This is a copy-paste of all the posts regarding Kirby, spelling & formatting mistakes included. It is massive, in order, & a serious TL:DR post. But if you want to read it on one page then here ya go!
I was copy-pasting for a print out log so figured I may as well post the finished thing as well.
Here ya go & congrats to anyone who reads it!!
Here are the nicknames & relations
Echidna ♀️ (great grandmother) 💍 Typhon ♂️ (great grandfather)
Begot
Demon ♀️ (grandmother)
Demon & her 3 mates Begot
Kirby ♀️ (mother) 💍 Dad ♂️ & Indian-not-indian Shaman ♂️ (half? uncle) & Ginger Mastermind ⚣ (half? uncle/essentially adopted older brother)
Kirby & dad begot
[deceased at birth older bro] ♂️ & Twink ♀️ (me) 💍 Hubs ♂️ & Bro ♂️
•○●□●○• •○●■●○• •○●□●○••○●□●○• •○●■●○• •○●□●○••○●□●○• •○●■●○• •○●□●○•
September 20 2018
Kirby (Nmom) & how to destroy your son-in-laws expensive throws/blankets
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Kirby (Nmom) & how to destroy your son-in-laws expensive throws/blankets
[This is cross-posted to a couple support groups.] Kirby (mid 50's) ODed June 2018, she is no longer tormenting me. She followed when me, hub’s, & bro moved out for the first time because the family home was foreclosed on. (her fault) After a lifetime under her roof & four years under mine I am free from her abuse. If you want to read the backstory my chronology of posts is pinned to my profile. I want to say thank you for all the kind comments & for the support. I really appreciate it, you guys gave me so much hope through all this & the offers of continued support makes me feel all fuzzy inside & very grateful.
TL:DR at the end because this became longer than I had thought it would be
This is posted on my phone, so sorry for formatting issues.
So I had this little memory bubble burst in my head yesterday & thought I would share it.
So yesterday my boys replaced our busted window AC with a new bigger one. Being in [tropic state] that is 85-105 all night & day for weeks makes that a major deal. Hubs & I went from swimming at night to needing blankets.
As I was looking for some lightweight fuzzy blankets I opened our old throw cabinet that had been locked up in our room for a couple years. Hubs collects inexpensive/middling expensive fuzzy throw blankets, it is one of his quirks. I think it is so sweet.
Why did we have to have them under lock & key you ask? Oh, kind reddit strangers, it was because of Kirby of course.
We (mostly hubs & dad) have a 100 lb Great Dane cross who had a genetic issue & was spayed WAY too young. So those two things combined to give her bladder incontinence. She leaks all the time. Pills, drops, supplements, different foods, raw feed diet, nothing helps. A surgery we cannot afford has less than a 20% chance of success & a 50% chance of death or worsening the problem.
So we have a dripping dog who shreds diapers overnight. She leaves them alone during the day so it was okay. Human food also makes her worsen Kirby would feed her scraps & food no matter how many times I yelled at her not to. Just to spite us.
Now Kirby for some reason got it in her twisted brain that my husband's dog was hers. But she would not take care of the dog at all, my dad helped me with her so it was all good.
Now I wanted to crate train the pee dripping dog. It makes sense, right? After all she was only a month & a half old when we adopted her so it would have worked.
The dog cried like all puppies do when separated from their human momma & poppa. But Kirby heard it & reamed me up on side & down the other. Lots of judgement & condemnation of my future abilities as a mother. Aaaargh!
Also she would not let us buy the proper lining for dog crates (pee pads) so there was always a big mess in the crate. I mean we could have bought it, she contributed not a penny to our house let alone put enough into the filly budget to have a say in what was bought. But she would have screamed non stop if we did. I could not handle the screaming.
I got tired of being screamed at so I gave up. She brought the then puppy into my parents' bed. That went about as well as one would think. When my disabled dad put his foot down she got a thrift shop toddler bed. Now that would not have been too bad. Just wipe off the water proof mattress in the morning.
Nope. Not for Kirby. She insisted that a blanket be put on it. So these thrift shop throws got filthy & disgusting. My dad washed them every couple days & spot cleaned them daily, it did not help.
