Friday, February 17, 2012

Res ipsa loquitur

Res ipsa loquitur.
The facts speak for themselves.
If the duty of an acting party against harming a second party is self evident,  that duty need not be formally expressed for it to be actionable.
A breach of this duty can be inferred by an end result, without direct evidence of how a defendant behaved.
If a wing falls off a plane, it's hard for the airline to be held harmless. If the airline were not inherently negligent, the plane wouldn't have crashed.
This is an unwaivable duty.
If the child of a malignant narcissist could have seen their future from the womb, most would have taken a pass.
 It's a choice we didn't get.
Giving us life doesn't convey ownership.  It is a duty you took upon yourself.
Bearing a child is to accept the duty of parenting this child.
In the world of the intractably snot nosed, entitled, ungovernable bastards,  who is to blame for the discord between us?
We are what you made us.
 It doesn't matter if you won't see it.
Your denial only works for you.
We will no longer be bound by an agreement that we did not participate in making.

Tuesday, February 14, 2012

Narcissist mothers. What gives you the right?

 In light of some action going down on another blog, it begs the question of what gives you the right?
Narcissistic parents are crazy as shit house rats. You have spent your life gutting your child. Wrecking their hopes and dreams. Giving them nothing to support a transition into a robust and successful adult life.
Or giving them a life bound up by so many of your terms and conditions that it amounts to no life at all.
What gives you the right to be indignant, when you once again offer up my way or the highway,
and we take the highway?
How dare you be pissed?
It is not enough to say you gave us life.
I would like to give it back. It's a choice I didn't have then, and it is no choice now. If you could your kid to  snuff it, this would be another avenue for more self aggrandizement.
You can snit and stamp your hoofs all you want.
If we are as you say, snot nose entitled brats, we are what you made us.


Saturday, February 11, 2012

More from Sis.

My sister swears she is OK with me posting her words. I didn't specifically ask her permission to post this.  She is blind to her talent I think, because she really cuts to the heart of the matter and I am proud to post her writing here.

When you think about it, if she had wanted to be married to dad don't you think just once she would have acted like a wife? Same deal with being a parent, she never once acted like one. So if you take it all at face value, she wasn't good to any family members. I don't think she wanted any sort of family life. Reminds me of her father running around binge drinking and leaving them stranded on the farm without a car or
anything, as he goes off for days. If he wanted to be married would he have jeopardized his family that way? Anybody else would have divorced him.
And she acts just like him except the female version.

There's always a part of us that wants a mommy, wants a nurturing parent, and we have that idealized fantasy in our heads, and then we think someday she can be that. But after waiting 60 years, I don't think it's going to happen. But it's normal to want that and to get sentimental sometimes about it.
It just shows we're more human than her, because I never saw her get sentimental about anything.
He was so weird about her, I think she could have hatcheted the *******s and *******s and he'd just go, 'oh well'. We were watching the Tombstone movie the other night, Val kilmer is awesome in that. When he shoots Ringo he says, "why you were just too high strung, that was your problem". I could see dad saying that about mom, she was just too high strung, lol.
If she was normal, she would have called you by now and apologized. Since you've spelled out to her in letters your grievances.
A normal mother would definitely have said something like, "I see why you're angry and I understand it all and I am apoligizing for anything that has hurt you. If you don't want to have a relationship with me, that is fine. But I wanted to let you know how I feel." etc.

Friday, February 10, 2012

When you've got nowhere to turn, turn on the gas.


  "Capote", a film about Truman Capote's research for the novel "In Cold Blood," brings to mind how it was for me living with my mother and bearing the full brunt of her.
 The movie is about Capote as he researches the details of a 1959 murder of four family members in Holcomb Kansas. 
  He is granted access to the pair convicted of the crime after they are sentenced to death.  
No one is yet sure how that night played out. But as long as both of them stretch a rope, no one cares. Those two aren't talking. String'em up.
   He had enough information to write his book, but for two things. Them hanging so he could write an ending. And the details of how that night unfolded.
  Perry Smith, the more adroit of the two, received the lion's share of Truman's attention. To Capote it was a foregone conclusion that the unhinged partner in crime Hickox would be the one responsible for the rampage. 
  So began a cat and mouse game between Capote and Perry. With no surrender of what he needed to finish the book. 
Years ticked away. 
Their appeals were exhausted.  
Here is the pivotal scene. 
Truman is in Perry's cell. Perry has learned the name of Capote's book and is furious. Truman tells him it is a working title, and that he can't pick a name until he knows what happened that night. 
Perry rolls it out. He tells about the pairs mistaken belief that there was $10,000 dollars in the house. 
Perry describes cutting the father's throat, and his systematic stalking through the house firing shotgun blasts into the heads of the rest of the family.
The look on Capote's face is one of suppressed horror. He now knows he has been sitting in front of the real killer since day one. 
An analogue of the seven months attending to my mother. There was no epiphany. 
 I slowly became aware of sharing the house with a person who viewed people as animals to be taken out and put down after their usefulness to her had ended.
Not even a vindictiveness about it. Just a detached calculated end of their utility to her, and how it might be easier to put them in a shallow grave than to 
go about the nasty business of getting them to leave.


Thursday, February 9, 2012

I don't want to know you anymore.


