Have you ever tried to live with a parent as an adult? It’s no cake walk. I’ve done it before, except she lived with me. I just sort of took a backseat to whatever she wanted within reason and let her run the house. It was a peaceful enough co-existence. The shift that occurred then was that I decided it was time to move in with my husband.
I felt torn; it was like having to pick a favorite child, except it was picking between the Man you love and your mother. My child factored in too, they were the reason we had not moved together sooner. I was letting them finish out middle school in the school district we lived in, even moving when the rental we were in abruptly became unavailable when the owner moved back to the area.
That put a strain on my husband and I; he felt slighted because he felt I should be moving in with him. The joke was really on me that time since my child you may recall my child abruptly moved out on me, which devastated me. I kept my lease through the end of that school year so my child wouldn’t get booted out of school and moved in with my husband. My mother came along. My husband had bought a house big enough for her to live with us.
When we had been looking at homes, we made a conscious choice to get a home she could live with us in. Turns out, living with both of them was a nightmare. As much as they love and adore each other, they got on each other’s nerves. However, neither of them would talk to the other about it. They both complained to me about me. Which left me feeling frustrated because I couldn’t constantly be telling the other “don’t do this because the other said you…” it was affecting my happiness at home. So, like any responsible adult in a committed relationship, I started looking at houses for sale for my mother. Without really talking to my husband about it. The way I felt about it was, it was affecting my happiness greatly, which he knew. She didn’t agree with how we parented. She didn’t like how he cleaned borderline obsessively. He threw out her macaroni salad that she had bought that same afternoon once while cleaning out the refrigerator and I heard about it for weeks. However, we always had dinner made when we got home from work which was nice, but not necessary. My husband liked that a lot more than me. He likes to eat like the elderly. I prefer to eat later. It seemed imperative for my adult relationship with husband to succeed, she had to go. We had the means to support two support households; we had the means to support more than that. What I didn’t have was the emotional ability to live with three generations under one roof.
I had been, for most of my adult life, bailing my mother out of hard spots. The way I saw this, I was getting myself out of one. I needed her gone for my sanity. For us. For my budding family to grow. The perfect house came up. A condo about 1/8 of a mile away from us in the same HOA. Same person had lived there since they were built and it was in need of TLC. It had been on the market for several months, with no movement and the price dropping, well below anything in the association. It just needed cosmetic work. It seemed like the perfect solution to me. Still close by, she could age there, I could care for her if needed, and it could be in my name so if she did ever, god forbid need to be in a nursing home, she would have no assets to take. My mother thought it a perfect solution. My husband was not as sold on the idea. He did eventually warm up to it, and we made the condo very nice for her. We went over for at least weekly meals. She loved having it and being on her own, but having us close by. Best of all worlds.
Those first nights, even weeks, out of the hospital were the worst. I know my mother felt like she was walking on eggshells with me. She had to carry the conversation for two. I went through the motions of life like a zombie with reckless abandon.
I cried over nothing, I cried about everything. I couldn’t make decisions. I knew I had to get up and shower everyday and go to work. Weekends were the worst. Nighttime was second worst. Everything was awful. My weight was on a steady decline still. I had no appetite. I was nauseous. I threw up sometimes for no reason. I had diarrhea nearly constantly. My mother tried to make my favorite foods. I picked at them. I instead fed my plates she gave me heaped with food to the dog. She gave me “bedtime” snacks I left untouched next to the bed.
I turned the light out at late hours and lay there until all hours of the night not sleeping. My mind was plagued with thoughts I couldn’t organize in any logical form. It was saturated with thoughts of my husband. This home that seemed so perfect for my mother, made me captive inside of it because of the proximity to my home, and to him.
I went outside for a walk twice during my time there and both times he drove by. Both times I thought I was going to die from a panic attack. One day, I happened to be looking out the window when I was getting ready for work; he ran by, I hit the floor. What was I doing? He wasn’t going to see me through the window! I had to move.
Even the cat wanted to go home. They were used to being an outside cat. They tried to escape the condo. Every time they escaped they went toward the house. Every time they did I had a panic attack getting them. I couldn’t blame them, I did too. I would cry trying to get them; I’m sure some of the neighbors saw me and thought me crazy. I felt my craziest at those moments. All I could think was, even the cat doesn’t want to be with me. The cat wants to be with my husband too.
During the hours when normal people slept, I poured over rental housing ads. The rental market was slim. What was even more dismal was the “interview” process. I couldn’t rent because I owned. They wanted history- my rental history hadn’t existed for over 6 years. I didn’t have the right kind of credit because my student loans were paid off, I owned my car. My life had fallen apart, and I couldn’t even get a rental. It was ridiculous.
I listened to my mother talk about me on the phone to people. How I wasn’t the only one going through it. Little did she know, I was. I was giving her the best version of myself. I didn’t tell her a fraction of the bad stuff that went through my head. I didn’t tell her the dozens of times a day I wanted to kill myself but didn’t have the guts to do so. I didn’t tell her every time I threw up dinner or breakfast. I did tell her the time I threw up and it was blue foam though, because I found that amusing. (My pills turned it blue)
I looked at a place that had no appliances yet. The landlady was very pleasant. I felt comfortable with her and told her the basics about my separation from my husband my depression. I was long down the list of applicants to be offered the apartment though.
Somehow it worked out. She never asked for references, or for an application. She offered to give the keys on Christmas Eve if I could give the deposit. Of course I could. It was most of my savings, but it was going to be worth it. A step closer to sanity. Maybe.
After I got the keys, I decided I needed to take the next step in my journey forward. I had also been spending my sleepless nights “researching” the other woman. I had finally found her on Facebook. What I found was more compelling to me. I had been sitting on it for weeks.
She had a boyfriend. Not just my husband. He appeared to have been around quite a long, long time. I decided no time like the present but to send him a message. I had a hunch that she was spending Christmas Eve with my husband because of how the holiday schedule was with the kids. He isn’t as sly as he thinks he is once you know something is awry. He is a calculated, methodical man.
Hi there, I feel the need to tell you, if you don’t know, your girlfriend is sleeping with my husband. Hopefully this is not new news to you.
If your husband is XXXX….. I’m well aware
Well, Merry Christmas to me. Now we were getting somewhere. I knew something was off about the whole thing.
Never had a white picket fence 