So he started tossing them hoping that Kirby would get the hint. Again. Nope. She started using every throw she could get her fungus-plagued claws on. So of course she started grabbing my hubs' collection.
I started protesting that those were not trash, those were "mine". ("Ours" meant it belonged to the faaaaaamily. Aka was hers. So hubs & I became "mine" to end that crap) But cue the teary, "I am a victim", tantrums. She kept it up.
I then got into a pact with my dad to stop it at the laundry source. That worked for awhile. But then she would get "cold" & "need a blanket" so she would snatch or have someone give her the "people" throws.
She would then let it drag the floor & encourage the dog to lay at her feet on it. Then she would toss it onto the dog bed. Because "it already had dog pee on it". eye roll
My husband collected NICE semi-costly (he is a clearance king when it comes to... well anything) character, pattern, & print blankets. So it was obvious they were not the fricken trash blankets!
So we locked the dozen that were left up in our room. Guarding the two we used in bed like hawks. Didn't stop Kirby from snatching & hiding my Tinker Bell throw when it was brought in the house with the rest of the laundry to be folded. I threw my own tantrum when I saw it covered in dog p@ss on that stupid Elmo bed.
My dad stopped it after that & tossed the Elmo bed. I bought a mesh dog bed to put pads under. Yay! Problem solved! Nope.
Hubs had a much smaller collection of king & queen sized fuzzy blankets. Expensive ones. Print, pattern, solid color, characters. They were really pretty & soft as a cloud. We didn't use them often but we adored them.
Kirby had her own quilts. At least fifty of them. Heirloom ones from my maternal grandparents & great grandparents. Store bought. Hand made by others. You name it.
Kirby had bowel incontinence herself. Health issues she ignored & worsened on purpose. She was know to leave poop trails through my house at least twice a week. She also had a catheter (which many drs thought she did not need but she talked her urinary dr into it because she "had to pee too much" I kinda helped because I was tired of being forced to intermittently cath her daily). She refused to close it right so it dropped everwhere. & she always tugged on her tube got her tube caught on things so it would leak & she could complain. Then demand I look up into her business area to "check" on it. The whole, "You are my caretaker, it is your job! I will get you in trouble with the law for elder neglect!" spiel.
So she would ruin bedding biweekly. She also tossed them half on the floor so the dog could leak on them. After so many clean ups the quilts had to be tossed. She went through them insanely quickly.
Normal person.... well normal person does not make such a mess on purpose first off. But they also would bulk buy hospital type blankets that are near impossible to stain & can be saturated with bleach.
Not Kirby~ Nope. She used all of her non heirloom ones. ("Granny made that! I can't use that!!") Then started grabbing mine & hubs' expensive ones. I told her no with my shiny sometimes buried spine. (She had me whipped with legal threats guys. Said she would jail me for elder neglect or abuse if I did not do what she said. Told me she "knew how to talk to them") But she went behind my back to get them.
I had to sacrifice a big Scooby Doo one due to her screeching. She claimed she bought it & honestly I could not recall who bought it, just that it was mine pre-hubs & had been for a long time.
So I locked up our big blankets too. Up until the last two months of her life she screeched at me for my blankets.
Oh! I forgot to mention our sheets became the sacrificial offerings once we locked up the throws. She wrapped them around the mesh dog beds. My disabled dad tripped three times then stopped that nonsense.
TL:DR Kirby was an @sshole who used my hubs' collection of fuzzy character/print throws on the pee leaking dog's bed. When we locked them up she grabbed our queen + king fuzzy blankets & started p@ssing & sh@tting on them herself .
September 22 2018
Kirby (Nmom) & how her thoughts on music lead to an assault
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Kirby (Nmom) & how her thoughts on music lead to an assault
[This is cross-posted to a couple support groups.] Kirby (mid 50's) ODed June 2018, she is no longer tormenting me. She followed when me, hub’s, & bro moved out for the first time because the family home was foreclosed on. (her fault) After a lifetime under her roof & four years under mine I am free from her abuse. If you want to read the backstory my chronology of posts is pinned to my profile. I want to say thank you for all the kind comments & for the support. I really appreciate it, you guys gave me so much hope through all this & the offers of continued support makes me feel all fuzzy inside & very grateful.
Trigger warning: violence.
