Hello, all. I've been on the forum for over a year, but have never introduced myself properly. I didn't when I joined the forum because I wasn't sure if I would stay. You know how these things can be, catty, catty, catty. I've had enough of that in my life to last a lifetime. Then, when I realized y'all are the finest group of people around, I thought it was too late. It would be pretty lame to do an intro. I still think that. However, I tend to say stuff in my posts that are funny as heck, sometimes philosophical, sometimes cryptic and sometimes just plain annoying. Since you have no idea of my history or background, you have no idea why I "say" the stuff I say. So, I'll let you in on my history. I'm sure it's going to be way TMI, but that's just the way I roll.
First of all, I work for the United States Secret Service. I have for a long time (02/06/1989). More than half of my life, actually, and am really looking forward to retirement (02/28/2022, but who's counting?). I normally don't make my day-job a public event, but at this point in my life and career, I really don't give a fig because the agency has turned to crap.
However, it has also been a huge part of my life. It has enabled me to travel to places I would never have been able to go (London, England and Berlin, Germany for example) and has strengthened my convictions of right and wrong. I have made friends with a diverse group of people, many of whom I have never met face to face, or only run into every few years at a conference. It has taught me patience, tolerance, perseverance, and perspective. It has also brought me to this city.
I was born & raised in Philadelphia, PA. The younger of two daughters of a single mother. I was an abused child, physically, verbally and emotionally. However, I had no idea of that, because when you live like that, it is your normal. My home life sucked, but my work life was great.
I transferred to Dallas, TX, in 1992 and discovered what "normal" families were like. Hmmm. That was an eye opener. The office sucked, but my personal life was much improved. It's where I met missionaries from the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Yeah, I think y'all know I'm a "Mormon." I know I've mentioned it before. It's not important, but it's not un-important, either. It just is. (I was raised Catholic and went to Catholic schools, in case you are interested.)
I transferred to Nashville, TN, in 1997 and spent a year in that office. That was a messed up year. The most passive-agressive person I've ever met in my life was my new boss.
In 1998, I landed in Chattanooga, TN, where I have been ever since. This has been an interesting ride. I love this area. I finally found my niche in life. Everything was going well for me. I was in an emotionally and financially stable environment and was happy, truly happy for the first time in my life. Then in September, 2000, my mother came to live with me. She had lost her job in January of that year and was lying to both my sister and myself about her financial situation. Basically, telling me she was paying a set of bills and not a different set of bills. Then telling my sister the opposite, what she told me she was paying, she told her she wasn't. You get the picture.
Though I'm the youngest in years, I'm the oldest in common sense, maturity and independence. I realized what was happening when I was in Philly for a visit and gathered my mother's bills and finances together and did a complete overhaul. She was destitute at that point. Instead of allowing her to be homeless, I did what needed to be done, I let her move in with me. And assumed her bills.
My life took a downward spiral. My mental, physical and financial health went into the dumps. She had no source of income for more than three years. She finally received disability and that helped a little bit. We went from a tiny (perfect for me!) 790 sq ft townhouse to the house I presently own, approx 1600 sq ft. And she took over. Oh my gosh. I put the dishes in one cabinet and came home to find them moved to another. "Because that's where they go." I got to the point where I hated my house. And my life. And my mother. She refused to go anywhere without me. She sat around in the house all day eating junk food, because every diabetic needs to eat four bowls of Sugar Smacks cereal every day plus fudge covered graham crackers. Oh my gosh, the stories I could tell! But I won't.
I stopped going to church. I stopped going out with friends. I stopped having friends over my house. I stopped living. Life sucked. I was constantly angry and didn't know why. I was constantly sick, and didn't know why. This is about the time my Sjogren's Syndrome manifested itself. My IBS got severe. I had high blood pressure and needed medication. I had chronic migraines. I was a freaking mess. The people I worked with walked on eggshells around me because the slightest little thing would set me off.
