Copabanana
Well-Known Member
My son called me on Sunday wanting to come home for one night. He has been two and a half hours north for 5 months. I said "No." He could not come home. I told him to find solutions to his life, a life that he has created by his choices.
The next night the doorbell rang at 10. It was my son. I allowed him in.
The unsaid assumption by him was that I would let him stay until his SSI check arrived at the end of the month. His plans seemed to be either to set off and go to other states or to get an apartment here in my town for a month until the weather improved so that he could go traveling when it was warmer. No thoughts by him of doing anything to become more stable, to live better.
When he is here my life becomes a living hell. I used to retreat to my room and lock myself in. This time I refused. He constantly eats or prepares food. Bakes cake mixes, cookies. He comments on the news, he criticizes. What I eat. My exercise or lack. How we treat or respond to the animals. Silently, I become frantic.
I did see some improvement in him. A little bit more reflective, warmer, sweeter. Some of the hardness has melted away.
J. Why not go to college? With that, your life changes, immediately. I cannot because of my hair. He feels self-conscious about his (very handsome) appearance.
Feeling desperate myself because my efforts to take care of my own life were stopped completely by his presence, I asked him to look at the digital cameras to see if he could find one that was functional to take pictures to sell stuff on EBAY (clearing out junk.) Like always, I have to hound him to comply. He is only motivated to do what he wants and when he wants it.
Predictably, this pushed me to hysteria.
Within moments I was yelling: Get out of my house. I cannot stand you here. Can you not see, I am trying to claw myself back to life? I cannot choose for you, if the only resources I have, I need to live, myself. You cannot stay here. You have to leave.
He tried to beg, I said no. Can we just talk about it, he asked. No. There is nothing to talk about. You have to leave.
He said he was going to the mountains to die of exposure. If that is your decision, so be it.
Each of us is responsible for ourselves and our choices. You for yours, me for mine.
I feel absolutely dreadful. But it is a dreadful kind of peace.
COPA
The next night the doorbell rang at 10. It was my son. I allowed him in.
The unsaid assumption by him was that I would let him stay until his SSI check arrived at the end of the month. His plans seemed to be either to set off and go to other states or to get an apartment here in my town for a month until the weather improved so that he could go traveling when it was warmer. No thoughts by him of doing anything to become more stable, to live better.
When he is here my life becomes a living hell. I used to retreat to my room and lock myself in. This time I refused. He constantly eats or prepares food. Bakes cake mixes, cookies. He comments on the news, he criticizes. What I eat. My exercise or lack. How we treat or respond to the animals. Silently, I become frantic.
I did see some improvement in him. A little bit more reflective, warmer, sweeter. Some of the hardness has melted away.
J. Why not go to college? With that, your life changes, immediately. I cannot because of my hair. He feels self-conscious about his (very handsome) appearance.
Feeling desperate myself because my efforts to take care of my own life were stopped completely by his presence, I asked him to look at the digital cameras to see if he could find one that was functional to take pictures to sell stuff on EBAY (clearing out junk.) Like always, I have to hound him to comply. He is only motivated to do what he wants and when he wants it.
Predictably, this pushed me to hysteria.
Within moments I was yelling: Get out of my house. I cannot stand you here. Can you not see, I am trying to claw myself back to life? I cannot choose for you, if the only resources I have, I need to live, myself. You cannot stay here. You have to leave.
He tried to beg, I said no. Can we just talk about it, he asked. No. There is nothing to talk about. You have to leave.
He said he was going to the mountains to die of exposure. If that is your decision, so be it.
Each of us is responsible for ourselves and our choices. You for yours, me for mine.
I feel absolutely dreadful. But it is a dreadful kind of peace.
COPA
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