I'm trying to have a good morning, but it's hard after having a bad night. My birth mother and assorted family emailed last night. I care about her, but it's very hard being around her, because with her comes my idiot half-brother, and his teenage wife, and the two children they now have.
Why is he an idiot? Well, the short story is that he met this girl when he was in college and she was in high school. Quick bio: She has some sort of mental illness, but unlike so many of us, she has never tried to get a proper diagnosis, and her method of medication and therapy only involves visiting the ER, after CAS once again threatens to take the kids away. I tried many times to get her into a good doctor, BTW, she has no interest.
The idiot-half brother's solution? He purposely gets her pregnant....CAS has spent every moment watching them since, basically ensuring she is never left alone with the kid because she has taken off with the oldest daughter the few times she was left alone. His next solution? Drop out of college, marry the high school drop-out--then get her pregnant again, move into a free social housing unit, and get free daycare.
Note that not once in this sorry tale have they attempted to get her a proper psychiatric assessment, (as opposed to an ER one) or meds, or therapy, or an education or a job. Which is why CAS is still there. Last night, the final straw for me, she gave birth to another daughter, a New Year's Baby, no problem labour, blah blah. They sent me a PHOTO, because they are so SENSITIVE.
Can you guess what my reaction is? Remember, I'm the woman who has strained herself to the nth degree to get help for my issues, & has worked my tail off to be a good mother. My two late miscarriages were both little girls, and I'm still desperate to have another child.
Of course, I hate that stupid cunt.*
So as I'm sobbing on the floor in the kitchen, Mr.Cotta tells me that I should try to be "happy" for them. I swear to God, if I didn't need his sperm still, I would've ripped his nuts off with my bare hands. After much yelling about how only God is perfect, the rest of us are human, and "What the hell does he want me to be, Mother Theresa on my knees knitting little booties for them?" he eventually comprehended that he was being an ass, and we agreed to stop talking about it.
If I could have a relationship with my birth mother, and never have to see or hear about those people, I would consider it, but they are, I am told, a package deal. And I really don't want to see them showing up on my door again, bitching about me (Cause hey, I'm a lousy person), and simultaneously sticking their hands out for cash. (No, although I have given her many gifts, my birth mother has never once asked for money, she has class, but the idiot half-brother seems to think I am a bank machine. This does not engender sisterly affection from me.)
So this morning I am attempting to not be bitter. It's hard. I swear I'm working on it. Really.
I'm just so glad we can choose our own family in the 21st Century.
* I have said this word only 4-5 times in my life, and this is the first time I've written it. But it fits. Apologies if it seems harsh to some readers.