My son’s wife is demanding I get a job. She put my son in the position to demand I do it. Of course no one can take me anywhere, looking
My son’s wife is demanding I get a job. She put my son in the position to demand I do it. Of course no one can take me anywhere, looking for a job let alone doing one would be problematic. I am still sick. If I COULD work I have my job at Ancestry.com I can go back to. I am working on my typing. I have talking pretty much under control. I can’t sit long. And I tire quickly. But I am working on those things.
But since she has never expressed ANY interest in me, she would not know. She says it’s not her responsibility to take care of me. I am fine with that. I can muddle through. There’s days when I hurt so much. . I lay in bed and cry . . alone. . .with no help. But that is livable. All I would appreciate is to be check on . . . a hi, how are you. I would appreciate to be invited to dinner occasionally. I suppose she thought if she starved me I would die or something. I managed a couple trips to the store buy canned goods. I only have a teapot but it heats water and I can made canned soup or ramen. I got some fruit and V8. . .my money is limited but I manage.
I haven’t expected her to wait on me. Or do my laundry. It’s difficult sometimes but if I have to I can take a piece at a time.
It’s funny because when I decided to take his invite, I was excited. Get to be with my grandkids. I could cook sometimes . . . maybe as I healed I could handle cleaning. When I got here I noted things that could stand to be done and started to work on them slowly. I wanted to help her. She was family.
Now she says I rejected her as family. I don’t know how. I sent her a couple emails and never heard back. She was in Colorado and I was in California. When they came out to visit I was ecstatic. She didn’t seem to like me, but I put it down to just meeting me. They came over once and I gave Evie toys and stuff. We went out to dinner. They left. Now I understand I screamed at the baby. Since I have NEVER screamed at a child . .I believe in discussing behavior I don’t like because a child doesn’t always know what is expected . . . I seriously doubt it. I asked my son and he said “hell no” . . . the younger one. . .because I never yelled at them, let alone a baby.
Since we have been in Colorado I have been invited to family stuff and I always came. Brought gifts. Talk with the family. She was standoffish but different people have different levels of tolerance. I thought maybe she would get to like me. I invited them over several times. Had toys for the kids. She came once and after that my son could only manage to come the night she worked late. She hated me, I figured out. I could not figure out why.
Now she also says the children a “terrified” of me. Yeah . . .because when she’s not home they hang in my room. Maybe my grandson is upset by the last article. But “terrified”? He has stolen from me, opened everything I own, walks in without knocking . .and I have never yelled. I ask sometimes that he not do it, but he didn’t listen and I gave up. Evie, before school started, would come and tear out stuff. Pull all kinds of stuff into my room and leave it a terrible mess that I had to struggle to pick up. She picked at things, pulled the stuffing out. I never yelled. ONCE when she was screaming, I asked her to stop because the situation didn’t merit it. And I asked in the tone of voice I would use when reasoning with an adult.
It is so laughable. She lies. You call her on it and she tries to change the subject. She makes other false claims. Because she is, a conservative women. I have to credit it her that she doesn’t use God as an excuse. Her will is enough. What she wants is law. She is so controlling and rude and inconsiderate.
Oh, and she has no friends. In two months no one has come. Probably because the house is a sty. The dishes are always dirty. I took pictures. For a week the stairs were full of dirty clothes and I couldn’t get upstairs to get food. It isn’t pretty. She tells me that no one likes me. That no one cares about me. Hey, I am the one with over 400 friends on Facebook, most people I have known for decades. (Four thousand follow me on G+ but that isn’t as impressive.) I don’t have anyone here, but that is because they all moved away while I was in California.
So . . . I went out tonight and told her that when I can do it, I have a job at Ancestry.com. But I can’t do it yet. I admit I went to provoke her. Half an hour later and she is still crashing around upstairs. When she was still down here she would demand I get out of her face, then hold the door open so I couldn’t close. And she broke the door.
Am I a meany if I am enjoying her being pissed? /evil nasty little chuckle She needed to know I am doing all I can to get better. I have supported myself for 40 years. I want to be independent. The the ignorant, disrespectful mutant can deal with it.
