Blogging is my Therapy

Okay, okay, I know we all like to read happy blogs about fashion, DIY-ing, recipes and such. Sometimes I share blogs like that and I don't mean to write depressing blogs. Really, I don't. However, this blog is mine and it's meant to record the ups and downs, good days and bad. Unfortunately, my blogs about my good days seem shallow and I don't feel inspired to write when I'm having a good day. I do have some recipes and happy-day blogs sitting in my draft folder waiting to be finished. Those are coming soon. But today is a day I need my therapist (my blog). 

I've mentioned before that my mom was diagnosed with Alzheimer's in January. She lived with us for awhile and then she went to live in an assisted living facility. Long story short, Medicaid screwed up and she had to come live with is again on Sunday. I had high hopes this time around because she seemed to be doing better. I was wrong. 

We had trouble from day one and my sister and brother-in-law had to come over every day to help me calm her down. Yesterday, we hit a climax. 

For no reason, she decided to try to walk to the police station to report that we were "abusing her". There was no abuse, obviously, so Josh and I had to try to wrangle her back into the house. She was trying to walk into traffic. We called Miranda and Daniel to come and help us. When they got here, they were trying to get her back in the house. She threw water on Daniel, kicked Josh, and Miranda had to literally drag her in the house. Mom was screaming obscenities  and pushing while Miranda called the ambulance to come and get her. My kids were home and fortunately were in my bedroom watching Mickey Mouse. They saw none of this. When the paramedics got here, she was yelling at them and telling them horrible untruths about Miranda an me, stuff that never happened that could have gotten us in serious trouble. 

We got to the hospital and apparently she told the hospital she didn't feel safe at home and that we pushed her and twisted her arm. We had to speak to a kind officer (who was a childhood friend's husband) and wait at the hospital for hours. Finally, a social worker came out to speak with us and she is a God-send. We told her what happened at home and with the Medicaid. She was livid about the Medicaid and she said mom was a danger to herself and definitely a danger to us (she had threatened my life everyday she lived with us) so she was a prime candidate to be admitted into our  hospital's   geriatric psych ward. She'll be there for a long time while they try to stabilize her meds. 

We aren't going to see her (by recommendation of the social worker) because we agitate her. I don't know what will happen after all of this is over. 

So here's where the therapy part comes in. 

My feelings are so all over the place. My mom had damaged me in many ways over the years. There are many things that have come to light recently, so the wounds that I thought were healed have been opened again. I have seen where she went wrong and I have repaired faults in my heart. I've learned from her mistakes. I don't dwell on the past much anymore because I CAN'T change it. However, when the past is being screamed in your face everyday, it's hard to move past it. 

Everything is so raw. 

I had written mom off as my mother last night. She was just another person. I can't look at her as my mom and take care of her at the same time. There's too much hurt to do that. 

She said she never loved us, she was through with us, we never helped her, ever. 

The thing is, you all would assume this was  the Alzheimer's talking. Nope. Those are things that she said almost daily to us growing up. I'm convinced she had us so she could have someone to blame for her struggles; "I'm a single mom and these kids are brats. Look how hard my life is. Feel sorry for me."

What the Alzheimer's has done is taken any part of her that was kind away. Now all that's left is the urge to harm, be it physically or emotionally. 

This morning, I went to clean up her room (stuff had been strewn due to her fit). 

When she was at the assisted living facility, I had written "I love you to the moon an back. Love, me." On her dry erase board. 

It was mostly erased during the move back here. 

I looked at it this morning and I guess yesterday morning, she had filled in the gaps that had gotten erased and signed it "Love, Mom"

Seeing her shaky handwriting and imagining the hopelessness she may have been feeling at that moment broke me open. 

I had thought there was no good left in her last night and that she hated us. That made everything a little easier. 

But now I have this flood of emotion because I'm scared there's still some of her goodness left. Now she's alone in a new place and she may wake up this morning and not even know how she got there. 

I hate these yo-yoing of emotions. This push/pull of what to feel. 

I feel like this last year has taken 10 years off of my life. I am absolutely lost. 

Have any of you had to deal with this? What did you do?

How did you cope?

Please let me know.