TL:DR at the bottom
I dunno if I have mentioned this yet but I literally grew up in an antique shop in [birth state]. Went from living in a normal home to an antique brick three story building like you see on postcards. Kirby did all the legwork while my dad was out of town & in typical Kirby fashion shoved the papers at him when he got home. "Sign this!"
So we lived on the top floor in what used to be a small group of 1-2 bed apartments, middle floor was storefronts rented out, then the first floor was a sub basement with Kirby's shop.
At first anyway. She became a hoarder with an passible excuse got the brilliant idea to open two shops. The second one to be up stairs in our home.
No more safe feeling in our hallway, not allowed to go in half the rooms, warned sternly to keep the doors locked at all times, cats allowed out a cat door but we could not retrieve them (that wound up with one being stolen of course). Big invasion of privacy & just.... icky.
But that is not what this post is supposed to be about. No. My dad hooked up a killer soundsystem in the upstairs when it was our home. Had it hardwired into a vintage Titanic sized audio cabinet. (This was the mid 90s) Vinyl could be played full blast & ring up there. It was beautiful.
So all my life was 60s & 70 music. No biggie. I loved & still love that type of music. Kirby was obsessed. My dad showed me 50s music, musicals, then later in my clueless teens bought me some of what he guessed was the most popular 90s bands. (Gotta love my dad for my Nsync & Backstreet boys collection rofl)
Not for Kirby. It was 60s & 70s. Country music was non existent because she would literally start screaming. No one was allowed to change the station or CD/tape/record if she was present. A whole lotta "Muskrat Love" & "Sky rockets in Flight (afternoon delight)"
That was until I found Indy type music & things of a similar vibe. (Alanis Morissette, Hooty & the Blowfish, Cake, etc) Then she was interested. Demanded I produce this music for her.
I burned her a few CDs cause by then I knew mine would be gone if she ever got her claws on them. Of course out of the six she liked one & "kept forgetting which one it was" Would screech at me to change them again & again until she found it. Then she would complain that the songs were in the wrong order. That I should have put this or that song. That kinda "you can never do anything right, lowly serf!!" sh@t.
That lasted like two years. Then I moved onto 80s & 90s rock before meeting hubs then my music tastes expanded further. Kirby no likey. Accused me of hating "her" music all the time. Like she literally owned the 60s & 70s.
Annoying, but whatever. Harp at me if you want, by then I did not give a sh@t & told her so in less "cursing" words. So while she was around it was the 60s & 70s. No biggie. Still liked it.
When she slept & got high I listened to my music while working & doing chores. That didn't last long. She started yelling about it. Said I was "keeping her awake". In my house. At 1 PM. So I did headphones for a year.
She treated me like sh@t no matter what I did so by those last 6 months I got it in my head. "Well if she is gonna be p@ssed at me when I bend over backward to please her highness Imma do whatever the f@ck I want." Which in my Rugrats baby form of rebellion was vacuuming during the day, clanking dishes, eating cheese, using my microwave, & throwing away broken junk. But also listening to music!
I adore musicals. Modern Broadway, Roger & Hammerstein days, 80s jewels, you name it. So I was not listening to dark metal or hardcore rock. I was F'ing listening to Cats!! On a reasonable volume (30).
That one fateful day apparently her brain had snapped. I was cleaning & had Pandora on mid volume (40), louder than most days because I was working in the side room, but quieter than she had ever had it (80). She came barreling out of her room screaming about my "Halloween" music. (Pandora was playing an Adam's Family Song after Heathers)
My house. My remote. Bro's TV being loaned to the family room. A massive, very expensive TV. (That bit is important) So the roku remote was in my bra (volume hidden up high) so she could not claw my music off because I was hip to her ways. She kept screeching at me to turn it off, wailing over the lyrics of being seduced by a 2 ton sephlapod.
Y'all. She started blabbing crocodile tears over the Adam's family. I told her I was not buying her game. This bish then faked a panic attack, an asthma attack, & a heart attack in one. I told her straight up that I was not buying her shit & for her to leave me alone & go back to her room.
She stopped. Dead cold stopped. Got the most evil look in her eye I had ever seen. I didn't scare (in the moment) that easily by then. But she was F'ing terrifying. Kinda lessened by the fact that Be More Chill's song with the bit about mastrabation was her terror face theme song.