I talked about my son’s wife last time. Today I want to talk about my grandson, the woman’s stepson. He’s twelve.
Jessie’s main complaint against me when she screamed at me was that, contrary to the last time she screamed at me and told me not to let him play WoW, I was letting him watch me play WoW. Now, she did NOT tell me he wasn’t allowed to watch. He told me, but she said nothing. I didn’t encourage him. And I didn’t throw him out of my room.
Because, honestly, I can’t keep him out. He doesn’t respect closed doors. He comes in and goes through my stuff. He uses my teapot. I have asked him to knock. I have told him it bothers me when he hangs on the back of my chairs because the chair is broken and it makes me wobble. But he continues to open the door . . .and not close it. He comes in quietly and with my headset on I don’t hear him until he talks and touches me. And he loves to shakes my head suddenly and startle me.
Personally, I find all this offensive. I have a problem with being touched without being warned. I was raised to knock on doors, even open ones if they were to someone’s private place. I have given up trying to nicely ask, because he does not listen. And if I go to the parents, I will lose my only contact with a real person. And he will be punished . . . although what they could do besides confining him to his room, a punishment he has been enduring for two months.
It just amazes me. When I was twelve I had friends. I stayed all night with one of them frequently. His father had friends, most of whom were always at our house. This child has no friends. He is not allowed to go out, he is confined to his room until it is clean. Of course, I helped him clean it and his stepmother came and ripped everything out and said it wasn’t good enough. And screamed at me for helping him. I was too pissed to tell her I sat on the bed and suggested what he sound do, but did not actually clean. But she wouldn’t care . . . her whole goal seems to be to keep him isolated and alone.
I would report her. She is clearly abusing both of us. But what would that accomplish. If they decided she was, and also abusing the two dogs that spend all but a few minutes a day in dog carriers (I sob every time I think of them), he would go in foster care, or worse, back to his natural mother. I would be homeless.
Sometimes I just wish I could die. The child would respect me sleeping and it would be a couple of days until he sorted out that I was dead. She has never been in my room since I was here. Not to say hi or how are you or anything. She hates me. Although she would be glad I was dead, maybe I could ruin the bed and have a little vengeous.
I’ve moved in with my eldest son, temporarily. There was happiness at first. Perhaps my daughter-in-law DIDN’T hate me. I’d only seen her a few times and she had always seemed . . . to not like me. And she painted the room I was going to stay in. I had hope.
But she DOES hate me. A present I stay in my room, with the door closed so I can’t hear the ugly things she says. That I am a terrible person and I was a horrible mother and all my children are horrible. She never calls me to dinner, and the few times I’ve been upstairs she has made a face and a put upon sigh when I went into her kitchen. I’ve bought things in cans, and I have very little money, to eat.
And how she treats my grandson! I weep. Oh, as far as I can tell, she never hits him. But the language she uses toward him . . . idiot, stupid . . .and she yells at him often. The rest of the time she ignores him and he’s left alone down here with me. Except if she finds him with me he gets punished.
I don’t think I have EVER been quite as miserable as I am now. Maybe when I was a child, living in that hell. But then I thought my life was normal and now I know this .. . bitch. . .is a person with a deformed mind and I am being abused. At least I have my friends online. She tried to keep me from having Internet but I bought my own cord and my son installed it. And I have my own cell. She’d keep me locked down here away from everyone if she had her way.
My youngest son is working on getting me back to California with him. So I’m holding on. I am not getting medical care that I need, my son and the stupid git have an argument every time he takes me somewhere. But I can hang on. . . some days are bad but I take some ibuprofen and stay in bed.
So . . . that’s my life.
I often joke that anything that could happen to someone and they live through it has happened to me. Attempted murder several times, rape for years, robbery, car wrecks, earthquakes, hurricanes, fires . . .been homeless, had one child die and another be kidnapped for 20 years, ran from an abuser, endured being hated by all my neighbors for my race. . . it all has happened to me. Statistically I figure there must be at least 10 women who have never suffered because of me. When I talk about my childhood and young adulthood, people don’t believe me. I’ve been called a liar many times. But I’m not. My mother tried to kill herself and me when I was six weeks and it just went downhill from there.