I finally had enough in 2009 and told her she needed to move out of my house and into her own apartment. She went apartment hunting ONE day and couldn't find anything. So, what did she do? She called my sister and told her I kicked her out and she couldn't find anyplace to live. Of course, my sister told her to come back to Philadelphia. So, in September, 2009, that's what she did. And told everyone I kicked her out of my house because she ate a danish.
What actually happened is: she had a doctor's appointment. I had to take off from work to take her to the doctor because she was no longer allowed to drive. She had been in three auto accidents since she moved in with me, totaling two of those vehicles and breaking her back in the third. She was not allowed to drive as long as she lived in my house. So, I was inconvenienced to be her chauffeur. While I was showering, she ate a huge (soup) bowl of frosted shredded wheat cereal. Remember I said she's a diabetic? Yep. Insulin dependent, to boot. I decided to stop at Panera bread for breakfast to get a spinach and artichoke souffle. I figured she'd get coffee and sit with me. She got a danish. A danish the size of a plate that had cream cheese and raspberry on it. When she had placed her order, I said, "Mom, you just had a big bowl of cereal." She turned to me and said, "Don't you worry about it!" OK. I sat down. I'm sitting there eating my souffle when I started bawling. Just bawling like a baby. I'm watching her stuff this danish down her face and I couldn't do it anymore. She wanted to know what was wrong so I told her. "I cannot do this anymore. You are killing yourself and I can't watch you do it anymore. You ate that cereal this morning and now you're eating this? Your sugar levels are all over the place because you don't take care of yourself. If you don't care, why should I? You cannot live with me anymore. If you want to kill yourself, do it in your own home." Her response? "I won't eat junk anymore."
Needless to say, I was pretty much done being her caretaker. If she was not willing to expend the effort to take care of herself, then I was no longer willing to do it for her. She got pissed off and left the restaurant (and her beloved danish). I sat there and ate my souffle, crying the whole time. But you know what? The most incredible thing happened. This knot in my stomach, that I had no idea was there, suddenly went away. A huge burden had been lifted from my shoulders. I was suddenly free.
She refused to talk to me for days after that. I didn't care. I was free. I was making plans to get on with my life. I was looking for apartments in the area for her. I didn't want her gone, I just wanted her out of my house. I wanted to look after her and make sure she was safe and taking her medicines and going to the doctors that she needed to go to, but I wanted my own space.
To be continued...
First of all, I work for the United States Secret Service. I have for a long time (02/06/1989). More than half of my life, actually, and am really looking forward to retirement (02/28/2022, but who's counting?). I normally don't make my day-job a public event, but at this point in my life and career, I really don't give a fig because the agency has turned to crap.
However, it has also been a huge part of my life. It has enabled me to travel to places I would never have been able to go (London, England and Berlin, Germany for example) and has strengthened my convictions of right and wrong. I have made friends with a diverse group of people, many of whom I have never met face to face, or only run into every few years at a conference. It has taught me patience, tolerance, perseverance, and perspective. It has also brought me to this city.
I was born & raised in Philadelphia, PA. The younger of two daughters of a single mother. I was an abused child, physically, verbally and emotionally. However, I had no idea of that, because when you live like that, it is your normal. My home life sucked, but my work life was great.
I transferred to Dallas, TX, in 1992 and discovered what "normal" families were like. Hmmm. That was an eye opener. The office sucked, but my personal life was much improved. It's where I met missionaries from the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Yeah, I think y'all know I'm a "Mormon." I know I've mentioned it before. It's not important, but it's not un-important, either. It just is. (I was raised Catholic and went to Catholic schools, in case you are interested.)
I transferred to Nashville, TN, in 1997 and spent a year in that office. That was a messed up year. The most passive-agressive person I've ever met in my life was my new boss.
In 1998, I landed in Chattanooga, TN, where I have been ever since. This has been an interesting ride. I love this area. I finally found my niche in life. Everything was going well for me. I was in an emotionally and financially stable environment and was happy, truly happy for the first time in my life. Then in September, 2000, my mother came to live with me. She had lost her job in January of that year and was lying to both my sister and myself about her financial situation. Basically, telling me she was paying a set of bills and not a different set of bills. Then telling my sister the opposite, what she told me she was paying, she told her she wasn't. You get the picture.
