Mother's Little Helper

There's a reason so many women are (over) medicated these days.

My reasons for wanting to fake my own death (simply as an "out") are many, and most involve my family--my Sweetie, the Spawnlings, and the Gator.

Mostly I just wish that my mother and sibs would understand that I am frustrated enough, without all them "sticking their oars in" with the Toad. They all seem to be of the delusion that they are making a difference.

They are making a difference--they're making it harder on ME.

He lost his job. I don't entirely believe his story about it. Some of it, I'm sure, is reality based, but I got over trusting him last spring. Whatever small vestige of hope and trust I had in him died early in April when he stole money from us and lied about it.

It continued its death-throes when in May he lied about looking for a job (stuffing the apps in his glove box) and when, two months later, we discovered the PPV porn.

I'm so frustrated by the Toad right now, I can't even think straight. I get mad, depressed, frustrated, and disgusted all in a whirl of seconds. I want to beat him more senseless; I want to throw him out into the streets; I want to scream and throw things. None of that will happen, however, so you can rest your 9-1-1 fingers now.

I am beyond seeing the humor in any of this. There is NO humor in it--at least not from where I sit, stand, and pace anxiously. It's like waiting for them to pronounce your death sentence.

Now, on top of all that, my Sweetie seems to be totally beyond thought--he cannot seem to remember how the Toad listens to no one; how my mother and brother are sticking their oars in (and how that means I must have at least 2 calls a day from each of them, asking "how is Toadly?")

Nobody asks "how are YOU?" It's all about HIM. Which pisses me off as well. It's like it's all my fault. Sure I know I made mistakes (and yes, they're all mine) but dammit! They act like my mother didn't spend the last 18 years undermining my authority, and coddling and spoiling him. Whatever decisions I made, they were the best I could do at that time. But somehow, that gets lost in the translation.

And somehow, it's all my fault. Even Kevin thinks so, on some level. As if HE can get the boy to do anything other than hide in his room. That's Kevin's sum total of effective authority with Toad: get the boy to disappear into Ass Caverns for the day.

The simple fact that I choose to not elevate my blood pressure AND my tension and stress (leading to the need for copious muscle relaxers and ibuprofen) is wrong in his eyes.

It also irritates me to no end that because HE screwed up, the rest of us get to walk on eggshells with each other in an effort to not take out our anger and frustration on each other. Toad does leave late every afternoon (or sooner) and doesn't come home for several hours, during which time the emotions fester like a bad bug bite. It's an itch you can't scratch enough.

Today, I yelled at Kevin, "And just what the #$@! do you expect me to be able to accomplish with him? I can't MAKE him ANYTHING. YOU TRY. How far, exactly do YOU get?"

My mother's current plan (as it always is) is to get her hands on him--and get him away from me. At this point, I don't care.

I just want this OVER. Because if it's not soon, I may need to go back on meds...and if that happens, I will probably never get off them. (and that's not my idea of a good time).