Yep, I found answers in your posts. I could never figure out why I kept going back to deal with my mother.
I'll try to make it a short story. My parents separated when my older brother was 9. They got back together 2 years later and I was born, 2 years later the younger brother was born. I have always felt that I wasn't wanted, then I began to think of myself as her personal servant. If I didn't do something right (her way) then I got yelled at. Many time I heard that my older brother was smart and the younger one was good looking. The older I became I felt that I was not good enough for anyone and would never be good enough for anyone. My mother was very jealous of the attention I got from my father (which was very little to begin with). One incident that still hurts involve me buying tickets to wrestling for my dad's birthday. The next day, she accused me of sleeping with my father. I moved away so many times, lived with people who mistreated and used me. And every darn time, I would go back home to the same things. I felt that she needed me or she would make like she was sorry I didnt feel loved. If I didn't do what she wanted when she wanted, my life was he**. I married my ex after only knowing him 8 months and 6 months of that he was at sea. Why? Because I thought it was a way to escape my mother. NOT-- he was just like my mother, except he wouldn't speak to me for days. If something happened it was my fault for not doing something about it. When my dad was sick, I was expected to be available 24 hours a day with a toddler, a 10 year old who has school and the ex at sea. Its not like the brothers could not be woken in the middle of the night to go to the hospital, but wait they had jobs and I didn't. A week before my dad passed away, I get a call to get to the house immediately. I get there and she is complaining that he scrape his arm and got blood on her white shower curtain and how she was going to have to wash it and all the bedding because he did it on purpose just to make extra work for her. After I got my dad's arm cleaned and bandaged all the while she is screaming at the both of us. I'm in tears, my dad's in tears and as I was leaving I looked at her and said something about "you know he's dying and you're not helping". I was told to get the he** off her property and not come back if I couldn't help her. After my dad passed away in the hospital (which I feel guilty about because I had the medical power of attorney for him and I could have overruled her decision not to allow the use of a ventilator to help to him breath and his lungs filled with fluid basically he drowned. The worst of it is that for all the years my dad was alive, my mother would pick fights, throw things at him accuse him of having affairs and blamed him for everything wrong in her life. Just as she blamed everything wrong in her life on her mother. After my dad passed away, you would have thought they had the perfect marriage and life, going on and on about how much she loved him and missed him. After my dad died, she became extremely dependent on me. Not my doing. There were months when I would not speak to her. When she was diagnosed with breast cancer, we weren't talking and she had the medical doctor call me. Fortunately for me, by that time my marriage had ended and I had to work.
When I went through a depressive episode, she took over my life. She had control of my checkbook, paid my bills, told me and my daughters (both were still in school) that we had to come to her house after I got off work for dinner every day. I started seeing a Christian counselor and began to back away, she got mad and call him to tell him that our relationship was just fine and he needed to stop talking about her.
Then 5 years ago, I went through a very serious depressive time, I walked off my job, didn't pay any bills, lost the house and nearly my life. My younger daughter and I moved in with her which was suppose to be temporary but lasted 3 years before she died. We only had one major argument in that time. Six months later, we were going back and forth to the hospital for complaints of pain, nausea, etc which the doctors could not find any cause of. She finally convinced herself that if she got out of bed she would fall since she had already fell several times. She wanted to go to a rehab center to build strength, then got mad at me, the center and nurses because she wasn't at the rehab center she wanted.She wasn't bad enough to go to the one she wanted. She went to the hospital several times because she told the nurses that she vomited blood or green vile. The last trip to the hospital she decided that she didn't want to live any more, and talked the doctors into hospice. All this time when she was at home, I fed her, cleaned her when she pooped on herself and did everything she wanted.
My mother always insisted that I was the favorite and got more attention than my brothers. But both were allowed to pick on me, the younger to hit me. If I said that someone was bullying me, the answer was the person likes you. I had to do whatever her friends children or her sister's child did whether I wanted to or not.
Do I feel guilty? I used to but I have accepted the fact that I did everything I could to make her last months good. And she chose hospice to end her life. I regret I have no one to help me when I go through a depressive period when it happens. Both of the brothers were raised to be better than me. I see my older brother once in a while but as he posted on facebook, his bowling buddies are more like his family. The younger one, I have not heard nor seen since the week after we buried our mother, when he came to the house and took what he wanted.
I tried to make this as short as possible and hope I have not bored people or brought up bad memories for anyone. I'm sorry it is so long and this is only the memories that I keep replaying in my head, there are many more. And now I think I will go get a cup of tea, a cigarette and cry. Not tears of depression but tears of talking about this.