Originally published at Memoirs of a Nobody. You can comment here or there.

So my mother has been harping on me for the past month or so that ‘we’ need to clean out the garage to get ready for the yard sale that will never happen (because the chances of my mother, my grandmother and Debbie speaking to each other at any given time is limited to nill).

Now, I hate the garage, it’s dirty, dusty, filled with cobwebs and other things that are better off buried. But I’m tired of listening to her whine so I start working on it (what happened to ‘we’, lady?), and realize just why I’ve left those boxes, bags and cupboards alone for so long.

The ghosts of the past are not easily laid to rest, and it hurts, quite a bit of the time, to watch pieces of my life fall away.

I’m a pack rat, I save almost everything of the slightest bit of meaning, pictures, postcards, letters, and those things I expected to be emotional about. But the small things…an old collectible card, a HP magazine article…those things hurt just as badly, representing a time in my life that’s over and that I can’t go back to. A part of my life buried in a dusty box, waiting for me to decide if it’s worth keeping.

So, as I’m going through this very painful process of sorting through my past and determining it’s worth…my mother starts whining I have to stop working on the garage and now have to organize the house…because some how everyone thinks it’s appropriate enough to drop things off here for the yard sale (and a bunch of crap we got from Grandmere moving).

And I can’t just stop and work on the house…because if I stop, I won’t start again. It’s so painful to even touch some of these items, let alone think about what they mean.

I just wish she’d give me some time, to finish this very painful journey so I can put it behind me.

…I finally threw away my phlebotomy textbook…I don’t know how I feel about that. Kept the X-mas cards from HPfGU’s though (and for some reason the BTVS collectible cards from Robin…I really should throw those away).

Originally published at Memoirs of a Nobody. You can comment here or there.

we can have a combined monthly income of 13,700$ and not pay the bills on time?! Seriously, it should not be this fucking hard!

And mum’s “brilliant” new plan? She’s going to sell the house, and we’re going to move into apartments.

EXCUSE ME?!

First of all, we worked out ASSES off for this house. We paid it off once, and yes, things are a bit tight at the moment, but we usually manage to survive. I am NOT willing to give up 16 years and my fucking FUTURE so that she can play happy renter and line someone else’s pocket.

I will not leave this house until I am dead or we have sold it at a decent price for a NEW house, not some crappy apartment, thank you very much.

She had this whole thing where she would sell the house to a guy for 100,000$ up front and payments for the rest…except, she’s not realizing, after paying off the morgage (which, I don’t recall how much it is, but it’s not 100,000)….that’s a nice fucking down payment on a new house, plus, if the guy’s making payments…we don’t have to! His payments can be re-directed directly to the morgage of said new house.

Logic is not my mother’s fortay at the moment.

She’s also finally thinking about allowing me to become her payee…though she keeps changing that. Last night I went from becoming her payee, to splitting the bills down the center, to…whatever the fuck she’s come up with overnight. She can’t make up her mind, and we just keep getting further behind because she can’t manage her money (and yes, I can take her to court and get power of…whatever it is over money, but doing so would involve my family, because they always stick their noses into shit, and there is no way I’m letting my money grubbing, controling bastard of an uncle anywhere NEAR our money. Ours! No touchy!).

…I’m getting so fucking tired of this mess. I will admit it, I want out. I can’t say that to my mother because she’ll go ahead with her asanine plans and get rid of the only asset we have and I DON’T want that…but I’m so tired of all this crap. I’m tired of having every cent of my money being taken for bills she should have paid. I’m tired of opening the door to servicemen who are there to shut off one utility or the other. I’m tired of never knowing if I’m going to have electricity, water or heat the next morning. I’m REALLY fucking sick of paying 500$ rent (out of 680$ income) and then having to be -300$ in my bank account because if I don’t overdraft my account, I’m going to lose something…like the electricity last month…I’m also tired of being overdrafted by 300$ and still expected to pay 500$ rent the next month (hello mum! One cannot make 800$ out of 680!)

And it’s not just the money, I’m tired of being abused. I’m tired of being yelled at or bad mouthed because I can’t get out of bed and clean up the living room her dog tore up. I’m tired of being left alone when I’m violently ill so my mother can go spend the day at a place that makes her cry when she gets home (and I’m really fucking tired of her crying every day…it’s not her fault, but damn does it hurt me). I’m tired of my needs always coming last.

…maybe I’m just tired.

My mother and I got into a blazing row last week about how I was being ‘lazy’ and I’m always sick and that she’s doesn’t want to hear about it anymore since I don’t do anything around the house. Rather funny…for someone so lazy, I now have a home healthcare worker who will come to work for 50hrs a month to help me get around the house, bathe, eat, ect. Apparently the goverment and my doctors are seeing actual medical conditions, not ‘laziness’.

Grandmere managed to ruin another holiday, though I guess I can’t blame her this time. Just as we were going to start the BBQ for the fourth…life alert called us to tell us she was being rushed to the hospital. No idea what’s going on except that she’s waiting on a surgery…I’m sort of surprised she’s lasted this long, but I doubt it’ll be much longer.

…I still don’t know how I feel about the fact she may soon be very much out of my life. I mean, I’ve wanted it for years, prayed for it, but now…she’s my grandmother, even if she is the most wicked, evil, spiteful woman I have ever met.

I think the stress of Grandmere is what’s pushing my mother over the edge right now…and while I understand that, it’s still not making it a very happy place when I have to take all the bitching and fighting and…everything, just because she needs to lash out.

Sometimes…I wish I could just run away. Disappear and have my own life. But I couldn’t do that, I couldn’t leave my mother. For one thing, I’m too damn scared of what she’d do if I’m not around to keep her going…and for the other…I love her, despite the constant stress.

In utterly un-related news, I’ve discovered I can’t be without ciggerettes right now. I ran out hours ago and have not stopped scratching my arm since. Only, since I don’t have nails, I’ve been scratching at it with a toothpick. It’s all red and irritated.

I hope mum’s check comes in the mail today…maybe she’ll buy me a pack of smokes (while they’re still on sale for 2.75!)… *hopeful look at the mail*

Originally published at Memoirs of a Nobody. You can comment here or there.

I didn’t realize how much it would effect me, ut eleven years on, and I’m still having nightmares about being trapped in foster care.

Well, not nightmares in the traditional sense, I don’t wake up screaming or in a cold sweat, I’m just…very scared and discontent, until I realize I’m safe at home, with mum in the next room. I’m not locked away somewhere, under someone else’s whim.

And life wasn’t that bad in foster care in the first place, I had a lot of great foster parents, some I still care for. I was lucky, compared to some stories my forster siblings and my mother have.

So what terrifies me? The loss of control. The idea it could happen again, even though I know it can’t. The idea that in someway, I’ll be torn from my mother again (which COULD happen, my mother is getting older).

But, reality has no meaning to dreams. No matter how much I know and understand all this, it means nothing when I’m trapped in the dream, trying desperately to ‘get home’. The struggle I endured to achive just that, is replayed more often the more stressed I get, leaving me to wake up not refreshed and happy, but scared and very alone.

I would be so happy, if these dreams just vanished.