why did you make me yell at you?!??

I know what you're thinking... Why did I do it? Why did I make her yell at me? I mean, no one likes to yell, and yet, I still made her do it. I think that it's just that I love being shouted at. I especially rejoice in being yelled at so hard that voices crack, ears bleed, or voice boxes come out of throats. I relish in not being able to get any words in and savor those times when negotiation or reason is not an option.If my tone sounds curt, it's because I am, and I'm angry. It's also because I am not supposed to yell back, so here I am... blogging.

The holidays are rough for everyone, they are especially rough for my mother. The expectation of sitting down to a big happy family meal, is too much to handle for many people, but extremely hard for my family right now. Yesterday she called and asked me not to go to Thanksgiving because she was worried about my family members corrupting me with Catholicism.. Today she called and said that she was indeed going to go, but she didn't like "her and her," and would not eat their food. When I asked what she meant by this, she said "oh, you'll find out one day."... Paranoia at its finest.

I am considering boycotting Thanksgiving this year; I am afraid that there will not be enough yelling.  Instead I'll get words under breath, or paranoid thoughts about the turkey and about my Aunt who was gracious enough to cook it for us.  I made the mistake of suggesting that maybe going to Thanksgiving wasn't such a good idea this year... this is apparently the moment when I made her yell at me.

Just the phrase 'you made me yell at you' implies such a lack of control, that it perfectly illustrates the toll that schizophrenia takes. That's just it, isn't it?... A loss of control and agency... and it is not her fault either. That's one of the hardest things about all of this too, the ambiguity. It is hard enough to continue to have to talk to the person who mistreats you, but even more so when you know that it's not really them that is doing the yelling.

don't argue with delusions

I have gone back and forth about the right medium for this (memoir, novel, abnormal psychology textbook) and think that a blog is probably a good way to start. We'll see how this goes. The ironic thing about this though, is that my mother is really concerned that her information or her ideas are being broadcasted or stolen over the internet; and here I am doing just that.... I suppose delusions really do have some sort of basis in reality.  That said, I am wondering how it is that Barry Manilow got to be my father? Maybe it's the curly hair Jew fro - I have a curly hair Jew fro. Maybe it's because he writes the songs that the whole world sings - I too write the songs. To be fair, this delusion is about 20 years old.. but it does illustrate the absurdities that I have been told my entire life.

So why is it exactly that I have started blogging about this now?

My mother has ups and downs, and the past year and a half have been fairly down. So down, that I'm starting to wonder if this has become her new base line. Will I have to expect phone calls at 2am, and agree that my real father is a Nazi, and that my family put poison in her food, indefinitely? I hope not, but for now I (try) to go along with it. It is impossible to argue or reason with delusions, so conceding to them is the only way that I can have some sort of relationship with my mom. I also am very aware of the difference between her and her psychosis; I know that the person that taught me how to read, and made me mac and cheese as a kid is in there somewhere. BUT going along with delusions can sometimes mess with your head and that's why I'm writing...
The purpose is definitely not to mock her, belittle her, exploit her thoughts, or even glorify mental illness.. but it is a way for me to try sort through these things, try to laugh a bit, and maybe let others in similar situations know that I too am struggling. Schizophrenia sucks, let's talk about it,

Sincerely,
The Daughter of Barry Manilow