Give Me My Oscar Then


Earlier today, mom called Aunt Barbara to make sure that she had gotten back to Alabama safely and hadn’t gotten . (Barbara and Danny had gone on a cruise that had left from New York right before the news started showing the predictions of the path of Hurricane Sandy.) When my aunt didn’t pick up, mom called Nana to see if she had heard from her. She had. Nana also said that Barbara should call my mom to let her know that she was back home safe. Barbara reportedly told Nana that my mom didn’t care about if she was safe. Actually, she did. (Even after everything that went down, I did, too.)

Mom and Nana talked a little longer and Nana told her that she and Aunt Barbara had apparently talked about me. My mom said that according to Nana, the conversation went a bit like this:

Nana: Barbara, you do know Janet is mentally ill, right?
Barbara: No, she isn’t.
Nana: Yes, she is. She’s physically ill, too.
Barbara: No, she’s just faking about that.
Nana: No, I’ve seen her after she’s had iron infusions and been to doctors and the hospital. She is really sick.
Barbara: No, she isn’t.

I guess I’ve been faking so well that I have fooled doctors and lab tests. I’m such a good actress, I’ve even fooled myself. I demand my Oscar now, if that’s the case. If I am that good at acting, I shouldn’t have to wait until the ceremony in four months. I should get it ahead of time. Oh, and I should get a lifetime achievement award as well. And dammit, I want a BAFTA for my “performance” as well. If I’m that great at faking, then I deserve all of the best acting awards, don’t I?

It shouldn’t surprise me that she thinks I’m a liar. After all, this is the same woman who told my mom and me that Nana wanted to have neck surgery because she wanted the attention. She is also the same woman who said that Nana was on pain medicine because she was an addict and not because she was in chronic pain. I wonder when pain and illness is considered real for her. Is it when she can’t walk up the stairs because at the ripe old age of 60, she has reportedly developed knee pain? Or maybe its when her retina got detached and she couldn’t see things properly for a while? I’m sure that those things were real. Why is it so hard for her to believe that she might not be the only person with problems in the family world?

I know what she can do. I have to go on the 19th to have blood tests done to see how my iron stores are holding up. Then, in December, I get to go back to Clearview to find out how my anemia is doing and if I’m going to have to have another infusion. If my stores are doing well enough, I’ll also find out what we do next to figure out what is going on with my blood. She can come with me to that appointment. Actually, she can come for the blood test appointment, too. She can also come sit with me as I wait for my group therapy to start. I’ll even sign a little form so she can go over my psychiatric history with my therapist and/or my psychiatrist. If she wants proof that I’ve got issues, I’m completely fine with her knowing what those issues are.

It seems ridiculous, given the number of times that I know she and some of the other members of the family have been here, that she doesn’t believe that there is something going on with my mental and physical health. Maybe she’s just in denial. Maybe it’s easier to hate me if she thinks that I’m just a big fat liar. Maybe she just likes to hate me and think the worst of me. She did try to convince Nana that I said I hated Will, which never happened. I have no idea what is going on in that woman’s head, but I’m tired of how it always impacts me and my family.

My aunt is sixty years old. She should be acting that age, instead of constantly doing this dramatic lying thing like a disgruntled child or teenager. She is too old to be acting so ridiculous. She needs to spank her inner moppet and grow up because this behavior is truly getting to be a bit pathetic.


About Janet Morris

I'm from Huntsville, Alabama. I've got as many college credits as a doctorate candidate, and the GPA of some of them, too. I have a boss by the name of Amy Pond. She's a dachshund. My parents both grew up in Alabama.