No Title Necessary
I’m in a funk. I guess the funk started a few days ago and was reflected in my last entry. The funk seems to be worse this morning. I have no idea why, but I decided to get in on the lottery pool here at work because the payout was worth $36 million. I never play the lottery but this time I figured what the heck. I put in for a ticket. If we won, everyone in our group would be $1.5 million richer.
On the way home last night I started thinking about what I would do with my money. The house across the street from us is for sale. It is a beautiful house and would be perfect for my mother. I decide that I will win the money and buy the house for my mother, then pay off our mortgage and put the rest in the bank to collect interest, or invest it in something.
I want to buy the house for my mother because she is currently living in a house about 30 minutes away from me that is falling apart. This is the house my brother and I grew up in. My parents separated when I was 14, about three years after the car accident that left my mother disabled, in chronic pain, and unable to work. My father moved out and stopped helping us take care of the house. There was a pool in the backyard that my brother and I did not know how to take care of; it is now a crumbling hole in the backyard. The windows are rotting out; the cold air gets in, the hot air leaks out. The house is in a bad state. My father paid child support for a few years, choosing to claim it eventually so that my mother had to pay taxes on it. He used to make me and my brother take the cheques to my mother. We would go over to have dinner at his and his girlfriend’s house. (A 2700 square foot house with a nice big backyard with a shiny, clean, happy little pool in it). It was after dinner that he would make a big production about his girlfriend not being in the room when he would hand me the cheque. When I look back on this now, I am appalled at the audacity of the situation and I get a lump in my throat that will burn there until the day I die, or until the day I am finally able to make my father feel what my mother, brother and I all felt and continue to feel.
Not such a big deal, you might say. No, not that part. My father would get angry with us when he would see the state the house was in. He would ask us why our mother did not take care of the pool, or why she was not keeping up the house. Throughout this, my mother was battling severe depression. Most days, we did not see her because she was in bed. This was a combination of the depression and of the pain. Her family did not speak to her for reasons I will not get into here other than they are a useless bunch of gits that were raised by two of the worst parents in the world (that’s right, I hated my grandparents on my mothers side and may they burn in hell) and my father’s side of the family fucked right off as soon as my parents separated (other than the obligatory holiday dinners my brother and I still had and have occasionally with them).
So we were pretty isolated, the three of us. My father was with his girlfriend and her two kids, both of them similar in age to us. The girl became my father’s new daughter. He hates the son, which is just really terrific of him. It’s so nice of him to move on to another family and find someone else to treat like shit. However, and this is a BIG however, he fucking gave these kids allowance money. Can you fucking believe that?? He had stopped paying my mother, refused to help us with the house, and he was giving these kids allowance money.
My parents have tried to divorce twice now. The second time, my father forced my mother in to court. She did not have a lawyer. I called him a week before they were to appear in court and begged him to call the whole thing off. He refused. So my mother was charged for not showing up in court. My mother, the depressed woman in pain who could barely make it out of bed to wash her fucking hair, was expected to go through all of this.
The settlement was fucked up and never fully resolved. It is now a divorce with a codicil. They are divorced, but it is not fully official until they have reached a settlement.
My father has a great pension, and he makes over $80,000 a year. He refuses to leave any money to my mother if he dies and he refuses to share his pension with her. He will only give her the house, of which he still owns half. The house he has failed to maintain, leaving it for his children to take care of. I have called him many times and asked him for help. I have told him that even if he doesn’t want to help my mother to please help me and ease my burden, both financial and emotional. He refuses.
I recently found out that he has signed his pension over to his girlfriend in the event of his death. His girlfriend with the giant house, her own pension, another house she now owns that belonged to her dead mother, and her patch of land up North.
I am stunned. I am alone. I have never in my life felt so alone. It is a combination of emotions. The first and foremost is rage (the blinding, makes your hands shake kind), the desperation I feel at the fact that I cannot make my mother better nor can I give her gobs of money to help her get through her life, the pity I feel for my little brother, the poor little 11 year old boy left to be the man of the house and given no support or relief from this by my father, the boy that is now a 23 year old man who hates his dad but doesn’t want to talk about it, more rage at the children my father now lives with, the 23 and 19 year old who still live at home and have everything paid for, who have a giant fucking Christmas tree every year with so many presents under it they don’t all fit, the rage at the girl because, at 23, she still makes “wish lists” for Christmas and her birthday and Tiffany’s jewellery is always on these lists. AND SHE GETS WHAT SHE WANTS.
I have been the good daughter for too long, and this is my fault. I have allowed my father to get away with this and still have a daughter that speaks to him. He is an alcoholic because he cannot face what he has done in his life, and his drinking is just one more thing to fuck up my life.
This is what I started thinking about last night when I was thinking about winning the lottery. I did not win, of course, as I found out this morning. And for some reason, this caused something in me to snap. I can’t explain it. This is not just hormones, or the fact that it has been raining for three fucking years here, this is every molecule of every piece of anger I have had for the last 13 years waking up. Thinking I was going to win the lottery was stupid. I just wanted something good to happen, something that would give me a break for a little while.
