Thursday, January 19, 2012

Seven Month's in the Hole.

The seven months I lived with my sociopath mother was the first time in over 40 years I had spent a night under the same roof with her. It became a creeping  nightmare.
 The stay with her was chock full of small anecdotes of her crime. Observations of her of misdeeds that brought the family to it's knees.  I knew what she had done.  She knew I knew.  I saw the endless parade of men to her bedroom each day. I saw my father die. I was there when her and her boy friend committed the murder that undid us as a family.
The closest she came to acknowledging her role in my father's suicide were these words.
"I don't know why he did it. ....I gave him some that night."
 Like her vaginal magic would be enough to give any man hope. She never mentions the first part of that week end was spent with the guy she had left him for.
My favorite words out of her mouth was a remark about what lousy luck our family had. Like damn! Try to whack a guy in your driveway  and park him and his car out on a country road, and every body gets all pissy about it.
After she demolished my rose tinted lens, the holocaust on our family was complete. Every one is gone. Save my sister and me.
My sister moved as far away as she could get without a boat. And I kept my head buried in the sand.
I never lost the walking on egg shell feeling in her presence. I rationalized, minimized, and justified her behavior for the next 40 years. Not living with her allowed me the illusion of the quintessential southern boy in denial, trying to love his mother and see beyond her faults.
It was all behind me.
Not good enough.
As lily white as she projects herself, she likes her instability on the back burner so you don't forget.
She minimizes her past. Unless she volunteers full disclosure.
Peppered in conversation about women being sluts. Men and their bothersome penis's. And how every one is a grifter and charlatan who have her pegged as a mark.
Every one alive has screwed her over.
Every single person.
Oh except you!



Lisette said...

"I don't know why he did it... I gave him some that night."

"What lousy luck this family has."

I sit here in stunned silence, thinking how to respond. Everytime you write about Babs and what comes out of her pie hole or into her V hole, I think... it can't get any worse than that... but it always does.

You say you are your mother's son. I don't agree. It seems the only "magical" thing her vagina ever did was give birth to a soul that didn't carry her diseased DNA. Sorry, can't give her ANY credit, magic or not. YOU transcended that infectious disease of a woman. And that has nothing to do with "magic" or "luck."

q1605 said...

I wish I was making this stuff up.
If I was that creative Stephen King would have to step down.
C'est la vie.
It is worse than I share on here.
Not much, but when her stream of consciousness kicks into over drive there is no telling what will come out of that mouth of hers.

Lisette said...

Like you say, you can't make this stuff up. Truth is stranger than fiction. There's no "unbelievable" when it comes to a MN/Sociopath.

Anonymous said...

Ahhh, the "Golden Vagina" to be worshipped, honored, protected.....but there's just not enough douche on this planet to clean up the Barbarian's "mess."

And the other mind-blower you mentioned: They are PROUD of their nastiness. Positively shameless AND smirk/winking over their perversity. If they can't somehow "cover it up" because it's so damn public they not only twist it beyond recognition they are actually IMO boasting about their evil.

If I had my pdmomma's education-RN,BS ("Run Now," "Bull Shit") I sure as hell would shut my mouth about starving my baby. Really. I would be so ashamed-especially because I not only had OJT but MORE OJT because I had an older sibling. Yeah, what a PITA a baby is when it cries and cries until it just stops asking for the most basic essential next to 02 to survive: Food. Failure to Thrive. I was a PITA from the womb and "never improved." She told that story because-I kid you not-she thought it was FUNNY.

Sometimes after you've spent some time away from these "thangs" it pays to revisit the scene of the crime. Just to make sure you didn't get it wrong because it happened when you were a kid, and I'm a "dutiful daughter" blaa blaa. And it's so disturbing, so incredible words fail. They don't care if you freeze, starve or are struggling to survive. They'll push you under the water for the third time and brag about how they got what THEY wanted while you're fish feed. They know exactly what they're doing and they do it intentionally and repeatedly.

I do envision Barbara-The-Barbarian having another stroke. Maybe it's time to crank up the letter-writing campaign. Wonder what she'd do if she received a snail-mail letter regarding her impending "Roasted-And-Toasted" postmarked from an area of the world where she one....accompanied by a Google Earth picture of her home...."We now offer in-home cremations. Please advise us of any change of address so we know where to send the flame-thrower..." Her "luck" just got a bit worse!

q1605 said...

