2005-12-19, 1:40 p.m.
Shittiest morning ever.
My mom, dad, brother, and I all got in a huge fight. Over my mom. As usual. Screaming, throwing things, my dad grabbing my brother, demanding people to get out. Stuff like that. As usual I'm yelling at my dad to DO SOMETHING FOR FUCK'S SAKE and my dad is saying "what do you want me to do" and i'm trying to tell him "SAY SOMETHING." In result, I got the following e-mail that my dad sent to my mom and my brother:
Dear Family,
You all need to understand that I live paycheck to paycheck and that the only thing keeping us with a roof over our heads and with food and clothing is my job with Boeing. Without it I can't support any of you. Fighting amongst yourselfs over petty crap jeprodizes my health and my job.
Obviously, something has to be done. I see three options:
1. I can file for divorce and split us all up to go our separate ways. The cost of this will leave me unable to help any of you financially at all for the rest of my life. You'll all be pretty much on your own at a greatly reduced standard of living (same as for me).
2. Eric and Melissa can move out into there own place/places because they can't get along with Sue.
3. You all can learn to co-exist and live together for a while longer.
In any case we need to sit down tonight and resolve the clutter issues that seem to be at the root of the current crisis. Sue and I have the right to live in a clutter free, clean home. This means that stuff can't be left lying in the library, family room, living room, etc. Stuff must be stored away in bedroom closets or somewhere in the garage (not in front of my workbench). I know that clutter is not the only issues, but it's the current one and it needs to be resolved. While on the subject, Eric and Melissa: you both need to claen up more after yourselves food wise.
I can't stress enough how serious this situation is and it threatens my life and your lifes. If the police get involved, that is last thing any of us needs and will only lead to a further deteriation in quality of life plus bail, legal costs would run into the 10's of thousands of dollars if anyone goes to jail over these petty stupid things. Plus jail is absolutly the last place you ever want to end up and would make your current problems seem absoulutely trivial by comparison.
Your Father
My response:
You're living in a fantasy world that we can sit down and work things out. As long as mom is mentally fucked up nothing can be worked out. You're being incredibly selfish by asking us to sacrifice our mental health so you can keep on ignoring the situation. The clutter in the house is the least of our problems. This morning when you shouted at eric that hes not sick, mom is, you forgot to see that you too have some responsibility because you're not sick. Sometimes I'm more angry at you than mom because YOU are the one who is suppose to be mentally well, yet you're not holding up your responsiblities as a father.
By letting mom get away with all her shit and writing this e-mail is making you look less mentally competant. You're looking at trivial issues and siding with her instead of discouraging her crazy behaviors.
I can't believe you actually think I'd try to work out something. I believe Eric will say the same thing as me when the whole answer here is us moving out. You can see how fun things are alone with her. Maybe then you'll see the problem isn't the mess, us not being "able to get along" or any thing else you play up. It's just her.
M
After all that went down, I had an appointment with my psychiatrist. He was an asshole, which I kind of deserved. He said to me: "So is taking medication like bingeing and purging to you?" He didn't say that kindly, either. I said quietly, trying not to cry, "wha-no-what do you mean?" He said "sometimes you do it sometimes you don't? I know I deserved that since he's prescribed so many medications I haven't seriously taken but It seriously hurt when he said that. I was asking for help. I felt so awful. I feel suicidal. I wanted medication and he says to me "well, there's no point because they don't work, right? You tell me. The zoloft, welbutrin, prozac, lamictal, they all don't work. right?" I was stunned. I just shrugged, with tears in my eyes. He finally wrote me a prescription for prozac.
I went to a job interview and fumbled my way through it.
Now I'm bingeing and purging. The story of my life.