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the follow-up post
After I had my run-in with my mother-in-law on Saturday, I called her social worker.
A side note: Social workers are angels. I used to get so annoyed with their persistent phone calls trying to get us involved in her latest disaster but now I am thankful for them. The more we pull away, the more I am thankful that it is someone’s job to punch in on Monday and check on her.
But that wasn’t the frame of mind I was in when I called him on Saturday. He was a big part of orchestrating me taking my mother-in-law to her big appointment. I was about to let him have it that he would have me show up at her apartment and see her trashed like that. Is this some kind of game?!!!
Who really knows. Maybe she was sobering up and just going through withdrawals. She just got out of detox days ago. It’s so hard to tell the difference between getting better or starting to binge again. All I know is that she whimpered something about not being ready and it just killed me because she’s been talking about this big appointment for months. It was really important to her! Why would she give up at the last minute? I just don’t understand.
I was disappointed.
I wanted to yell at her. But I didn’t. I turned around and walked back to my car holding my hand up behind me so she wouldn’t call after me. On my way to my car I dialed the social worker’s number, furious. He told me I should stop, turn around and apologize to my mother-in-law for turning away from her.
Me! Apologize!!!??? Are you kidding me? I was the one who showed up to take her to her important appointment. I’m the one who listened to NINE desperate phone calls on my answering machine asking me to please please please be there for her. I could go on and on and on…
I was there! I was ready to take her to her appointment. Why couldn’t she have made one more phone call telling me she couldn’t do it? Why did I have to show up and see her like that again? I’m done with that. I don’t do that anymore.
I didn’t turn back but I listened to the social worker. He’s a nice guy. He’s a recovering addict. He’s been sober for thirteen years. I have respect for that. Maybe he knows something I don’t know. He rambled on all the usual stuff about addicts not being able to change and how I shouldn’t have expectations etc etc… but then he said something about how I should have “scripts” set in my head so I know how to deal with this. My heart might want to say something else but my voice should say the script.
I’ve been thinking about it ever since. Then I wrote Saturday’s post and you guys blew my mind with all your support. I realize now that this is not about my mother-in-law anymore. Not to be selfish but this is about me. This is just another test to see how I am going to react. I can’t change her. I can’t stop her. I don’t mean to sound pathetically pat but I can change me. If anything, I can be a good example.
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Dear Alcoholic in my life,
I’m really angry at you. I’ve been angry at you for a long time. I get a little bit less angry sometimes because every time we have an episode like this, a little part of my love for you dies. Pretty soon that part of my heart that is reserved for you will just be dead and black and sloughing off into ashes on top of my other organs. Someone will call me up and say you have finally passed on and I’ll just look out the window and think about the weather or something.
When bad things happen I almost wish that the part of my heart was already dead. Stop the pain already or something. I just get so angry and I think horrible thoughts and write horrible letters like this and I know it’s toxic. I know it is not helping me and it’s not helping you and and it is probably not helping anyone who is reading it.
I’m scared that all this anger and hate I have towards you, someone I love, is very very very bad. I’m scared that my little baby daughter is going to be hurt in some way by it. Even worse, I’m scared that she is going to grow up and have this problem too. It’s in her genes. I just want to rent my garments and die if she becomes an alcoholic too. I could not bear the pain. I can barely handle the pain of telling her that you are “sick” when she asks for you.
She does not deserve to be hurt the way you’ve been hurting everyone in your life for years. I didn’t deserve it. Toby didn’t deserve it. Can’t we just stop this cycle of hurt? How many generations have to pay for the sins of their fathers?
You don’t deserve her love. But she does love you and sometimes you are such a sweet old woman. I do love you. I don’t know what part of you is the alcoholic/drunk/liar and what part of you is the real you.
Which reminds me of why I am so angry in the first place. I’m sick and tired of getting played by you. I’m not that stupid!!! Don’t tell me your lies and think you’re so clever. You’re only fooling yourself. I know you’ve been drinking. I can hear it in your voice. I can see it in your apartment that is trashed from top to bottom. I don’t want to hear about some bug you’ve caught that you had to be hospitalized for. I know why you went to hospital. You’ve been doing this for years.
Sometimes I just want to yell at you and tell you that it’s ALL YOUR FAULT and you should stop being so selfish. But I realize that I am just making it worse. I am just making your mental illness and your anxiety and your guilt and your depression worse. And then I feel like crap. It’s just not fair and I wish you would stop it.
Why can’t you be like all those other alcoholics and stay sober for ten, fifteen, twenty years? Even a year would be nice. I know you are too old to learn new tricks but can’t you just try?
I’m sorry I’m so angry at you. I wish I could do something to make a difference but right now I think I just want to walk away and not look back. I won’t cut you off. But I want to.
I’m sorry I wouldn’t talk to you today. I just couldn’t. I wanted to say all this and I couldn’t because I knew you wouldn’t listen.
Sincerely,
B.
