The author on a relationship ruptured by mental illness.
Mood music for this post: “Sorry” by Guns ‘N Roses (from Chinese Democracy):
I told myself never to write this one. Too many people would feel burned. Then I remembered those who won’t like this are already angry with me. This is a critical piece of my journey through mental illness, addiction and recovery. So in I go.
Those who know me well know I haven’t gotten along with my mother and step-father for a long time. It’s been nearly four years since we were all in the same room. There really is no blame to be assigned. No one person is completely innocent or at fault. Depression, addictive behavior and anger run deep in the family line, and ruptured relationships are often the tragic result.
I definitely take responsibility for my wrongs along the way. But the end result is sadly necessary.
But not irreversable.
I remember a lot of yelling in my house as a kid. Most of the time, it came from my mother. I remember a lot of hitting, too. And a lot of tears.
I also remember her worrying about me endlessly and sitting beside my hospital bed for weeks on end as the Crohn’s Disease raged inside me, and dragging herself to her wit’s end taking care of my grandparents and great-grandmother, all of whom could be difficult.
We often look at abusive relationships in black and white. There’s the abuser and the victim. But it’s never that simple.
I forgave my mother a long time ago for the darker events of my childhood. I doubt I would have done much better in her shoes. Her marriage to my father was probably doomed from the start, and the break-up was full of rancor. Me and my brother were sick a lot, and one of us didn’t make it.
I didn’t fully appreciate what a body blow that was until I became a parent. After Michael died, she became a suffocating force in my life. I did the same to my own kids until I started dealing with the OCD.
I think she did the best she could under the circumstances.
So why has the relationship been cold for nearly four years?
There are many reasons. Some her fault, some mine, and a lot of other relationships have been bruised and broken in the process.
There’s a lot I can get into about this, but the simplest answer is that this relationship is a casualty of mental illness and addiction. This one can’t be repaired so easily, because much of my OCD and addictive behavior comes directly from her.
She is my biggest trigger.
This is an old story. Mental illness and addiction are almost always a family affair. I was destined to have a binge-eating addiction because both my parents have one. They were never drinkers, though my step-father was. Food was their narcotic. And so it became for me.
The fatal rupture in this relationship came in the summer of 2006. I was two years into my treatment for OCD and the binge eating was still in full swing. I was an emotional mess that summer. Late that July I had surgery for a deviated septum and was lying around drugged up all week. The kids were home and Erin was trying to do her job and take on all the stuff I couldn’t do around the house. So I asked my mother to come over for a few hours and play with the kids.
That morning, the phone rang.
“So tell me again what you need me to do when I get there,” my mother asked, after going on a tirade about what an inconvenience this was for her.
“I just want you to play with the kids for a few hours while Erin works,” I said. It seemed a reasonable request, since she was always on me about seeing more of her grandchildren.
“I’m coming up there so YOUR WIFE can work?” she asked icily.
That was the breaking point. I got angry and hung up. I figured it would blow over. What followed was a brutal e-mail exchange where she ripped my wife to shreds and blamed her for everything. There was also a lot of swipes in my direction about how I was the laughing stock of the family and that my wife had me whipped.
We tried to repair the damage three times. The first time was in February 2007. She called and we had a long talk. I thought we had reached some common ground. I wanted to take it slow, and I wanted her and Erin to get in the same room, have it out and reach some sort of understanding.
Then I realized my mother was just trying to get us to come to my step-father’s 70th birthday party. Who can blame her? Heck, I wanted to be there. But I wanted us to hash out our differences first. She refused to do any of that “until after Bob’s party.” From my perspective she was just stalling and never had any real intention to do what I felt was needed. We didn’t get to Bob’s party, and the nasty e-mail exchanges continued.
At the time, we had agreed to meet at the Starbucks in Peabody to talk things over — just me, her and Erin. Erin and I went into the coffee shop and watched as my mother just sat there in the parking lot. I called her cellphone and asked if she was coming in.
“I’m not discussing family business in a crowded coffee shop,” she bellowed. We were to come sit in her mini-van. I said no. She said “fuck you, Bill” and that was that.
In hindsight, I handled that one poorly. I can understand why she wouldn’t want to talk in a busy coffee shop, but I was under the impression we could talk in a civilized tone and that the venue didn’t matter. From my mother’s perspective, Erin and I were there to gang up on her. I can now understand why she felt that way.
Badly handled by me that day.
The vicious e-mail exchanges continued.
Then, last summer, I met with her for lunch. I told her all about my treatment for OCD and how I was in a 12-Step Program for the binge eating disorder. She seemed to get where I was coming from. I was certain this was the start of the healing.
Then she sent an e-mail a week later asking when she was going to see her grandchildren. I told her Erin needed more time but I was ready to sit down with Bob on my own. I expected he’d sit there and call me every name in the book and tell me how much I had hurt the family, and I was ready to just sit there and take it. He was entitled to that.
But they were having none of that.
My mother sent another e-mail suggesting I was whipped and controlled by my wife, and that I was the laughingstock of the family as a result. Back to square one.
That was in August. We haven’t spoken since.
I don’t know if she reads this blog. I kinda hope not, because she won’t understand.
I’d like to mend fences but don’t think it’s going to happen.
As far as she’s concerned, I’m a heartless, selfish bastard who does everything my wife tells me to do and that I’ve denied her the right to see her grandchildren.
As far as I’m concerned, I need to keep my distance from my OCD triggers, and she is the biggest trigger I have. It sucks. But it’s an unfortunate fact.
I’ve wrestled with this mightily. My Faith tells me I need to honor my mother and father. Every time I go into the confession booth at church it’s the first thing I bring up.
One priest put it this way: “Honor thy mother and father doesn’t mean you roll over and allow abuse to continue.” Still, I wrestle with it.
But for the sake of my immediate family, recovery has to come first.
Without it, I fail EVERYONE.