Anon. Did you pull the douche card out of thin air?
If I had a dollar for every time my mother uttered a sentence with the word douche in it, I wouldn't be here hacking away at this page.
She came of age in the fifties.
A period of time that from now forward will be called the age of douche.
I guess she had to do something to..
OK nuff said.
But every thing was take a douche. Take a douche, take a douche.
Etc etc. On and relentlessly on. Long before I was old enough to know what the hell a douche was.
I think your comment was witty, but lacked the usual effervescence.
The wife however is giving you two enthusiastic thumbs up.
Nah! I think it's great too!

Anonymous said...

I knew it! I just KNEW she'd be the type to not only use that crap but buy it by the CASE from some big ol' "Warehouse"-type store.

I can just see her standin' in the aisle opening up the bottles and sniffin' them as the wheels turn: "Hmm, do I wanna smell like 'Cranberry Crotch' or 'Tropical Twat' this week? Well, it is the Holidays so I'll get the case we run out of punch."

The Barbarian is the only woman on the face of this planet that eagerly anticipates the annual "Spread-n-Dread" gyno exam. No one ever has to tell her, "Scoot down the table...further..further...good. Now, please TRY to relax your, you can't keep your knees TOGETHER...." She must have been positively orgasmic when "Feminine Hygiene Spray" came out on the market. Between all the sprayin' and squirtin' and no doubt tons of cheap perfume she must have walked in a room and everybody's eyes started to water-truly a "Sight For Sore Eyes" and plugged up sinuses, sneezing, coughing, wheezing. Barbara-the-Barbarian walks on an elevator and 3 stories later there's a bunch of half-dead people crawling out of the elevator gasping for air. Probably has a life-time prescription for Flagyl-automatic refills, they come in the mail every month from India.

In your letter you might mention part of the crematory services include a scented douche of her choice-"Dead Daffodils" or "Flaming Flora"-rendered by a board-certified proctologist. I can just see the headlines in the National Enquirer: "Woman Succumbs From Self-Inflicted Death By Douche OD." I just don't see her as one for moderation in ANYTHING.

Oh, if only it were POSSIBLE! I'd chip in for a couple of cases. Anything for the ACoN cause!

Anonymous said...

Magical vagina, huh? Why does that not surprise me? Lisette nailed it on this one: There is NO such thing as unbelievable when it comes to a MN/sociopath. I'd be hard pressed to believe the most talented fiction writer could make this shit up.

Anonymous, you're on a roll today! 'Cranberry Crotch' or 'Tropical Twat'?? What a tough choice!

"Oh, if only it were POSSIBLE! I'd chip in for a couple of cases. Anything for the ACoN cause!"
Hell yeah! Lets chip in until we have enough for a pallet!


Anonymous said...

Yeah, we could have the whole pallet delivered and just imagine her surprise and joy when an 18 wheeler pulls up and starts un-loading the stuff. "For you, Ms., doesn't say who it's from...the bill of lading just says, "Thinking of you. Thanks for the memories and have FUN!" Guess you have a real fan club eh, Ms. Barbarian?"

"Just can't get enough
of that sweet stuff
My disposable douche
Makes me HIIIIGH!"

People can get addicted to all kinds of stuff. The Barbarian (not surprisingly) has some, ah... interesting "pecker-dillows" or is it "pecca-dildos?"

"The lights are on
But no one's home
Your will is not your own
Your bootie shakes
In double time
Your palms sweat
A one-track mind, A one track MIIIND-

Might as well face it
You're addicted to douche,
Might as well face it
you're addicted to douche,
Might as well face it
It's below your 'pooch'
Might as well face it
It's your personal "hooch"

q1605 said...

Maybe it is medical vagina?
HHmmmmmmmm. Macca?
Too many people
banged my narcissist
too many people
should have seen that she's a fake
that was her first mistake
f'ing all she could take
she took her plastic hip
and she broke it into
now nothing can be done for you
Good God!
You've got me doing it.