But I’m tough. Not only have I survived, despite my own attempts not to early on, I’ve actually learn to roll with it and be happy. And pretty well adjusted. This past year and a half has been difficult, but I kept up the hope. I left my job at a real estate office of 8 years in California because they no longer could afford to pay me, and moved back to Colorado. Cheaper and when I lived here before I wasn’t without a job unless I wanted to be. But. . .it’s over ten years later and the economy sucks and I’m older. No job. My daughter, who also can’t find a job, and I survived on Unemployment. Hasn’t been great, but I have a history of living on the edge. I want little and can live without disposable income for long periods. ‘
Then a month ago I got a job. A job I really liked. Working from home doing tech support. I was really getting into the swing of it. And I had a stroke. Like other bad things that happened, it was a very minor stroke. Oh, I have the usual exhaustion. . .going to the bathroom takes all my energy, but I can do it on my own. The worst is that talking is hard and typing slow and laborious. So . . . I can’t work. We were just catching up, getting things current. I looked forward to some new clothes, which I haven’t had since California. Maybe replace my car, which was totalled by a person with no insurance in February .. . and my insurance, unknown to me, was only liability. We were going to okay. I had been right to hope.
And now there is no job. I have one more month of rent and bills. I applied for disability but folks tell me if I’m lucky it will months. My family has offered what help they can, but it won’t be enough. With no insurance to pay for rehab, no money for bills . . . the chances are likely that I’ll be homeless in a month.
And I have no reserve strength to deal with. I have worked so hard for the last seven years, since my last husband left me, to fight the depression. Yeah, I have depression. I was diagnosed 20 years ago with bipolar. And I have fibromyalgia. But I was good. I was happy in my limited life. I had hope that with the job, things would improve. Now . . . even the health I had is gone.
So what do I do? I am ready to give up . . .I think after I write this I’m going to lie down and just not get up. I can’t kill myself . . .tried that many times in my teens and early 20s when I was dealing with the abuse and rape of my childhood. And I always failed. But maybe I can just lie down and give up. I just have no hope. In a few short weeks I’ll just be another failed person, sleeping under bridges.
The burden of my sorrow . .. my shame . . . my failure is more that I can bear. To all of you have been my friends, goodbye I guess. Be well! Prosper.
I get food stamps. Not much, but it helps. So when I had a stroke two weeks ago and I realized I would have to call them and tell them, I was distressed. And I was right to be worried.
First, I had to search for a number to call them. I’m struggling and I had to think hard to remember. I mean, I have no idea where my file of that stuff is. I finally found it. And guess what, it didn’t help. The message says: For locations and hours, press 1. For information about whether you are eligible press 2. And if you press 2, you are told to go to the website.
No the ignorance involved in sending poor people who very likely do not have a computer or Internet is extreme. But I have one, so I search until I found a page that might help me– the one they give you wouldn’t help me. I found it. I called the number on that page. A machine answered. A lengthy message gave me all kinds of options and informed me that if I lost my card, to call JP Morgan. I haven’t lost my card but this message has annoyed me for at 6 months . . . because JP Morgan doesn’t handle the cards, Chase does. Great if you are a poor person . . .false information. I finally reached the end of the message and it told me to press 0 if one of the options hadn’t fit my problem. I pressed 0. A woman came on and asked where she could transfer me. I pointed out, as I have before that the message was wrong. Then I explained that I had had a stroke and I needed to talk to someone about my account. Keep in mind, I am struggling to communicate . . .she did not even ASK me if it was okay, she said she would transfer me to a supervisor and did. And, as has happened the last three times I called,the supervisor wasn’t there. I left a very emotional message. But it doesn’t matter, she never gets back to me.
After I calmed down,it is so frustrating and embarrassing to be recovering from a stroke, I called again. I have been a hold for 55 minutes. I am crying. There is so much I need to do . . . but I get so frustrated trying to communicate. I have to call disability. I have to deal with my job. I don’t know what to do. I can’t go to the doctor, I have no money. I keep telling myself it will get better . . . but I don’t believe it.