I told her no. Go away. She kept on in this now demonic voice that she was going to unplug the TV if I did not obey her. Cue my scrambling & my loud but even voice got a bit banshee of it's own. (She breaks sh@t when she messes with it)
Twink: Do. Not. Touch. That. TV. It is not yours! It is [bro's]!
Kirby: angry inward breath meant to inhale me, her enemy That is MIIIIIIIIINEEEEE! [Bro] GAVE IT TO MEEEEEEE!!!
Twink: No he did not. This thing cost a whole paycheck. He is taking it out to the guest house with him when he moves out there. He did not give it to you. Get away! Do not touch this TV!
Kirby: now looking like the demon dogs from Ghostbusters a bit too much for me to be comfortable with HE GAVE IT TO ME FOR MOTHER'S DAY!!!
Twink: cue smirk at her audacity that I cannot hide because the whole family banded together to purposefully grey rock her that past mother's day because she had been such a raging [b@tch](mailto:b@tch). So she be lyin through her unbrushed teeth. He. Did. Not.
I turn the TV off then because I do not want her to mess with it, but keep the remote in my bra so she cannot have control of it. I squeeze past her to continue working. She does not move. Just scowls at me.
So I do the most logical thing because my spidey senses are tingling. I get my phone out & start filming her (though the entire back & forth from the music was on my necklace audio recorder) I thought she was pissed already. I was wrong. She went RED.
I got a call & stepped out of the room. She did not like that, wanted to know who I was talking to. It was the social worker assigned to my dad's newly opened APS case against her that she had no idea about. She was coming. In half an hour.
My hubs was home resting on the bed after a week of long shifts. I told him to call my dad & get him home NOW. That I had to lock up the dogs. He agrees. But... well. My boys do this weird thing where I am the central command like in a stinking sci-fi show. Hubs called him, told him the details he knew & how important it was that he was home NOW. But apparently my dad wanted more info from me or wanted to hear it from me or... I dunno. But it was a Blessing he was like that that day.
So I lock up the 100lb puppies, toss my cattlehound in with my husband who is getting dressed. I then go to reach for our great dane mix. (I mentioned her in my last post about the blankets. How Kirby was delusional & freaking obsessed with this sweet but stubborn dog that is technically my husband's, legally mine, & emotionally co-kept by my dad + hubs)
Kirby is still glowering on her throne, greasy, stinky, covered in stains, filthy, just.... just gross. Jabba the Hut gross or Chet from Weird Science. Watching me like a buzzard watching fresh roadkill waiting for the traffic to die down.
Then I call the great dane & try to shove her into our really nice HUGE built in dog kennel in the open living area. The great dane is a total diva brat & is fighting. I had been working on training her the last week or so because I knew social workers would be on the reg since the report was made.
Kirby flipped her freaking stack. Started screaming at me & upsetting the dogs more. I got the dog in, trying to give non answers as best I could. While she blabbered on about how evil I was.
Cue her sneaking closer to me that I did not see at the time. Cue my dad's call. Cue me taking two steps away from the kennel. Cue her reaching for the kennel door screaming that her baaaaaaaaby was not getting locked up. Cue the breaking point.
Before I could think I slipped between her & the door, holding it back with my weight of 310ish lbs. (Yay PCOS & stress weight). All I could think was that the social worker was going to be there in less than 10 mins, my dad & bro in 5. My dog looks like the aggressive breed even though she isn't. My dog is not people friendly. My dog is loud & guards our property like a junkyard dog despite being a spoiled diva. My dog is the kind that gets shot when not under control. Totally forgot hubs was even there.
I tell her to back off. Instead she smirks, says something like "I've got you now, you are going to pay now." Then she lifts her arm, putting her entire forearm against my throat. She grabs the cage behind me & pulls down with her 400ish lbs of weight WHILE pulling. My collarbone catches the brunt of it because at the last second I throw/twitch to the side. I shout I can't breath three times. My dad is screaming at her over the phone that was not on speaker. He later said he could hear our bodies colliding & it sounded like a brawl.
