more of the same

my sister called me several times today.  she’d had to call our parents’ house and guess who answered the phone.  mom wanted to talk about the little routine medical procedure she’d had yesterday, but my sister refused to get into it.  the conversations that took place were less than satisfactory.

The thing about having conversations with mom sometimes – especially right after a binge – is that she is a genius at talking in all different directions and changing topics midstream and twisting what you just said so you have to waste time restating what you already said…or she’ll act like you were really discussing something else, and she’s puzzled as to why you’re back on that old topic (her drinking) again.  It’s dizzying.  It leaves you (me, my sister) feeling insane and frazzled and wondering if maybe mom actually isn’t the one with the problem after all.  The feeling doesn’t last – but it’s really hard to reconstruct the conversation in order to describe to someone else just WHY it was so frustrating.

my sister and i have both had many of these types of conversations.  And I don’t see an end in sight.

Alcoholics are manipulative creatures.  Magicians, really.  Distractors.  Look over THERE – don’t look at me while I have another drink.  All in the name of preserving access to the booze.  Nothing else – no matter what they say – matters more.  It sucks. 

Mom told my sister that the woman in the room with her at the hospital – an older woman – whose family visited her daily (unlike mom’s two horrid daughters who stayed far, far away) – this older woman – SHE has two bourbons every night.  Hm!  So, the logical next step would be, if SHE can do it (and having done it, has reached a fine old age with a loving family that doesn’t try to make her STOP having her two bourbons every night) then why can’t mom?  And of course, my sister pointed out that SOME people CAN do that.  But SOME people CAN’T.  And mom is one.  But mom doesn’t see the problem with whatever she’s drinking.  She also is barely conscious when she’s on a bender, so I’m sure she’s completely unaware of how hideous it is to see her like that.  For her, it’s probably a nap with a few odd dreams and dry heaves when she wakes up.  But doesn’t everyone have those?

And of course she also threw in some “can’t you tell me some of the good things I’ve done?” and so forth.  It’s a game.  It’s manipulative.  It’s an attempt to make us rush to list all the many wonderful things she’s done as our mother.

And don’t get me wrong – she did a lot of wonderful things.  However, that isn’t at issue.  She just doesn’t like what IS at issue, so she twists things around and tries to put my sister and me on the defensive.  Tries to make us make her feel better.

It’s old.  We used to fall for it.  We used to tell her what she wanted to hear.  But she doesn’t remember that.  It wouldn’t serve her if she could remember it.  She’d have nothing to throw at us. 

She’s also said stuff like “how come everybody else is allowed to have their ideosynchrasies and I’m not?!” – like her binges are just cute little personality quirks and we are blowing them all out of proportion.  Well, mom, sorry, but I don’t think your drinking problem qualifies as a mere ideosynchrasy. 

She hasn’t called me.  I haven’t called her.  I haven’t talked to my father either.  He won’t call.  She’s back in the house, sober, and in charge. 

I don’t know what to say to her any more.  I have plenty of things I can say – yes – but nothing I haven’t said before.  Again and again.  Same old stuff.  Same old waste of words. 

Tomorrow is Easter.  I will probably call and wish them happy easter.  Or put my kids on the phone and let them do it.  Or maybe not.  I don’t know.  I’m so sick of feeling guilted into doing stuff.  I should call – they’re my parents.  But how come there’s never a reciprocal “I shouldn’t go on a binge – they’re my children” from her? 

I know it’s an illness.  I know.  But it’s also a choice.  A choice to do something, or a choice not to.  She has made her choice.  Again and again and again.