Jill Sucks Part 1

me, my half brother, & Jill 2 years ago on my step dad’s boat out at the lake near where I live.

As the title suggests… Jill does suck. She’s my biological mother.

I am going to try my best to not sound like a complete victim because I really am on the path of seeing everything as what I make of it. Also, I am proud of who I am, what I’ve been through, where I came from, and where I am going.

I would absolutely never want a different life than the one I have even though I’ve been guilty of wishing so in the past. I could never imagine not going through what I have or else I wouldn’t be here and “here” is getting much better most the time.

I also feel a deep sense of true strength for what I’ve been able to endure and learn from instead of falling off my own path to being a good, honest, and selfless person. I am absolutely far from those things most of the time but it’s always been my goal and that has never changed.

I work towards it.

This is not quite the post to show that side of myself and that’s ok, I believe.

This is part of it. It’s at least the honest thoughts I have right now and being honest is part of my goal so it’s not way off course for me. I’m trying to get to a place where these thoughts aren’t a such a big piece of me any longer. But, I’m just coming to terms with some of the realizations that I’ve had since my step dad passed away

which is exactly when I began this spiritual “self” and my own respective journey.

Ok… here goes explaining JILL. 😑

it’s a long story that I have to break up in parts. I feel the need to explain what I believe are key factors in the bigger picture. They may seem somewhat irrelevant but I promise, at least in my own way, they are necessary to know and understand Jill and my relationship with her and just how impactful “Jill” has been to my story and overall to many others besides just me.

Jill has greatly affected a whole family that absolutely did not need to be “Jill-ed” when trying to grieve a loss.

It’s not my story to tell and I hope I’m nothing but respectful to them in my own way of going about all of this,

to that family: please let me know if anything is crossing a line that I shouldn’t cross and I will remove it. I also have an estranged half brother that has his own unique but similar, separate from me experience. We did not grow up in the same home. It’s not my story to tell.

I am writing this post because

I have about a million new thoughts on ol’ Jill the soul sucking junk collector.

She has deeply hurt not only myself but a lot of other people and especially recently during my step dad’s death. I believe my step dad (and I’m just going to call him that because it feels wrong to put his name. ‘Dad’ feels strange because I never called him Dad although he is very much so a father figure to me) has started this whole journey for me by giving me a dream the day he passed away that felt very different from any other dream I’ve ever had in many ways.

This is the first and only time I’ve ever felt someone else “give” me a dream, also.

I’ve already touched on the dream but in summary it was a dream the day he passed that showed me beyond any doubt I’ll ever have that my mom, Jill, is not to be trusted or forgiven or associated with ever again.

I have battled with these thoughts and what to do about her and who she is to me and what her true intentions are my entire life. She is tricky, I’ll give her that. Very. The only person so far to have me so tricked and unsure of another person. From what I can tell, I’m not the only one either. It’s everyone in her life in arms reach. Everyone appears stuck between seeing what they think are kind, honest intentions and then her somehow inducing massive emotional suffering that feels cancerous in a way.

It’s a mind fuck.

I use that term a lot because.. it’s the perfect descriptor for what it actually is. A complete mind takeover and then fucked & left for dead.

She’s…. tricky. Lol you’ll notice a theme.. I have a hard time explaining her and her actions and always have.

I tend to use the same few words and have difficulty finding any other words to use; I guess because she is my mother at the end of the day.. but not one that I would ever call mom again. Hence the Jill title.

‘Mom’ is reserved for the woman who raised me, my Grandma.

And just so you can begin to see the delusional nature of Jill… she actually takes pride in the fact that I “turned out good” because SHE did the right thing and made sure I was well taken care of during a “hard time” in her life and she knew, for my own sake, that I needed to be raised with my grandparents for the best life possible.

True? Yes.. sorta. She did me the one favor I needed from her… let me go (kinda, not really though) for at least the first 16 years of my life. But, it was not her being selfless. The opposite actually.

My grandparents raised me and were in their 70s/80s. They did NOT need to raise another child. They deserved to be able to enjoy marriage without doing so for their last years. However, both my mom and my dad went to jail/prison when I was still a baby.

I was raised with nothing but love and the eagerness to help me succeed despite how unfair it is that my parents couldn’t even attempt to get it together to try.