This was only a minute or two. No longer. But the stink of her. The oily sweat of her body. The demonic light in her eyes. Her burst of strength. Her banshee shrieks of "don't you touch me! Elder abuse! Don't you touch me!" They lasted so so much longer in my mind.
Hubs heard me screaming that I could not breath & burst through the door like a bull elephant. (Kirby had thought we were home alone & she went total deer in the headlights for 2 milliseconds at finding out that she had a witness in the house) Cursing at her & commanding her to back off. She pulled her weight off me but did not move away. After five minutes of aggressively standing over me with her hand on the bars & her arm pressing into my shoulder. Screeching at my husband that he is intimidating her, scaring her, that he better not get closer, that she was going to report him for abuse. (I was half frantically video recording & taking pics to show how close she was to me, audio recorser was still running strong)
When she finally backed down my bro & dad burst in. My dad made her back way up, my bro stood guard in the kitchen. Hubs held me up because I was shaking like a leaf. All the while she said how evil I was. How I had twisted everyone's minds. How I was playing them. How I talked behind their backs. How I needed to be in a mental hospital. That I was the devil. That my soul was black. That my hubs had no right to cuss at her & my dad should be yelling at him. (My dad told her to her face that was bullsh@t & he would have done the exact same thing had [abusive bio grandma] attacked Kirby at my age.) I do not even remember it all or the words she used. Just the bulletin points.
Social worker pulls up before I can even dry my tears. Long story short of that Kirby got read her rights (thinking it was because she threw a capree sun at my disabled dad & not because she just attacked her daughter), the officer chastised me for being a bad daughter & recording her assaulting me, told me that she was simply "leaning" on me & that my husband was not a credible witness. APS said that the criminal side depended on the officer & not them. Surprise that nothing could be done. eyeroll
Next day I finished cleaning my corner & the morning after that bedore dawn she was found dead. And.... that was it. The last memory I have of Kirby was of her trying to kill me. Over musicals "Halloween music" & my own dog.
TL:DR
I was raised on a diet of 60s & 70s music. My dad showed me other eras & genres, Kirby was not happy. I grew some Lady Balls & listened to my musicals at half volume in my own home only to enrage the beast. Have her try to kill me, insult every single thing about me, & get neutered all in one. Then she dies.
& I know I briefly touched on this before because I remember a ton of support that I was not wrong in thinking it was an assault/attempted murder. I just don't remember if I went into detail or said why it happened. If I did forgive my slip, reddit support peeps.
September 25 2018
[JustNo/Narc Mom] How Kirby Earned Her Nickname for More Than One Reason (DAE Have This Happen)
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[JustNo/Narc Mom] How Kirby Earned Her Nickname for More Than One Reason
[This is cross-posted to a couple support groups.] Kirby (mid 50's) ODed June 2018, she is no longer tormenting me. She followed when me, hub’s, & bro moved out for the first time because the family home was foreclosed on. (her fault) After a lifetime under her roof & four years under mine I am free from her abuse. If you want to read the backstory my chronology of posts is pinned to my profile. I want to say thank you for all the kind comments & for the support. I really appreciate it, you guys gave me so much hope through all this & the offers of continued support makes me feel all fuzzy inside & very grateful.
TL:DR at the bottom
So, as some of you may be familiar with Kirby was an endless food vortex. Hence how some commenters helped me come up with the name Kirby awhile back. Or for her full title Kirby the Pink Dragon. Dragon because she was a hoarder who would hiss at you if you got too close to her sh@t treasures. Also super, super mean & known to spit venomous word fire.
But there is another reason that the name Kirby fits so well. Because not only is the Nintendo darling round (fat), eats a lot (food vortex), acts cute (public mask), but also the Nintendo darling is a mimic. How does that equate to Kirby you ask? The freaking woman could not be original to save her hide.
Anytime I got interested in something. A color. A pattern. A type of fabric. A TV show. A type of beanie baby. A specific toy. Drawing. Digital painting. Collecting future hope chest baby stuffs. Nail polish. Hair dye. Soap/shampoo. Being a hobby farmer. You name it. The simplest, littlest, eensy-teensy thing. Was her thing.
