Jay is getting as bad as his father. He goes into yelling rages because I don’t understand his feelings. This is a man who nobody who knows him, or of him, wants to fuck with. He’s talking about feelings? The truth is, he doesn’t have some bitch to lord over, so I have his full attention and he is just like his father.
One thing I can’t deal with is being yelled at. For thirty years, his father yelled, screamed, spit on me and carried on at the slightest infraction. He made me think I was crazy and he took all the joy out of living. Now, while I’m still grieving the loss of that sonofabitch, (for reasons I do not understand), Jay decides that I did the wrong thing by not calling him and his brother when I knew Bennie was dead…before the doctors said so. I knew he was dead when they cut a twelve hour surgery to eight hours. He was only alive because he was hooked up to everything but a Blue Ray player and a hot plate. So, yesterday, for whatever reason, he just starts talking to me about something…pleasant conversation…then, it turned to his dad. I told him, as I told him the day it happened, that I signed for one last dialysis treatment on the off chance that he’d come back. But he was dead, already. I knew it. The doctors had to have known. It was horrible. For some reason, Jay acted as though he had no clue I’d signed for that. In his mind, he concluded that, since I signed for the last dialysis, that I knew his dad was alive, or would at least regain consciousness. In his mind, I robbed him of time with his father.
I told Jay that he was then, as he is now, balls deep into adulthood and he could’ve come to the hospital at any time. He said he would’ve if I’d told him, etc. He kept screaming and yelling and cursing at me until I apologized for something I didn’t do. Then, it went back to his fucking feelings. I finally composed my self, since I was completely hysterical reliving that horrible day. I told him his whole fucking generation is full of brain fucked, entitled babies, who are so goddamn precious it’s a miracle they can even dress themselves. I told him I wouldn’t be the object of his abuse. That’s when the gas lighting started. It went downhill from there.
Jay has never once laid a hand on me. And we’ve been through a lot together, since his dad was Mr Wonderful and I was the one in the hood dragging our son out of the dope house. He’s always hated me for doing what a mother fighting for her son’s life would do. But, you know what? Fuck him. Those days are behind us and nobody’s abusing me in any way ever again.I must say, if I’d known then what I know now…that dope always wins till they’re done with it…I’d have taken my hands off the wheel and let nature take its course. Unfortunately, most of us mothers would crawl through Hell to save our children. Trying to save him was something I felt, very deeply, compelled to do. I should’ve let the wolves have him. He was their fucking king, anyway.
I’m at the point where I don’t care if I live or die, except that my oldest son and mother would be devastated. Were it not for them, I’d eat a bullet in a heartbeat. It is what it is. Sometimes, you begin to understand that there is no fixing things. You can’t read or watch enough videos on how to get better when there’s fifty years of pain to deal with. You just can’t. When you begin your life unwanted and depleted of value, you don’t have what is needed to pull yourself back up every time. I’m not suicidal, or full of self pity. It simply is what it is. I realized that as my son screamed at me yesterday. I felt like an emotional flashback. I barely got through it the first time. I can’t do this again.
Even the camel is unaware which straw will break its back. Consider my back officially broken. Yesterday, Jay loaded up the proverbial last straw.