Though I'm the youngest in years, I'm the oldest in common sense, maturity and independence. I realized what was happening when I was in Philly for a visit and gathered my mother's bills and finances together and did a complete overhaul. She was destitute at that point. Instead of allowing her to be homeless, I did what needed to be done, I let her move in with me. And assumed her bills.
My life took a downward spiral. My mental, physical and financial health went into the dumps. She had no source of income for more than three years. She finally received disability and that helped a little bit. We went from a tiny (perfect for me!) 790 sq ft townhouse to the house I presently own, approx 1600 sq ft. And she took over. Oh my gosh. I put the dishes in one cabinet and came home to find them moved to another. "Because that's where they go." I got to the point where I hated my house. And my life. And my mother. She refused to go anywhere without me. She sat around in the house all day eating junk food, because every diabetic needs to eat four bowls of Sugar Smacks cereal every day plus fudge covered graham crackers. Oh my gosh, the stories I could tell! But I won't.
I stopped going to church. I stopped going out with friends. I stopped having friends over my house. I stopped living. Life sucked. I was constantly angry and didn't know why. I was constantly sick, and didn't know why. This is about the time my Sjogren's Syndrome manifested itself. My IBS got severe. I had high blood pressure and needed medication. I had chronic migraines. I was a freaking mess. The people I worked with walked on eggshells around me because the slightest little thing would set me off.
I finally had enough in 2009 and told her she needed to move out of my house and into her own apartment. She went apartment hunting ONE day and couldn't find anything. So, what did she do? She called my sister and told her I kicked her out and she couldn't find anyplace to live. Of course, my sister told her to come back to Philadelphia. So, in September, 2009, that's what she did. And told everyone I kicked her out of my house because she ate a danish.
What actually happened is: she had a doctor's appointment. I had to take off from work to take her to the doctor because she was no longer allowed to drive. She had been in three auto accidents since she moved in with me, totaling two of those vehicles and breaking her back in the third. She was not allowed to drive as long as she lived in my house. So, I was inconvenienced to be her chauffeur. While I was showering, she ate a huge (soup) bowl of frosted shredded wheat cereal. Remember I said she's a diabetic? Yep. Insulin dependent, to boot. I decided to stop at Panera bread for breakfast to get a spinach and artichoke souffle. I figured she'd get coffee and sit with me. She got a danish. A danish the size of a plate that had cream cheese and raspberry on it. When she had placed her order, I said, "Mom, you just had a big bowl of cereal." She turned to me and said, "Don't you worry about it!" OK. I sat down. I'm sitting there eating my souffle when I started bawling. Just bawling like a baby. I'm watching her stuff this danish down her face and I couldn't do it anymore. She wanted to know what was wrong so I told her. "I cannot do this anymore. You are killing yourself and I can't watch you do it anymore. You ate that cereal this morning and now you're eating this? Your sugar levels are all over the place because you don't take care of yourself. If you don't care, why should I? You cannot live with me anymore. If you want to kill yourself, do it in your own home." Her response? "I won't eat junk anymore."
Needless to say, I was pretty much done being her caretaker. If she was not willing to expend the effort to take care of herself, then I was no longer willing to do it for her. She got pissed off and left the restaurant (and her beloved danish). I sat there and ate my souffle, crying the whole time. But you know what? The most incredible thing happened. This knot in my stomach, that I had no idea was there, suddenly went away. A huge burden had been lifted from my shoulders. I was suddenly free.
She refused to talk to me for days after that. I didn't care. I was free. I was making plans to get on with my life. I was looking for apartments in the area for her. I didn't want her gone, I just wanted her out of my house. I wanted to look after her and make sure she was safe and taking her medicines and going to the doctors that she needed to go to, but I wanted my own space.
To be continued...