Suddenly it was her that liked it, her that collected it, her that watched it, her that knew everything about the show. Yes, she drew before I was born. She copied cartoon characters & drew them in the exact same pose. It was almost like tracing but... not. It was weird, she was good at it, but it was still weird because she could not draw anything of her own. Could not draw characters in different positions, stuff like that. She stopped drawing before I was born for whatever reason. But when I started being artsy & being even remotely good at it. In she swept. The sudden art expert & critic. Telling me everything I did wrong. The highest appraisal from her was "I do not see anything wrong with this." on maybe a dozen of my hundreds of works throughout my lifetime. (When I got "I can sell this for real money" good she stopped looking at my work all together).
When I was writing she would have me read her everything I wrote & then would critic it. (this woman only read maaaaaaaybe a dozen books in her five decades of life. Would say almost proudly that she did not like to read) Tell me not only how to change wording, but character's names, love interests, actions, etc. She turned my heart & soul work into a freaking choose-your-own-adventure book for herself. Then after the move, only a few years ago, began demanding that I write books for her & give her the credit & money for sales. Really bad children's books that would not have sold at all. But every time I sat down to write she began squealing about me working on her book. I... I have not written more than a few pages since then & I used to write 200-500 words a night. So that is still a sore spot for me.
Growing up if I showed interest in, eh how 'bout [colorful cartoon daisies] for a random example, suddenly that was all she wanted. She would buy them for herself & lord them over me. Like her room would be stuffed with [colorful cartoon daisies]. Like she would have hundreds of them. If I ever bought one for myself even as an adult with funds my husband brought home, she would guilt me into giving it to her.
When I was a kid I thought it was just "because I am like mommy!" in my fog filled mind. But... now... An adult with no fog whatsoever. That was F'ed up. You have a baby who giggles hysterically at weebles so you have to have them all like some kind of pokemon weeble master? Kid likes care bears so you start collecting the vehicles & castles & all the playsets. She liked Atomic Betty, so you buy yourself the action figures. Both GC son (my wonderful bro) & SG daughter enjoy playing with playmobile. Gollum voice "It is all mines, preciouses. gollum gollum All the plaaaaaymobiles isssss miiiiinessssss...."
I am an adult who likes toys, I get collecting them. Bright colors, nostalgia, ooooh shiny!. But when I have a kid & if they like what I like I will buy things in freakin pairs if I want one. Not buy one for me, put it up high, call it "glass", then cackle like the hairpin losin' Looney Tune witch. (okay, she never really did that, but it would have been in line with her personality) F@ck that, dude. Just.... f@ck that.
Did anyone else go through similar? Where their Narc/JustNo mimicked them as a way of... I dunno.... playing psychological games?
TL:DR
Kirby copied everything I did so she could mock, gloat, & buy herself things as well as guilt/force me into giving her my things. She was a POS per the us'. (ual)
September 30 2018
[JustNo/Narc Mom] How An Incident With Kirby Made Me Literally Use Clorox Bleach On My Skin
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[JustNo/Narc Mom] How An Incident With Kirby Made Me Literally Use Clorox Bleach On My Skin
[This is cross-posted to a couple support groups.] Kirby (mid 50's) ODed June 2018, she is no longer tormenting me. She followed when me, hub’s, & bro moved out for the first time because the family home was foreclosed on. (her fault) After a lifetime under her roof & four years under mine I am free from her abuse. If you want to read the backstory my chronology of posts is pinned to my profile. I want to say thank you for all the kind comments & for the support. I really appreciate it, you guys gave me so much hope through all this & the offers of continued support makes me feel all fuzzy inside & very grateful.
TL:DR at the bottom
Warning: disgusting.
2nd warning: Never, ever, ever pour bleach on your skin. I was driven to momentary insanity & luckily my dad was there to stop me before I got hurt. No bleachy for the skiny
Hi, reddit peeps!! So nothing exciting or new. Still healing. But I was sparked by an icky, icky memory.
So I am a gal, we know this if you are familiar with me but most are prob not. I am also in my now late twenties.
I have never done the whole thing where you do the things other women do with lotions, creams, make-up, serum, scrubs, special face washes, nair, etc. This was not out of wanting to be a tomboy. I wanted to do these things. But... living with Kirby means 3 things when it comes to... beauty products (?):
1.) No time to use them. If there is a breath of time to try she came up with some stupid "urgent" need.
