Thursday, July 30, 2015

When I was growing up, I believed that nobody's family could possibly be as weird as mine. Sure, my friends' families had their quirks, but I truly thought that nothing compared to my reality of growing up with a mom who has a mental illness. The diagnosis varies every so often but she ranged from more or less functional, albeit usually in a sleepy or foggy haze from serious anti-psychotics, to complete psychotic breaks. Incidentally, I've since let go of the thought that my family had even the slightest chance at the Weirdest Family USA crown in all its dripping, dented chewed-on glory. The more people I get to know, the more I realize we weren't far off from well-adjusted. But that's a post for another day.

My mom's illness was fairly well controlled from about the time I was a toddler until right around the time I was a preteen. To my understanding anyway. There were issues here and there, especially looking back with adult eyes, but she stayed out of a psychiatric hospital for more than a decade and cooked and cared for us kids. As a little kid I had a lot of fun with my mom. Our relationship didn't hit turbulence until I was a preteen and unfortunately has never leveled off. I assumed it was normal mother-daughter teenage ephemera that would pass about the time we tearfully planned my wedding and she needled me about when she would have grandchildren. Yeah, no. Just... no. All that stereotypical (reinforced by romcoms) mother-daughter bonding stuff never happened. 

And before you (admit it, with a huff of indignation) point out that at least I still have my mom when so many don't, I get it. I'm grateful she's here. I'm grateful we've got whatever it is that we've got. But I don't really know what that is. 

Ordinarily when I come across a random topic that obsessively enthralls me interests me or say some new medical malady my father seems to have inherited, I research - like a good little nerd. I have a ridiculously curious nature and if my interest is piqued, it's time to find out everything I can about about him/her/it/them. Admittedly my mother's illness sparked the direction of my degree and a lifetime of interest and empathy for people living with any kind of illness. But lately I've noticed a glaring omission from my exhaust-all-reading-materials mindset. 1. The progression of an already established mental illness in someone who is now a senior citizen. 2. Being an adult with a mentally ill parent. See, she's not going to get any better than she is this week in her best mood and clarity. And that's jarring (and defeating at times).  She's gotten worse over that last ten years, but specifically this last year there has been a marked decline. (Mom's seeing the best psychiatrist she's ever been to, we're very fortunate on that front.) 

There are books on the topic, books that have been on my reading list for years. But why haven't I read them? When it comes to my mother and our relationship, I think I'm afraid I'm going to search for solace or some kind of reassurance in these books and find nothing. Books that will confirm that her decline will become a hybrid of Alzheimer's and Schizophrenia. Dementia and Dissociative identity disorder. Parkinson's and Bipolar. That the woman who doesn't even respond when I say "Mom" (If you're curious, she does answer when I call her Eleanor and it's not even her name. Not even close - again, another story for another day.) eventually won't respond at all or will scream in terror at the sight of me because I'm familiar but her brain has rewired that connection to be a trigger from her past.

So I was melancholy tonight. (Did it show?) I'm okay with that, for the record, because my melancholy evaporates to calm soon enough. Today my mom and I had our first kerfluffle since I started my blog (Not that the blog itself is relevant to the issue, it's just the first time I'll be addressing this. I can guarantee it won't be the last.) This is an almost weekly happening. When she's really struggling it can be daily.  All things considered, today's was pretty mild. The shortest, most simplistic explanation would be to say that when my mom gets confused by her thoughts or feels slighted in some way, she verbally attacks. You've done everything from bestow special favors on someone else (and not her) to committing nefarious, hateful attacks against her. After that comes crying and asking us why we so obviously hate her and apologizing for being "bad". There is nothing like having your mom tell you what a rotten, hateful child you are, for several decades. No really, it's like drinking molten exfoliation cream. Doesn't that sound delightful? Now with 30% more ground apricot seeds for extra scouring power while you burn from the inside out.

I'm sure that comes across... badly? Cold? Dysfunctional? My gauge, it's different than most people's I find. Even after a few decades of this happening, it's difficult to hear. But I know she's spun out of reality when she hits that point. She's said it before. She'll be horrified she said it later. It's a cycle. It'll happen again. She truly believes when she's in the midst of her illness that any of us have it out for her. And she'll be so upset at herself later that it happened. Until she forgets or has an episode again. And then there's the days when I bring her home a hot fudge sundae and I'm her hero for the weekend. There's the days where she forgets how paranoid she was to be in a movie theater and she gushes to everyone that I took her to see a movie. And got her popcorn! And a big drink!! She's my mom. And even if I don't really think she knows what that means and even if I know our relationship is anything other than textbook, I still love her and want to protect her and want her to be as well as she can be. Also, I don't know what I'd do with the mom who cries over wedding planning. That edition of mom and I would have had our own issues. 

So we're clear here, it is what it is. My mom's always been sick. I've always made people uncomfortable with how direct I am about it, as an adult anyway. My house has a little different stress than your typical grandma-let-the-kids-have-a-cookie-instead-of-the-acai-quinoa-bar kind of house. I joke about needing a drink. A LOT. ad nauseam  I have completely normal childhood stories about playing cards with my mom or her taking me to get my ears pierced or to get my picture taken with Santa. I also have stories about my dad sitting me down to explain what was wrong with my mom and visiting my mom at psychiatric hospitals. There's balance, I swear. 