                    CAROL (Helen Hunt) to 
                    MELVIN (Jack Nicholson) 
                    in the movie "AS GOOD AS IT GETS"
      I don't care what you did for me. 
      I don't think I want to know you 
      anymore -- all you do is make me 
      feel badly about myself.

  I am not sure why the people we pull away from fight as hard as they do as we leave. And when I say fight, I don't mean making amends or doing something/anything to repair the relationship. Their universal response seems to be a tack like this:
Oh you little bastard/bitch! You think I am nasty now? You just wait until I am done with you. I'll give you a reason to go no contact. 
As promised, they then up the ante and we have no choice but to fold up and walk away forever. 
The last time I saw my mother she was raging at me and I flew out her door like buck shot. I walked about a mile and was going to call my SO to come pick me up and leave my truck at my mothers house.
You try and find a working pay phone in this day and age. 
So I walked back, got in my truck, and drove off. The next couple of weeks were an angry blur. I had my SO go down to pick up my computer, because I was afraid if I did I might knock the living shit out of her.
Which is exactly what she did. 
The best I heard back from the SO was her going on about me not being man enough to come pick it up myself. 
Trust me, that bony shrew didn't want to deal with me face to face.
So I called her, and before I could give her a version of really? not man enough? she started letting me have it. I think inside that shriveled carcass of hers is one calcium leached skeleton and one huge bottomless lung.  
Nothing more.

This is the first time in almost 50 year's I stood up for myself. I have walked on eggshells and polished her ass cheeks like a dutiful son. The first time I had enough, and demanded reciprocity from her, the relationship was over. 
Any one who thinks they are totally blameless for an otherwise rational human being walking away, let them get what they deserve. 
If it is curling up like a spider in a candle on a piss soaked mattress in a warehouse for the aged, so be it. 


Wednesday, February 8, 2012

One true thing.

 I can tell you one true thing. In all the semantics and hairsplitting of ACON"s and FOO's and GC's and NF's and any other acronym you choose, every one reading these words will one day be dead.
I think everyone is hoping to be somewhere else when it happens.
And I think the same way.
I haven't found it yet. But if there is a loop hole somewhere that will allow me to side step this foolishment, I am going to find it.
Everybody wants to go to heaven, but nobody wants to die.
I am not so sure the personalty disordered among us are able to integrate the reality of this with how they live their lives.
My mother is close to 80. Her devotion to emergency room histrionics, and playing up to a multitude of doctors, had worked against her better health.
She is on blood thinners. Blood pressure med's.
She gets so many med's from so many doctors I couldn't keep track of them all. And this is before she threw my paperwork to keep track of it in the trash.
Yet the way she treats her family would make you think she is never going to die. I was the last one on board to help her and she let me have it with both gas-lit barrels.
This is where I will say that her insanity prevails over garden variety meanness.
She cut the last person that would attend to her needs and washed him out to sea. Like bilge-water  up and out the pipes.
People who have gotten the whiff of her having some money from the farm will quid pro quo her on the instant heir program. Small time lottery winners.
She now depends on the kindness of strangers.
A twenty first century Blanche Du Bois.
Hows that working out for you ma?
Your kids don't want the farm money.
Now that it's been tainted by your grubby dick beaters.

Thursday, February 2, 2012

Long nights journey into fray

I have been e-mailing with my sister.  It astound's the both of us how disconnected my parents were from the whole nuclear family thing. They were detached and aloof until shit hit the fan. Then we were confidants and therapists. Emotional pit-stops. We were persona non grata until they were sponsoring terror that was sure to leave scars on us.
Some parents compete to position  themselves in the minds of their children as being the parent that will give  the nicest gifts, or the laxest restrictions.
Ours seemed to be hell bent to out do the other in making us the most parentified.
These are e-mail excerpts used with permission from my sister.  It is her talking about the night my mother was arrested in Denver. And the drive back from Denver to Dallas with just her and my father.
My father was foaming.
Being in front of his kids was no incentive to check himself or what he said.


When the FBI showed up that night I was relieved. I thought, finally somebody who is qualified to deal with her
can do it, and I'm off the clock. I don't have to watch what she is doing anymore.   

When the FBI and the detectives showed up and were asking dad if he was at the Dallas house they also
said that Williams was shot there, and asking where mom's gun was. That's when I went, 'oh, i get it'.

For some bizarre reason I was stuck in a car with her and some detectives. Dad must have been with you. I was in the cop car in the passenger seat, and she was in the back seat telling me to not say 
anything and the cop who was driving kept telling her to shut up. What a laugh riot. 

I got to see Bill get arrested, handcuffed, put in another car. We were all taken to the police department.
I got interrogated in one room while they were interrogated in other rooms,
and I had to make a statement. They kept asking me for details about what they did. And
I kept telling them I didn't know anything, I was asleep that night. They were quite mean about it and kept telling
me they knew I was lying and were going to put me in a juvenile home. blah blah blah, lol.
I think dad picked me up at the police department, because he was there seeing what was going on with mom. And when we got to the  ********'s it must have been 11 pm or midnight, just guessing. They seemed sympathetic toward dad I thought, but it's just a blur of a memory of us getting our bags and saying goodbye to them. And dad drove us back to Dallas that night, non stop basically. The longest night ever. Him just ranting and raving at me about what the flying fuck had Barbara been doing, for 8 hours or something. And then we went to *******'s house.