2.) No money. Not when I was a kid. Not when I was working because she took all my money. & not when hubs & I got married because again... she took all the money.
3.) Kirby would mock things like that. Claim the simplest facial lotion cost $60+ & would get angry when I tried to look the stuff up. Said that real women did not need them. They were a waste of money. Threw out the nair that I got as a teen from a [natural disaster] red cross box. After telling me it would burn my skin off.
Kirby used brand name Sharpie markers as eye liner. She was not the person who had the right to say boo about anything beauty or self care related. She also looked like a walrus but that has nothing to do with anything. I just wanna type it out.
So hubs made it his mission to buy me makeup. My big, bearded, bear of a husband who is far from being fashion forward. He gets squirmy & hisses if I get too close to him with a dollop of body lotion in my hand, if that is any way of describing it. But he loves me & wants to see me happy. So everytime he sees beauty stuff on clearance at work he brings me home an arm full after his shift. (Veering off topic to say he has gotten surprisingly good at it too. I have used & loved every single thing he has gotten.)
So this has been his game for 2 years now & since Kirby's death I finally have time & am not too exhausted/depressed to pamper myself. (Though I am still a deal hound & cheapskate who will not pay more than $15 for anything)
As I was getting my collecting of shower bottles, jars, watcha-ma-callits. I realized I needed a new shower tension shelf. Which reminded me of our old one I threw out half a year ago.
Which sent me back to Kirby era. 3 crappy plastic shelves that she screamed at me for buying. Conditioner, shampoo, body wash. Then a little tub of my own concoction that I had made out of desperation. Sea Breeze, Witch Hazel, Rubbing Alchohol, Baking Soda, Epsom Salt, & some EOs to mask the scent. Really powerful germ killing cleansing body scrub that burned like a son of a B.
Why did I have this? Because I once went into a panic attack, leapt into the shower, & started pouring concentrated bleach onto my skin as I screamed in wordless horror. (My dad caught me before I got a chemical burn & tossed a bottle of rubbing alcohol + a bottle of mechanics soap over the curtain rod for me. Skillfully snatching the bleach under the shower curtain & running off with it while apologizing for everything)
Let me take this gross train back a step. Cause.... Well any still reading can just suffer this horror show with me now. It will make me feel better.
Kirby was notorious for not bathing. Showers twice a week if the household was lucky. And when she did shower she only washed like a quarter of her body & none of the smell emitting parts. It would get so bad the only way she would wash was if I washed her. So. Straight up, no hiding it. Gal on gal Jacosta moments with her as she refused to wash underneath her saggy harpy titties & demanded I do so. Once. I got conned into that once. The second & last time I "helped" her bath I tossed the scrub at her chest but then she wanted me (I had nurse gloves on) to wash her ass crack. Nope. I no longer sacrificed myself for the noses of myself & my family & would "accidentally" spray her with Odoban antibacterial surface cleaner/air freshener every so often.
Back onto why I was pouring bleach onto myself. We live in [Hade's Armpit] where it is 80°-100° all but 2 weeks of the year when it is in the high 60°s to mid 70°s. That means sweat. Gallons of sweat. Our HVAC has not worked since we bought this house & window units can only do so much.
So Kirby sweated, never bathed, never washed her ass. She also constantly sh@t on herself & refused to wear not only diapers but underwear of any kind for 2 years. Sweat, shit.
She had a catheter she always tugged on so it would leak. Sweat, shit, piss.
She ate a lot of bad & greasy foods plus was always a natural greasy person. Sweat, shit, piss, grease.
She always made sure to smear her blood on everything. She would prick her finger for a glucose sugar test & milk it like a cow's teat until it was dripping blood. So she always had blood on her. Sweat, shit, piss, grease, blood.
She was also constantly urping & vomiting due to her stomach/digestive diseases she would trigger on purpose. So she would usually have spittle or vomit on her. Sweat, shit, piss, grease, blood, spittle/vomit.
She would wear her night gowns for a week straight until they were sopping with filth, covered in stains, & smelled like the dead. Sweat, shit, piss, grease, blood, spittle/vomit, soaked death gown.
