Everything is more of the same. She is not getting better mentally, but it's only been a couple of months since the last [noticeable] stroke; perhaps I'm expecting too much too soon.
We get into an irritable confrontation just about every time we see or speak to each other. I'm resentful about being sole entertainment, transportation, schlepper of all things grocery, dog, or medical. I get hung up on at least once a phone call. She's resentful of being "in prison".
She buys groceries at Wal-Mart, when she's paying for three meals a day. She refuses to eat breakfast downstairs. She complains every day that all they have for supper is sandwiches, then buys sandwich stuff at Wal-Mart and you guessed it - has that for supper. She does not comprehend, even though it's been explained many times by many people, that she always has 3 choices for supper - and the chef told her personally (I was there) that all she had to do was ask and he would make her whatever she wanted.
She refuses to take the Emerald Pond bus anywhere. She doesn't participate in any activities. Wii bowling is awesome, (she used to be on a bowling league), but when I describe it and try to encourage her to try it, she says it "sounds stupid". She sits in her apt. smoking and watching the USA channel all freaking day.
She won't take her meds (including anti depressants) and will cry for an entire day. Those days (if she goes out), she'll wear her sunglasses even inside, a tiny female Roy Orbison.
Mookie is not getting outside enough and is peeing by the front door. She is in total denial about it. "No he doesn't.", and "You don't know him, he's not your dog.", are her two favorite responses. Or there's "Just take him then!" The smell will knock you over, I can smell it down the hallway. So now I know that her new carpet wasn't ruined totally by Mr. Brown, Mookie helped. A lot. I feel bad for the poor dog.
Why don't I feel bad for her?
She's so good at "covering" that some of her friends and family think I'm the crazy one and/or the jerk of the century. She tells people all kinds of stuff that isn't true, she's in prison (not literally), I never come see her, all the people there are horrible, etc. But when I go to pick her up sometimes, she's down there helping new residents find a dining table, laughing with Nora (yes, she's made friends).
I go back and forth between she can't help it and this is her diabolical way of driving me crazy. Often I wonder if we should get her an regular apartment. Sometimes I think we should let her go back to her house in FL and do whatever the fuck she wants to. Don't want to take your medication - fine. Have another stroke. Want to give your money to that useless piece of man crap you so sadly think loves you, well have at it sister.
She goes on and on about needing to be buried in FL. I tease her by saying it may be like Aunt Edna in "National Lampoon's Family Vacation", but she'll get there. (She does not find this the least bit humorous.) She wants to move to an independent living place in FL. When I ask who will take care of her - she can't answer.
She's pushed away all her friends and family because they didn't like EBF. They care about her and could see that he was using her. But we are all blind to his wonderfulness, "we just didn't know him."
I'm reminded of Dan T.'s grandfather's story about a jackass: One person calls you a jackass, forgetaboutit. Two people call you a jackass, look in the mirror. Three people call you a jackass - buy a saddle. Yo Mom, that dude's wearing a lot of saddles.
She gets SO angry, you cannot imagine. "I'm not happy here!" she says teeth and hands clinched, just shaking with rage. "I'm so angry I could kill someone - maybe you!" "I'm going to jump off the [2nd story] balcony." Except she couldn't leave Mookie "the love of her life" (Seriously, the love of your life is a ten year old Boston Terrier?!) Sometimes the things she says are just plain funny to me and that really pisses her off.
Many times after I leave, I sit in my car and cry.