanted her to feel like she was less important than anything, especially alcohol.
Anyways, it’s not all alanon advice here.
On a different yet related note, two new missions have begun in this household.
Operation: Clean Out The Fridge and Operation: Don’t Spend Money.
I’m pleased to report that I haven’t bought groceries in heh, four days! I haven’t gone to Starbucks in the same amount of time. Total money spent in the past two days, not including travel? About four dollars. Actual reality? I returned a book to the store, so I’ve actually gained $29. At this rate…well, I still won’t be able to pay rent. But I won’t run out of potential rent-paying money!
Now, I’ve got something more horrific to talk about.
Thanks to two lovely ladies handing down a tote’s worth of girly clothes, and her getting to spend time with the Mr Lady family and coming home to me all sunshiney and pig-tailed and co-ordinating, it seems she woke up this morning a girl.
A girl who wears dresses. A girl who wouldn’t go to bed without wearing a dress. A girl who wanted pigtails.
Who says ‘fuck’ and ’sorry’ a lot.
So we’ve made a deal, my girl and I. If she continues to swear in proper context and then apologizes for it (in public), then she can be a girl all she wants. But there’s a limit of two dresses a day, dammit.
