Here I am, at age 52, still tortured by my mother. I had been in a wonderful place, more or less, for the last few months. Everyone was doing well, I was having fun with my job, and we were finally getting comfortable with the move we made last year. Then, of course, along comes "mother", the irrepressible force of nature who will live another 25 years into her late 90s, making demands and being critical of everything I do. This time, I don't call her enough. And my messages should be more detailed. In the end, it could be anything. But every time I pick up the phone, it's a fight. I suggested she get some help (as have my sisters), but as you could guess, there's nothing wrong with her. The problem isn't hers, it's mine. Picture the most annoying person who always has their hands clean, nothing sticks to them, smooth with the argument, always spinning it back to you. That's my mother.

Thus, I look back at the start of my healing a few years ago and I realize how difficult it is to manage someone who is mentally ill, especially someone in denial. My mother is mentally ill, either BP or PTSD from an unresolved issue from her childhood. I realize how fortunate I was to come to my senses and to realize that I needed help. It was my dad, rest his soul, that took me aside and said "you need some help......get some help". And since I loved him so much, I got some help. It was a moment of clarity......perhaps even a bit of luck was involved. I further realize how fortunate I am to have been blessed with the direction, giving my wife and children some peace of mind. I still have my moments, but the overall future is bright. I am thankful to not have to live in a constant state of confrontation.

My mother has an undiagnosed mental illness and it shows. She was a terrible mother - a typical Irish Catholic provider who showed no love or affection. Her job was to crank out kids, cook meals, do the laundry, and instill the value of the church into her kids. Toss in some abuse - getting smashed with a mirror or clocked with a phone - and you get the idea. My dad passed away in July and she's been a lost soul ever since, desperate to make up for lost time before it's too late. Day by day, she sinks deeper into the abyss.

If you're out there, and you're thinking about getting help, do it. Your life improves dramatically when you take control and admit you have a problem.