So many moons ago I said I might explain why I have decided to remove my grandma from my life. I mean I love her, she does a lot of things for me, so why can’t I have her in my life?
Because she can’t be who I need her to be. And while she does good things for me, and I value them, it’s not enough to compensate for what she doesn’t do. Especially when she expects me to maintain an active relationship with my mother. I regret that the decision is necessary, but I was only the person who uncovered the line (I didn’t consciously draw it, only found it when it’d been tripped). I’m not the one who crossed it. And I’m sorry, the guilt tripping, gas lighting, neglect, and disregard in most areas of my life just add up to total more then the good.
When I move out, all that will be left is the bad stuff. The good will be gone. So the good:
she does everything a parent does for free (hey, I try to buy a washer, she refuses.) that’s a fair bit, and I acknowledge that I don’t help out enough. (for those who wonder what I’m including: dishes, laundry, making food, cleaning up after both of us (90% is her mess), taking the garbage out (she’s up at 3am on garbage day))
She drives me around.
She listens to me vent
The bad things:
When she listens to me vent she puts me down by saying “you need to get over it” or “you need to stop caring about what people say”
She claimed she would teach me to drive, but never followed through.
She wants me to maintain a relationship with my mother…
…and ignores (and thus implicitly condones) my mother’s bad behaviour.
…and expects me to just not let my mother’s abusive behaviour affect me.
She knew I was depressed and had General/social anxiety. and ignored it. Claiming that I needed to realize something was wrong when I was a fucking child under 12.
She has had 3 years to learn that I cannot hear her when I’m in my room, and still gets pissed when I don’t. She’s had 5.5 years to learn I tune out when I read (especially since the first 2.5 years I lived in the living room, where she was when not sleeping or working). And I mention it whenever I put on my headphones, and she still gets pissed when I don’t hear her.
She refuses to acknowledge that she favoured my brother in many things. main thing demanding I play games with him, when I refused to. (she claims I would demand everyone else do so, but never reciprocate. I disagree. And even still, it doesn’t make it right.)
She feels she can control my actions (tells me I cannot go to a fair alone at 23, or a bar (when I barely drink. If I were a heavy drinker I’d understand it. but my purpose was dancing not drinking))
She tells me my valid emotions aren’t valid.
She won’t mention something off until after someone else does, or it’s been dealt with (or is past being dealt with)
she can sit and watch TV with me puking near her without even asking if I need anything (paper towel, glass of water)
She doesn’t understand my anxiety and depression, but has enabled my mother’s for at least 30 years.
She hates my books but would accept the same behaviour if it were a video game or my computer If I was in the front room playing it.
If I like something, and she doesn’t I don’t feel like I can do/wear it (e.g. wearing face paint or my corsets)
If I disagree with her she tries to guilt me by saying she doesn’t know what she’s talking about, and is stupid. (The tone of voice and way she says it, and the way she uses the phrase about work, make me 100% sure about this)
She expects me to stuff as much stuff as I can in my tiny tiny room (like 7x7ft) with a tiny closet, and do everything like she does. Then she doesn’t understand when my room doesn’t stay clean.
Thinks that just because she only has a tiny bit of clothing she wears, I don’t need to have as much as I do (like she could fit her wardrobe, undies and socks included in one suitcase).
She wants me to spend more time with her, but then bitches when I fidget (I am a big fidgetter. Especially when I get excited, I have to move a lot. And reading frequently triggers this) . I’ve always done this.
The me she wants me to be, for what I’ve seen, has little in common with the me I am, and where I want to go.