Monday, July 27, 2015

It's genealogy season. One of about three that rotate throughout my year, brought on by innocent questions or comments by relatives and friends, the premiere of a new season of a genealogy show or (most excitingly of all) the release of a new online records database. This most recent obsessive research fest is courtesy a new season AND a new record database, making the genealogy fever particularly rabid.

Let's get a few things out in the open, shall we? Yes, there are television shows (plural!) based solely on researching a person's family history. (Hide your yawn. It makes family historians panic and rush to prove why we're so enthralled, why you should be too. Did I mention the celebrities and traveling and....wait, come back!) And yes, a new digital records (birth, marriage, death, military, etc.) database is a big deal. The interweb doesn't bring quite everything to your fingertips - yet. Digitizing historic records is an ongoing (usually volunteer-based) process, at best. You say your great-great grandmother is from a town where the courthouse burned down three times in her life? Welcome to the dreaded brick wall. No leads, no records. (Local courthouses are where you're most likely to find birth/marriage/death records for ancestors. And yes, I have come across a county courthouse that burned down three times during the time my husband's elusive ancestor lived in that area. Rotten luck or an ancestor with a penchant for arson, who can say?)

While my interest in genealogy never wanes, I admit the height of the fever only lasts a few weeks at most. I exhaust all new resources, or more likely, real life and other activities demand my attention. I mentally make a note of any new places I need to include on future vacations genealogy trips. I've explored a lost hundred fifty year old church cemetery hidden in a stand of trees in a defunct golf course. I've raced to visit several other cemeteries ahead of a blizzard on our way home from a cross-country trip. I've spent countless hours at a microfilm reader deciphering old German newspapers in the town my parents grew up. But that's another story.

As for this genealogy season, I'm hoping to break down a few stubborn brick walls on one branch of my husband's family tree. I expect the new records to be best suited for what I'm missing there. In the span of a few hours, I've already found out details about two women who have eluded me. It's very exciting. It's also a little silly. Neither of them are actual blood relations, but not knowing about their backgrounds is vaguely... itchy.





Thursday, July 23, 2015

It's named. It's live. I've got nothing to say.

That isn't totally true. I had enough happening at the beginning of the week (funeral, family shenanigans, a full size van crossing over the median at full speed and heading for my lane - Mortality was probably going to be a heavy theme for a bit.) that I had mentally outlined a few posts to get me started. And then I choked. It was late when all the blog setup was said and done. It's not the blog's fault that I have a complete disregard for an appropriate bedtime. Today I feel like I've got too many tabs open in my mind and the browser has frozen. But, I sat down with the determination to get something out. 

And then? Then I was killing a few minutes while prepping for dinner so I checked Instagram. I'm not a complete social media addict (an explanation, not a downplay) so I skim through maybe twice a week to see what cool thing the adolescents in my life have shared. It's a big build up to simply say, one of my young relatives was officially outted by his or her (previously unknown) same-sex significant other. To me, this rocks my world because this person has their first significant other and I want to do all kinds of cheesy and completely embarrassing fawning all over them for being young and in love. This does not, and should not (IMHO) rock my world for any other reason. The fact that they are the same gender is as newsworthy as the fact that I'm sweet on my husband. 

But, society being what it is in certain circles and the statistics for depression, suicide and violence/assault for lgbtq youth being what they are, I reached out to my young'un. I wanted him or her to know that in case my obnoxiously vocal (my exact words) stance on equality around them wasn't enough, that simply put, I love them. That nothing changed between us and they should never be afraid of being judged by me. And as every adolescent needs to know (even if they don't know it), I wanted them to know that they are accepted. Also, I wanted them to know that I knew. I didn't want anymore tiptoeing or veiled references to how close they are with the person who is actually their partner. Hindsight has pinpoint accuracy I find. I had suspected in recent months, but I remember only too well the horror of your family teasing and mocking you for the person you like, no matter the gender. So I waited until it was big and bold in social media (By the way kids, if you're waiting to tell people selectively, you may want to remember who you've put into your private circle on your social media. In this instance though, I'm pretty sure it was their way of letting a few of us know without having to have an awkward conversation. This kid is a smart, but socially uncomfortable cookie. But I know other kids & adults have been unintentionally outed by forgetting who can see their posts. Oopsies don't discriminate either - too many plenty of 'straight' folks reveal personal details online everyday.).  The text talk went well. I think there was some relief that it is officially open between us and things are exactly the same as I've promised in past conversations about growing up, needing help, etc. I'm sure there was the proper amount of teenage horror at an adult discussing dating period. And then we devolved into a goofy meme exchange, as usual.


Aside from letting the kiddo know that it was up to them who else would be told and when (as it should be for anyone's love life), that's all there was to it. If I was in a closer proximity to them at the time, I'd have probably baked brownies and made him or her laugh until milk shot out of their nose. For privacy sake, I completely mangled grammar and didn't use the gender or name of the kiddo involved. If that's not obvious, there's nothing for you here. 


To the End

When I began this blog 5 years ago, it ended up being a catch-all for whatever slogged through my brain, mostly writing and the difficu...