First thing my mother says to me this morning when I walk into my kitchen is, “Doesn’t James have a drinking problem? My necklace is missing.” She has dementia. I’ve been hearing about the jade bracelet or necklace, or whatever she lost this time for over a week. James does not have a drinking problem. My mother has a hoarding problem, a losing her shit, literally and figuratively problem, but James has his drinking under control.
“James doesn’t have a drinking problem. James, Dan, Emerald and I do not go in your room, nor do we like or want any of your jewelry.” This is true. Her jewelry is hideous and gaudy. You could not pay me to wear it. You would hope my mother would just shut up, but she continues, fixated on the same story loop that I’ve heard over a hundred times in the last week, that she took a shower and it was suddenly gone. Her version of suddenly could have been anywhere from yesterday to 30 years ago. Mostly she flips back and forth from about 10 years in the past to two weeks ago. As she emphasizes the importance and value of the jade bracelet it becomes a solid gold piece that someone could easily sell. I tell her to put a camera in her room. She thinks that’s a great idea. So do I, but even with a timer on it, she’ll never believe the time or date because her fucked up memory filled with holes and bullshit is more accurate than technology. The reason she has singled out James is because a couple days ago, when I switched insurance companies, we were all on the same plan and she had to sign a form to restrict James from driving her car, as they don’t want to cover him from previous claims. Sounds simple? No, now we’re all thieves and sneak into her room to go through her garbage pit piles when she’s showering. And James doesn’t even live with us; he’s a grown man out on his own, living off her gold. Her hoard is so valuable. We all want the gold, the tupperware, the good blankets and clothes from the 80’s that are dusty with tags on them. Going into her room is like going into a storage unit from a bad movie. If James ever even looked in that room, I guarantee he’d have nightmares. And this isn’t even what is bothering me. Two or three weeks ago it was a big screaming fit about how I have been secretly messaging her 78 year old boyfriend through her phone and we are somehow collaborating to meet up. Logic is out of the question. Kindness is out of the question. I attempt to meditate, “How to listen without trying to fix a problem, how to be present” all this means nothing. I feel like I’m being battered with an invisible baseball bat of stupidity. There are not enough deep breathing and meditation techniques in existence to deal with an unmedicated, spoiled, bipolar narcissist with dementia. That is all. Buddha, get my back, homie. I’m seriously about to throw my own fit. Happy New Years? Sure. Another day, same old shit at my place.
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July 2023
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