@ChiswickFlo i saw your post about the double whammy of your mum’s health and your MIL. It’s an absolute nightmare as I think any health issues gives them permission to be even more hideous. I don’t know about you, but I’m grateful for people helping me or checking in when I’m ill. That’s a normal response. A family relationship shouldn’t be the excuse to behave disgustingly.
Your DH is doing helpful. Is he a peacemaker? That’s my default setting, but I’ve moved the dial. That was really hard to do, but so necessary.
I used to do the admin side of things with social workers etc and, as all that is now in place, I’ve stepped away. The minute she needs more - like a care home on a rock in the mid-Atlantic - I will step back in. She knows and absolutely hates the fact I do that. And no I don’t consult her anymore as it’s utterly pointless.
She could have sheltered accommodation but refused. So, there we are. Better to live in a slum like flat in a dodgy tower block with ripped carpets and sofa.
So, in the Covid house - Mr Monkey is at his desk in what we call the sickly dressing gown and I’ve gone back to bed - MM has finally sorted out getting the Housing Association to go round to her lair AGAIN to sort out her heating. Constant phone calls to sort that out.
She can’t do Wednesday as the HA offered as that’s the day The Hag goes shopping (sorry, screaming) with Slave son. You’d think if it was such a big deal that she would change her arrangements, but no, why be flexible when you can be a horrible, awkward bitch? So, MM arranges Thursday - all the time he’s catching up on work and dealing with vulnerable people - he phones her to let her know.
Cue screaming. Literally screaming. Yes, she’s angry with the HA, but why shoot the messenger?
You don’t know what it’s like. You don’t care about me.
On repeat. Hyperventilating.
this is the son who’s been on the phone to the Housing Association every day, got local councillors to lean on the Housing people, checks in with her, offers to lend her a heater, get her hot water bottles which her three times a day carers to fill for her etc. The Housing people offered a heater.
All refused in the pursuit of martyrdom, spite and an excuse to act like a Five Star Bitch.
He keeps to the stuck record technique that you use with toddlers spelling out her options Wednesday or Thursday. Repeating that he’s spent FOUR weeks sorting this out for her.
then we get:
No one does anything for me. No one cares. I wish I was dead*.
It’s like dealing with a 13 year old.
I’ll ring you on Thursday to see if they’ve sorted it out.
oh you will, will you?
why does she think anyone wants to speak to her AT ALL. She’s blocked on my phone. As is Slave Son. Increasingly, I see him as part of the vile dynamic. He’s 62 and needs to grow a pair and reduce contact like my partner has. I often fancy going round to her flat to scream at her and tell her how her abuse has made my partner ill, but it would only add petrol to the fire. Digging a shallow grave is an interesting alternative.
MM puts down the phone, he’s upset and I go downstairs to give him a hug. Thank god, he’s got counselling in five minutes. But why should his counselling have to be filled with the present moment and 15 minutes of abuse?
*she is not the only person who wishes she was dead. I will dance on the bitch’s grave. She is absolutely vile.