On the way home last night I started thinking about what I would do with my money. The house across the street from us is for sale. It is a beautiful house and would be perfect for my mother. I decide that I will win the money and buy the house for my mother, then pay off our mortgage and put the rest in the bank to collect interest, or invest it in something.
I want to buy the house for my mother because she is currently living in a house about 30 minutes away from me that is falling apart. This is the house my brother and I grew up in. My parents separated when I was 14, about three years after the car accident that left my mother disabled, in chronic pain, and unable to work. My father moved out and stopped helping us take care of the house. There was a pool in the backyard that my brother and I did not know how to take care of; it is now a crumbling hole in the backyard. The windows are rotting out; the cold air gets in, the hot air leaks out. The house is in a bad state. My father paid child support for a few years, choosing to claim it eventually so that my mother had to pay taxes on it. He used to make me and my brother take the cheques to my mother. We would go over to have dinner at his and his girlfriend’s house. (A 2700 square foot house with a nice big backyard with a shiny, clean, happy little pool in it). It was after dinner that he would make a big production about his girlfriend not being in the room when he would hand me the cheque. When I look back on this now, I am appalled at the audacity of the situation and I get a lump in my throat that will burn there until the day I die, or until the day I am finally able to make my father feel what my mother, brother and I all felt and continue to feel.
Not such a big deal, you might say. No, not that part. My father would get angry with us when he would see the state the house was in. He would ask us why our mother did not take care of the pool, or why she was not keeping up the house. Throughout this, my mother was battling severe depression. Most days, we did not see her because she was in bed. This was a combination of the depression and of the pain. Her family did not speak to her for reasons I will not get into here other than they are a useless bunch of gits that were raised by two of the worst parents in the world (that’s right, I hated my grandparents on my mothers side and may they burn in hell) and my father’s side of the family fucked right off as soon as my parents separated (other than the obligatory holiday dinners my brother and I still had and have occasionally with them).
So we were pretty isolated, the three of us. My father was with his girlfriend and her two kids, both of them similar in age to us. The girl became my father’s new daughter. He hates the son, which is just really terrific of him. It’s so nice of him to move on to another family and find someone else to treat like shit. However, and this is a BIG however, he fucking gave these kids allowance money. Can you fucking believe that?? He had stopped paying my mother, refused to help us with the house, and he was giving these kids allowance money.
My parents have tried to divorce twice now. The second time, my father forced my mother in to court. She did not have a lawyer. I called him a week before they were to appear in court and begged him to call the whole thing off. He refused. So my mother was charged for not showing up in court. My mother, the depressed woman in pain who could barely make it out of bed to wash her fucking hair, was expected to go through all of this.
The settlement was fucked up and never fully resolved. It is now a divorce with a codicil. They are divorced, but it is not fully official until they have reached a settlement.
My father has a great pension, and he makes over $80,000 a year. He refuses to leave any money to my mother if he dies and he refuses to share his pension with her. He will only give her the house, of which he still owns half. The house he has failed to maintain, leaving it for his children to take care of. I have called him many times and asked him for help. I have told him that even if he doesn’t want to help my mother to please help me and ease my burden, both financial and emotional. He refuses.
I recently found out that he has signed his pension over to his girlfriend in the event of his death. His girlfriend with the giant house, her own pension, another house she now owns that belonged to her dead mother, and her patch of land up North.
I am stunned. I am alone. I have never in my life felt so alone. It is a combination of emotions. The first and foremost is rage (the blinding, makes your hands shake kind), the desperation I feel at the fact that I cannot make my mother better nor can I give her gobs of money to help her get through her life, the pity I feel for my little brother, the poor little 11 year old boy left to be the man of the house and given no support or relief from this by my father, the boy that is now a 23 year old man who hates his dad but doesn’t want to talk about it, more rage at the children my father now lives with, the 23 and 19 year old who still live at home and have everything paid for, who have a giant fucking Christmas tree every year with so many presents under it they don’t all fit, the rage at the girl because, at 23, she still makes “wish lists” for Christmas and her birthday and Tiffany’s jewellery is always on these lists. AND SHE GETS WHAT SHE WANTS.
I have been the good daughter for too long, and this is my fault. I have allowed my father to get away with this and still have a daughter that speaks to him. He is an alcoholic because he cannot face what he has done in his life, and his drinking is just one more thing to fuck up my life.
This is what I started thinking about last night when I was thinking about winning the lottery. I did not win, of course, as I found out this morning. And for some reason, this caused something in me to snap. I can’t explain it. This is not just hormones, or the fact that it has been raining for three fucking years here, this is every molecule of every piece of anger I have had for the last 13 years waking up. Thinking I was going to win the lottery was stupid. I just wanted something good to happen, something that would give me a break for a little while.
posted by vegan mum at 11:13 AM
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