If I had to point to a lineup to identify my mother, I wouldn’t be able to.

Nor can I identify her presently. I am not sure who my “real” mother is but I am lonely and confused, but such fuzzy memories of being a toddler has since vanished in reality.

The other day, my mother was supposed to go to work up in Manchester, but overslept (which was highly ironic because MNF ended early, for a Monday Night standard, 11:10 ET if you are keeping tabs.) So I was expecting to do some work in the basement to tidy up the place because I have too much crap and not enough time to do anything w/ them.

On Wednesday she goes to Massachusetts. I spent most of the time on the lower levels, and to spend time with my gram. It was an interesting day. Ironically, what was going though my head was some manopshere podcasts like Andrew Tate who said something recently like “when I come home from work I want my woman whose loyal to me to listen to me and cook me dinner”. Now don’t confuse me as I agree with him, why I was thinking this was me being on the receiving end. Little would I know that when my mother came home not even an hour after I was getting flack because technically I made a mistake, but I also had no choice because the situation. You know small kitchen syndrome, and theres not enough space and my mother puts “rules” and “instructs” people how to use the stuff, this isn’t new for people in toxic relationships.

I do recall hearing some yelling before, and my mother called for my attention and she pointed over without dialogue. I had a feeling, but what resulted in the inability to defend on context, the inability to defend an honest mistake given the situation, and got a bit upset because I knew I was going to get punished and get flack for an honest mistake where now my mother will be keeping note of. Sadly, after I went downstairs to disengage, my mother slammed the door. Then I went up to cal her out for slamming the door. I was visibly shaken and I was dead-serious, which meant, it bothered me that much. I felt my mother went unhinged and took her situation out of control. All of the languages I used such as “I can’t control others of how you react” and other passive-agressive things were coming out of her mouth intentionally, and even admitted she was “guilting” me. I couldn’t even look at her. She looked like she was like a freak, to be direct. I can’t see how my triggered emotions could cause her to look like a freak. Then she threw in the guilt trip of “I’ll leave and move out so you can have the house to yourself!”.

The difference between a narc and an autistic, is despite an autistic individual being into themselves, the issue is, when severe conflict arises to this nature, the autistic individual keeps a lot of these emotions bottled up.

I chose to not engage, meaning I wouldn’t go further than what it should’ve been, other than for me to express my disappointment of which my mother then used the phrase “deflective” and not just once. Sadly the one that emotes the most emotions, is the most believable despite the more stoic, with empathy that will not be taken seriously.

I said repeatedly I would like some sympathy to my errors, of which my mother then was in her fog of whether to treat me as autistic, as an adult or a roommate, she then started to blame herself for not disciplining me at an early age.

Shouldn’t self-discipline be important too? Is she feeling bad for blowing up earlier tonight? Or will she compartmentalize this and brush it off for a “new day” which means no ownership of bad behaviors the night before?

I feel for Gram, but the idea that my mother’s emotional regulation s gone south for the last couple of years is just deeply disturbing. Worse, is the further dragging the feet from working partially in the office. She chooses to not voulantary go to work to get promoted as she has told me, and let’s put it this way, she works very hard while I get distracted editing video and audio for the minifig news stations. The one that brings home the real money is the one you can’t be bothered with.

I sense a lot of double standards. I don’t know how much I can do it anymore…

#