I talk quite a bit here about my mother. She’s not a bad person, really. It’s just she has no clue.
I’ve been struggling a bit at home post-surgery. Not only do I still have a 20cm slash in my belly, but I also have an infection in that slash, so I’ve been feeling quite … well, blah.
It’s hard when you’re on your own, have no siblings, and most of your friends are away. I still need a lie down after a shower, and find it hard to do simple things like preparing meals, washing, making the bed. I went to the chemist this morning. It nearly killed me. By the time I got there I thought I was going to pass out.
My therapist convinced me that it would be good to have my Mum around to help me. Even if she does drive me nuts, what I really need right now is someone to take care of me, to help out, even just to keep me company. Apparently she thinks my mother cares and that may be she just needs to hear that she’s needed. We all like to hear we’re needed, right? Apparently not my mother. She said:
“It’s too hard right now with your father. Why don’t you ask your cleaners to help make the bed?”
I’m so upset. I know I’m extra fragile right now, but really… does she honestly care more about a man who has treated her like sh!t for the last 50 years than she cares about me? Even when she’s been telling me how rude and obnoxious he’s being, just this week? And what about my friends? Apparently they don’t care either, even if most of them are away on traditional summer holidays.
So I’m alone. All alone. So completely and utterly alone. It makes me wonder what the point of anything is. It hardens my heart and makes me realise that everything the wonder therapist told me about people caring and me not being alone was just baloney. And before you all rush to tell me you care: at the end of the day I’m just words on a page. It doesn’t matter whether those words appear or not. There are plenty of other words out there to fill the space.
It makes me wish I’d done the unthinkable when I had the guts and the irrationality.