Never Again

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I knew this would happen. I fucking knew it.

Months ago my grandmother sat me down and verbally attacked me, my newborn son and my girlfriend. I told my mother immediately afterwards that under no circumstances would my grandmother ever be allowed to be near my son again.

But for weeks my mother has been almost pleading with me to allow her to bring my son to my grandfather despite my grandmothers presence, and I’ve been saying no, no and no.

She has been trying to convince me every accusation my grandmother made about me, my girlfriend and our son, was the result of dementia. So, I relaxed a little. I told my mother as long as she made sure my grandmother was otherwise occupied, she could bring my baby to my grandfather’s retirement home.

When I first told my mother what had been said — for example, why we hadn’t had an abortion because of my bipolar… “who dare you have a child knowing…” — she was very supportive. She even said we were “on the same side”. But since then she has been treating my demand as if it were being made by someone who is mentally ill. Which, considering the number of times my mother has talked about the abuse she suffered from my grandmother, has become almost as insulting to me as what my grandmother said.

Every time I say “no”, she rolls her eyes, then waits a few days before telling me all about my dying grandfather, and how important it is for him to be around my son — which, of course, I agree with and will do anything I can to facilitate. In the meantime, I know of two occasions when my mother has lied about bringing my son to my grandfather’s retirement home, while my grandmother was there as well.

My grandfather had a mild heart attack two weeks ago, and as soon as he was home I brought my son to him for a visit. My grandmother was in the room, but I made it a point not to involve her in the visit.

But then last Thursday my mother babysat for us, and promised not to bring my son to my grandfather’s retirement home for a visit while my grandmother was there. Then she called to say my grandfather had popped in for a visit with Victor. So I walked over to have a visit with my grandfather, only to find my grandmother drinking tea in the living room.

She stayed completely away from me and my son so I didn’t say anything to my grandmother or to my mother, despite her having lied to me. Then, today (Thursday), my girlfriend and I brought my son to the retirement home for a visit — knowing my grandmother would be there. So I’ve tried, and I’ve ignored the bullshit going on around me.

But this was all a test, and the bitch failed, and it’s never happening again.

There’s no dementia. And there are no more chances. There is only an evil, abusive old bitch who has been cutting my family to pieces for her own enjoyment for the past sixty years.

One of the vile accusations and demands my grandmother made back in February was that my child was not mine. She demanded I take a paternity test.

She took a shard of glass and planted it into my brain. So now every time someone says “oh, he looks exactly like his older brother” (my girlfriend’s 4-year old from another relationship), I get the voice of my bitch grandmother running through my head… it’s like being told not to think about an elephant.

Well, eight minutes into our visit on Thursday, she commented on my son’s hair. My son has light brown and blond hair. So my grandmother starts making comments about his “red hair”.

As in “oh, he has a lovely head of red hair. No one in our family has red hair. It’s almost glowing it’s so red. I wonder where he gets that from.”.

…and I could give a flaming fuck at the possibility the light was hitting my son’s head in just a way to make his hair appear red. This is what happens when people who abuse are allowed to continue abusing with no consequences. Eventually, at best, everything they say or do becomes suspect and not to be believed. At worst everything they say and do becomes just another in a long, long line of attacks.

Never again, never again, never again…

.

...thanks.

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About Gabriel...

...diagnosed with manic depression in 1989, for the next 14-years I lived without treatment or a recovery plan. I've been homeless, one time I graduated college, I've won awards for reporting on Internet privacy issues, and a weekly humour column. In 2002 I finally hit bottom and found help. I have an 8-year old son, and a 4-year old son... I’m usually about six feet tall, and I'm pretty sure I screwed up my book deal. I mostly blog at saltedlithium.com....
This entry was posted in Bipolar, Bipolar Disease, Bipolar Disorder, Clinical Depression, crazy people with no pants, Granny, Health, Living With Depression, Living With Manic Depression, Mental Health. Bookmark the permalink.

5 Responses to Never Again

  1. Yikes…. She really does sound awful. The stuff of nightmares.

    It’s funny, but I see how much your son looks like you in all of your pictures. I’ve noticed it since he was tiny. And red hair?? Not quite.

    Strange what people invent when they have nothing else to do.

  2. Gabriel... says:

    I see it sometimes as well. I get so frustrated… I think a lot of the anger I’m putting into writing about this situation is aimed at others as much as it is at my grandmother.

    Putting aside my mother lying to my and bringing my son to the one place on earth I told her to never bring him, trying to explain to her why I don’t want my son around my grandmother should NOT be hard. Yet, despite all of the abuse done specifically to my mother by my grandmother over such a long time, my mother has decided the abuse done to me just doesn’t seem to matter.

    That my breaking point — the thirty minutes of hate spewed at me by my grandmother back in February — should not have been my breaking point. According to my mother this whole “episode” should be forgotten. If my grandmother is in the room with my son, I should ignore her. Except I just tried that and got the “red hair” bullshit for my troubles.

    There’s a weird “mother knows best” thing going on. Despite all of the weirdness in my childhood — including threats of foster care and once being dumped and left on my own on a country road after 11pm on an October night while wearing shorts and a T-shirt more than ten miles from home — my mother has only apologized to me once in my life, and that was just after my son was borne.

    She sent out an email about my son’s birth to our entire family, plus a “Friend’s List” that included everyone who is anyone in our region, plus friends of mine, outing me as someone living with manic depression. And I had to fight her hard for that apology.

    There’s so much more going on in this fight than just my grandmother’s fuckitude.

    Thanks for the comment HS, I know people are starting to get tired of the subject.

  3. Hella Stella says:

    Not at all… It makes me feel a little less alone when thinking about the more unpleasant members of my family.

  4. anon says:

    In the words of Annie Proulx, your gramma sounds like a bitch in high heels.

  5. Bromac says:

    Not getting sick of it. And I know exactly how you feel. I’m sorry.

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