My loving grandparents, RIP

My grandparents even offered my mom some thousands of dollars for a nice long term drug rehab program to get on her feet to raise me. They aren’t even related to my mom, they are my paternal grandparents. Jill refused. Imagine that.

Over the next 16 years, I saw Jill less than 10 times. All of those ~10 times were before I was 12 years old.

My grandparents, when I became an adult, (because they refrained from ever speaking poorly of her to allow me to make my own decision) told me about a time that Jill tried to kidnap me when I was still a baby.

She just took me from their house in only a diaper in the middle of winter.

Me, screaming crying the entire time, with no coat, shoes, or any other thing I needed.

My grandpa tried to stop her and she almost hit him with her car causing him (at 70 something years old) to jump out of the way before she ran him over.

So MAYBE one could conclude that she was an.. unconventional.. mother determined to get her child back? Nope.

She called my grandma later on that same day with me still crying (presumably never really stopped) in the background and told her that she was bringing me back because I wouldn’t calm down.

Good one Jill. At least the baby version of me wasn’t fooled. And people think infants aren’t intelligent… I beg to differ.

The times I do remember seeing my mom were no better. She did the exact same thing every single time. She would: show up absolutely randomly with no warning whatsoever.. just a grand entrance into my grandparent’s house like it was her own parent’s house,

She was obviously fucked up in a “drama queen” way. Like… over the top with all her emotions, words, and actions. A very “immature addict” type of vibe now that I can put words to the feeling I felt about her back then.

That’s never changed… not even a little.

She would leave in the same way. Within 2-48 hours of arriving, she would start acting weird and tell me she was going to the store. I would beg her to tell me that she swears she is coming right back or to go with her to the store. She always swore she was coming right back but that I couldn’t go because I needed to stay there. I would cry and cry and cry and just hold onto her and not let go.

She never once came back. She told that same lie every single time I ever saw her.

That was despite my grandparents and others telling her how wrong it is. It took me weeks to months to somewhat “recover” each time. I would wait and wait and wait by the window. I would think every car was her that was pulling up.

I feel badly for myself and for what my grandparents had to try to fix in me each time that Jill rushed in and quickly back out of my life (while also making sure to steal money and whatever else while she was there to see me I am now aware in the more recent years).

I believe they put a stop to it eventually. I don’t blame them at all. They weren’t sure exactly what the right answer was in all of it I’m sure. They tried to help her many many times as did her own family. She can’t be helped.

When Jill would abruptly turn our world upside down every so often, she would always have a bunch of bags in her hands with stolen stuff when entering (I even realized somehow it was all stolen stuff even as a young child, I’m not sure how I knew).

All this “stuff” was for me and my grandparents or whoever was around. Random shit I didn’t want or need but I treated it all like my pride and joy for months to come each time because it was my mom who gave it to me and I knew I wouldn’t see her again for at least a year or two.

I could at least cherish the “stuff”.

She would also cry, profusely. Uncontrollably. Something far more intense than I could figure out how to deal with to be honest.

That is what I believe started my “fix everyone that needs fixing” gene.

I would cry, too.

I would try to give her all my dollars and change my grandparents and I had been collecting together for my savings account so she would have money. I would try to do any and everything I could to help fix her… as a very young child already struggling with mental illness. I developed OCD rituals very young.

I did everything to “make” my grandparents live “at least 20 more years” because I was absolutely terrified of losing them.

My Grandma

My Grandpa

I would obsessively worry at all times they were going to die.

I did rituals involving everything being done 2, 4, or 8 times and touching every fucking thing on the top and the bottom until it felt right and was done an even number of times besides 6 (ex: the door knob, touching on one side and on the other over and over until it felt right and landed on an even number… normally that would happen at around 24 times or so and you can image took up most of my time day to day to do this because it was far more than just doorknobs).

This was starting around age 9 or so is what I can best piece together.

Back to “the stolen Jill stuff”… I remember specifically about a tiny fake plant in a flower pot the size of a Christmas ornament.

I made art… I had no interest in tiny plants especially the fake kind, I’m just saying.

I remember I kept it on display in my bedroom but avoided the fuck out of my room because I would cry every time I saw it.

