What to do if a person, even a loved one, literally poisons your life? You can “turn on the toxic” in response and quarrel, you can try to talk to the person, you can simply cut off ties. And yet, it's difficult. And all this leaves its mark on your psyche, morale, and life in the future.
I have a great example of a toxic person – my grandmother. I know that many people in old age start to grumble like old people, turn into capricious children. And all this is age-related. Of course, you need to work with this, you can't just throw a person away. And what will we be like in old age? Maybe even worse.
But it's not old age for my grandmother. Age has only made the situation a little worse. Mom says that she's been like that all her life, from her youth. After all, she grew up with it, and who better to know than her. And other relatives confirm it. The main method of raising children for grandma has always been the whip. In the worst sense of the word. And the main way of interacting with people is manipulation, reproaches, complaints that everyone is bad, scum. Well, with age, all this has multiplied by two, or even three.
It so happened that I had to live with my grandmother for almost all of my student years. I know what you're thinking now: she didn't let me hang out when I was young, so I'm angry. But that's not true. I didn't really want to hang out. I'm an introvert to the core. I really like solitude and creativity. Since childhood, I've loved reading, drawing, and studying. While my classmates were happy that they had finished the session without retakes, I was upset about the A and asked to retake it to get an A.
It was my mother's decision to settle me with my grandmother. She didn't want me to live in a dormitory in another city. Moreover, our dormitory was neither clean nor comfortable. There was no money to rent an apartment, even half-shared with someone. And since my grandmother already lives in the city where I entered, everything was decided. Besides, my grandmother is not young, and I am additional help for her with household chores and trips to hospitals.
The apartment was one-room, so I had to sit in the kitchen in the evenings to write reports. I also had to study for exams, because I prepared for the sessions day and night, allocating only a couple of hours for sleep. Even the dim light from the table lamp bothered my grandmother; she wouldn't compromise even once every six months, during the session. And there was no soft corner in the kitchen, I would throw a blanket over myself and sit on the floor, propped up with books. Any rustle, any movement caused her genuine rage: why aren't you letting me sleep? I won't fall asleep now, and what am I going to do next? Although there was no need to get up in the morning, as you understand. At the same time, she would get up at exactly 6 am and turn on the TV at full volume.
I understood that I had come to her, had disrupted her usual routine, and that I should try not to disturb her. But on the other hand, she herself actively called me. She constantly told my mother not to go to dormitories. She persistently refused to live alone, even threw tantrums about it.
Grandma is a very conflicted person. She can start a fight literally out of thin air. Although I don't like to sort things out in relationships at all, it's not my thing.
I brought cheese from the store that had two days left until the expiration date — a quarrel. I went to the university and left my books and notes lying on the bed — a quarrel, what a mess! You can’t hang the tulle, because you urgently need to run to class — a quarrel. And there was absolutely no point in swearing and quarreling, because you can always calmly say it. Why do some people love scandals so much? They simply can’t see their life without it, like an energy booster.
The further, the worse. At some point, the reproaches for food began. And I understand, the pensions are tiny. I tried to take food as often as possible on the scholarship. And my mother constantly helped, brought a lot of things. But, I think, reproaching my relatives for food is already too much, especially since I am not enough for them.
At any convenient opportunity, a quarrel would break out, and not just a quarrel, but a scandal. With insults, personal attacks, humiliations. My grandmother is a brawler, she knows a lot of unpleasant words.
At some point, they put water meters on her, saying that it was better and more economical. And then the real trouble started! She controlled exactly how I washed the dishes so that not a single drop was spilled. She made me wash with cold water because it was cheaper. If I went swimming — well, it was a total scandal, to the point that I washed too often.
And, of course, everything was criticized. Any of my drawings, any attempts to somehow express myself in creativity. And if you start drawing something and go to class, leaving the picture on the table, you may simply not find it later.
It wasn't really possible to play the guitar either, it would interfere with watching TV, and it would just give me a headache. I would take the guitar, go to the kitchen to play, so as not to interfere — she would definitely take it and come to the kitchen in a couple of minutes. Even if there was nothing to do there, as if out of spite, to move some rags from place to place.
My appearance was also criticized. Allegedly, all the boys are boys, and here I am, wearing black, gray, what a horror. She always praised any of my friends for their appearance, but humiliated me. She also always didn't like my hairstyle, and in general, I'm all wrong, not like that. You see – in other countries, grandmothers are proud of their grandchildren, but here everything is always wrong.
You might think that these are some small things, troubles, and I'm making a big deal out of a fly. But the problem is that this happened, without exaggeration, every day. Every day, there is a new reason for quarrels, insults, humiliations, and injustices out of thin air.
And manipulation: as my mother says, when I was 30, my grandmother started constantly talking about how sick she was. She never left without a huge bag of medicine, which she often prescribed for herself, reading a huge medical dictionary. Every year the situation got worse, although there were no visible signs of illness. She is firmly convinced that she has liver cancer, although doctors say that this is not the case. Then something else… With this attitude towards herself, she simply drove herself into a state where nothing even hurts, but she constantly felt sick.
And how many times have I seen this situation with my own eyes: my grandmother can barely move around the house, I jump up to help her get to the kitchen. Then she gets dressed to go to the store and leaves. She says she doesn't need help, she walks slowly with a cane. I look out the window to check if everything is okay. And I see my grandmother walking with the confident, firm gait of a healthy person, quickly, quickly, like a young person. The cane under her arm is unnecessary. And this was repeated over and over again. It turns out that it was all manipulation to show once again how seriously ill she is and how much help she needs. Okay, it was something old-fashioned, but starting to tell everyone at the age of 30 that you are all chronically ill… This is already too much.
One day I just had to leave home. It was my last year of university, and my grandmother made a fuss over the water on my birthday. Again, out of nowhere. My mother said she would pay her back (and she always did). But it wasn't about the money, it was about some principles. With her fuss on my holiday and insults, she once again proved me wrong, my hands even started shaking. That same day I went to the hostel and registered to move in. I paid for my accommodation, filled out all the documents. Within a couple of days I moved all my things. They put me in a room with two strangers and a bunch of cockroaches. I think the cockroaches danced the tango on me while I slept.
And so the last year of study passed. And you know what? My relationship with my grandmother became better than ever. The dormitory was on the other side of the city, but I did my internship not far from my grandmother. After classes, I bought some gifts and went to her. The reproaches about my appearance, my character, everything stopped.
Now I live in another city, I come home rarely, once a year. Sometimes I call, but I don't really like talking on the phone. Especially since my grandmother has a hard of hearing, I have to shout at the whole apartment.
Since I left home, we have never quarreled again. Maybe because I showed character, or maybe it's just that you shouldn't live with such people. And that was the best decision, I think. If a person can't get along with anyone (now he's terrorizing his mother in exactly the same way), then it's better to distance yourself from him a little. Of course, help, don't abandon him. But don't live together.