She always, always, always had a massive fungal infection on at least one part of her body. Usually multiple. Because she would not keep clean. Like massive swaths or raised rash skin that smelled like rotting flesh. Sweat, shit, piss, grease, blood, spittle/vomit, soaked death gown, rotting flesh.
So. All of the above. But! Oh, my reddit darlings, there is a but to this one! This particular instance it had been almost 2 weeks since she last bathed. So she was so... potent... I could not get within 8 feet of her without gagging. My dad & I were home alone. Both of us had repeatedly been squawking at her to wash as we had been for 2 weeks.
So. What does this putrid ball of filth & black soul do? She "falls". This is before the Blessed Hoyer Lift. This is before she will "allow" firemen into MY home due to her out of control hoarding. Before there was a clear path through the mountains of hoarded trash that lead from the front door to her bedroom.
She fell. And. She. Could. Not. Get. Up. She refused to. Said her body was too weak & wailed about that was why she was not bathing. That we were yelling at her to shower & she had gotten out of bed to do so but fell. Poor Kirby. Poor, poor Kiiiiiiiirbyyyyy. It is all your fault, Twink! Yours & [my dad]'s!!
So my disabled dad, whose dr ordered weight limit was 1 gallon of milk, 2 on good days. Tried to get her to her feet. My dad. Who was at risk for another heart attack, on oxygen, & had COPD.
Y'all. Kirby was so greasy she was sliding across the hardwood floor!! Like a penguin walrus on ice. (See made a place for my comment on her looks up at the top there) My dad could not get her up. She refused to even try to get up let alone help him. Screaming & crying & wailing that she was on the ground & OH MY GOD GET ME UP!!!
Sweat, shit, piss, grease, blood, spittle/vomit, soaked death gown, rotting flesh. Again. 2 weeks. Again. Sweat, shit, piss, grease, blood, spittle/vomit, soaked death gown, rotting flesh.
I went in there to pull her to her feet like a normal human. She grabbed my leg & tore at my calf like a starving man digging his fingers into a rotisery chicken's breast. Screaming. Wailing. Flailing. Blubbering. Walrus-ing.
I did what I thought I had to do. To get her to shut up. To get her to stop kicking, slapping, pulling, grabbing my legs. To get my dad to back off & not end up in a hospital or dead. I stood over this ball of putrid filth. Wrapped my arms around her waist & dead lifted her 400 +/- lbs with my >300 lbs. She squelched when I pulled her to me. Greasy yellow goo ran down my arms like an orange in a juicer. I tossed her onto her bed like the sack of shit she was while making that noise that usually gets a response of "Honey, the cat is puking on the carpet again!".
Then I proceeded to bolt out of there, wordlessly screaming in horror as my skin was coated in this horrible rotting yellow grease. My pants & shirt were soaked, h@ll my granny panties were even coated because it had seeped through the front of my cotton shorts. It was like I had jumped into that well in the Walking Dead on Hershel's farm. The one with the bloated zombie. After the bloated zombie exploded.
I was a germaphobe growing up. I had to lock that part away behind deep walls because of Kirby's hoarding. That part was what made me utter this inhuman keening scream like some type of bird of prey.
I am just blessed that my dad was chasing me apologizing & saying how horrible Kirby is. Not that I could hear him over my death wail or even register his presence.
Thankfully as soon as I started chanting "Clean. CLEAN. Clean. Bleach. BLEACH. Bleach!" All of the normal human reaction of: "daughter is naked stay out of bathroom. Talk outside door with back turned to open door." Went flying right out of his head as he snatched the bleach before I could get more than a few handfuls on my arms & the front of my body.
I made the super germ & smell killing scrub the same day or day after. Did not see Kirby for 2 more days. Dad finally screamed at her so much she got up & took a shower with suddenly not an ounce of weakness in her legs. I got the Hoyer lift order started the week after.
So. Now that we are all scarred I say we go & buy each of ourselves some rose scented, tuity-fruity colored, cleansing pearl body wash gel with extra skin replenishing action. Whatcha say?
TL:DR
Sweat, shit, piss, grease, blood, spittle/vomit, soaked death gown, rotting flesh, 2 weeks.
Submitted February 20, 2019 at 11:57PM by Twinkie_Face_1991 https://ift.tt/2GUMsTJ
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