I slept in the bed with my grandma. My grandpa got his own room.

They told me it was because they both snored and couldn’t sleep in the same bed anyways… I now realize it was because of me not being able to sleep in my own room. I slept in bed with her and took over her room & the master bathroom until I was 12. We moved at that time and my grandparents slept together just fine after that, snoring away, in their new room.

and I had a new room that didn’t remind me of Jill.

I never saw her again until I was 16.

Becoming a teenager sparked a jealousy from my mom that I was unaware of and would be for quite some time

because of how foreign that concept was to me.

At 16, I was with my first high school boyfriend. We were sitting around talking to his uncle. Somehow the topic of my real parents came up and I told his uncle my mom’s name.

He was excited because he knew her and he felt as though it would be a good idea to get her to get to come see me because “she would love it”. I told him no

I didn’t really want to see her. He kept telling me it would be a great idea. I finally gave in, I told my boyfriend at the time to brace himself because he was about to see

1. A woman very obviously acting like a child and crying without any end in sight no matter how it affected me or him or anyone else because she just enjoyed making it all about her own feelings and emotions and

2. me hopefully just being able to fake it ‘til I make it and go on about my life.

Me, aged 16, not long before meeting Jill, again.

At 16, I had no interest in a relationship with her. It was the beginning of me seeing how poorly she had treated me & my grandparents.

It had been years and years since I had seen or talked to her. I had a lot going on with a very recent & tragic accident happening that had shaken up many lives. I had little to no mental space for what Jill requires of those around her.

Oh well I guess. I made room. She got there and did exactly what I knew she was going to do.

She hugged and groped and just cried all over ‘me’.. my weakly rebuilt and remodeled and demolished and rebuilt-again-quite-some-times outer shell I always tried maintaining to no avail, one that always somehow failed me at most all times I needed the protection the most… didn’t hold up at all.

I was unable to ever fully just keep out what I wanted to keep out and what I knew NEEDED to be kept out of who I was and what I wanted to be.

I was uncomfortable and didn’t know what to do.

She made me go with her into the bathroom so we could “have alone time”. I was trapped. My boyfriend at the time didn’t know what to do either. He was kind of at a loss for how to help me and I quickly realized this. I gave him the “I got it, it’s ok” look on the way to the bathroom.

Next came an unnatural amount of “alone time” of her just crying and vomiting words at me about wanting to raise me, how she was going to be able to do it now that I’m older, that she always wanted me, that she did the best she could, that it wasn’t really her fault, how hard she always had it, and just how unfair life has been to her.

I could go on and on and on. I don’t remember telling her much of anything if at all about myself really besides the recent tragic accident that happened.

She told me she already heard about it. She said a lot of things that in hindsight were unhelpful and honestly hurtful for everyone involved but dressed up in such a way that made me believe it was her actually caring and being on my side.

That’s what fucked me up right there. In that moment, I didn’t “have it all together” I wasn’t “faking it ‘til I make it”. I was more fucked than I would ever realize until right now in my life as I’m typing this.

But while also fucked, I went through years of challenges that turned me into someone stronger and better for it… it will just take me quite some more time to see that fully. But, I know it to be so.

I don’t want to seem that I am not thankful for all that has happened, because I truly am because of what I have the potential to become and what I am already becoming because of it.

But, it still doesn’t change the fact that I was truly in for over a decade of pure life-altering Jill hell. No one really warned me quite yet because they weren’t aware of what was transpiring and I was more immature and unskilled than I liked to think of myself at the time and didn’t realize yet that I needed to fucking buckle up. I eventually did catch on to that fact.

But I stayed on the ride to hell for a long long time. I just now, finally, was forced off the ride

by means of a dream where she crashed a car on purpose to kill me about a month ago now. I’m 28. 12 years of Jill… Oops.

I have so far “survived” the ride.. kinda. My step dad did not. Or maybe.. and I do truly believe this… he’s doing better than surviving Jill. He’s free of her. And finally happy, anxiety free, and at peace. And he’s helping me (and many other people, I’m sure, on their own unique journey and with their own “Jill” whoever that person may be to them) get there, too.

My step dad and I on Snapchat a few years before he passed away