The Bear Minimum

My mother’s mental health has deteriorated further, leading to a sad but necessary decision.

In a spectacular display of poor mental health, my mother has taken aim at my wife, and as you know, accused her of many awful things. She has also aimed her sights at me, and has said some incredibly cruel and deliberately hurtful things to me. She’s adamant that my wife is part of some nefarious scheme to take her money, and that I am a patsy in all of it.

In spite of my repeated requests, and forwarding the details of some highly qualified colleagues, my mother refuses to even acknowledge that she has a problem, in stead insisting that I’d believe her about it all if I knew what she knew. Oh, the circuit of that argument still jumps out at my ordered mind, even whilst I morn the loss of the mother I once knew.

I had thought, dear reader, that this was in the past. That the psychotic break she had had some ten or eleven years ago was done, in the past. But no, she’s a cold and paranoid creature now. One that I can’t allow to be in my life, or my wife’s, with her current level of toxicity.

There comes a point where, no matter how close a family member they are, unless they are your spouse or child, you have to cut them out of your life. At this stage, I cannot in good conscience allow my mother into my life. Her communication has become a thing of ugliness and hostility. She’s not a danger to myself or my wife, nor to herself, so there is nothing to be done at this stage. She’s still able to work and function as normal, even if seeing a person wearing purple is enough to make her sweat.