The Historian in me Comes forward

Entry 12/05/2025 11:23:48: Mentat 2612

All right, this was a rough couple of days landing in NOLA. While I’ve been getting more than my fair share of sleep thanks to being up and down for almost 11 hours; it seems to me that I’m going better than I did when I was living in the house that the douche now owns has exclusively under his name. But there’s moments when I wake up late at night (time unknown because we don’t have public access to clocks) where I’m facing the demons I’ve been fighting through with my 6 years of silence and not being able to vent through any and all of it. It doesn’t look promising at the moment as there’s nothing in regards to public therapy of any sort at the shelter, so I’m going to have to sit here and work through everything one bit at a time while I take some off time until I can get to the thing rolling… 

So first thing, telephone… Something I need to work on when it’s less cloudy and even less rain…. Annoying I know — but things are the way the are…. Neither here nor there until I see the shady setups along the street, at the homeless shelter, or along the places where there are courts and municipal buildings — including the library — and talking to the people there. There’s more to this, but I’m going to have to wait until I can take advantage of being more me, and less a historian of things long since passed. 

The good news is that I was able to get some information on the various resources available in the area, so I might have an idea to take advantage of when the weather gets less…. well…  stormy. 

I’ve tried to reach out to Tracy and Tracy is of course hesitant and in her own world since I dumped a lot on her about my situation. If I don’t hear anything from her sometime today (or tomorrow), I’m going to tell her that I’m not looking for a handout from her anymore. That’s pretty much water under the bridge. And all that I have left from her it to remind her of the friendship we had for the last 29 years. 

Tried reaching out for my aunt, and unless I have a phone number — she’s probably going to be another dead end — but there will be typical Frenchwoman/Frenchman (yeah, my uncle’s included in on this) because what I have to tell them they will have a shit fit.

OP ED: Sorry folks this is going to be a bit of a whirlwind because I’m going through a butt-ton of information and don’t have the time at the moment to be as much of a story-teller that I’m capable of…. So grin and bear it as best as I can. 

Shit fit? Yeah, it’s going to be a shit-storm. As I’ve said yesterday (and this is definitely going public because I can’t hold it tight anymore). My mother’s health was failing for the last 4 years and try as I might — by hook and by crook for me riding her constantly, trying to get her to eat, and to maintain a healthy existence — she was having none of it. 

Four years ago, when I wasn’t actually paying attention because I was too busy laying low because of the amount of criticism and nitpicking I as receiving from both my mother for what I was typing in my journal, coupled with trying to network and be friendly with people online — the douche that’s her husband was constantly complaining of the noise I was making because of his precious watching television. Of course, this excludes the amount of noise he was making when he was on the phone; as he was louder than me…. it was just logical for him to cast blame on me that I was the problem. 

So this was the first time my mother was diagnosed with malnutrition as one day when she was taking a nap, she was unable to get up because her energy was shaky at best and her equilibrium was completely whacked out. An ambulance picked her up and the her and the douche were en route to Tammany General to diagnose for other potential problems. 

The diagnosis? Malnutrition.. She hid this from both of us with her weight getting down to 89 lbs (40.37 kgs). Her magnesium count was completely shot and she was suffering from dehydration. I never once did visit her at the hospital because her dog — Maggie — had serious separation anxiety and without anyone in the house she could easily wreck it.

No problem, I thought.  This is something that she could bounce back from including being able to eat and take care of herself through the help of me as I’ve been doing the nutritional thing since I was diagnosed with Hypertension back in 2015, and was slowly losing weight from 225 lbs (102 kgs) and was about 175 lbs (79.37 kgs) at this point.

Man, what a fight that was even with the Visiting Nurses that we had coming over for a month or two after her discharge… but with a lot of Stubborn French negotiations and her near incessant nit-picking of something being “too salty”… or “too bland…” or a simply not liking it — we were finally able to get her up to 115 lbs (52.16 kgs). Not only was she steady, but she was also pretty much back to normal physically if not mentally…. 

Mentally was another story. My mother began showing symptoms of Sundowner’s. Enough for me to be showing concern even though she was vehemently denying it the entire time. Every time I brought it up, and every time she denied it — she was showing the symptoms more and more evident. So much so, I watched her slowly try to change her patterns based on the things I told her. Sure more of them were true — but sometimes I would throw one in that wasn’t remotely — and she began changing them to the opposite of what I told her. 

Douche and I were having our typical passive-aggressive fights. Basically his nitpicking…. And my bull-headed “I’m tired of your bullshit” attitude. That’s when…. Well I don’t remember the details… A friend in discord heard me as we were chatting (and I was a bit louder than he liked). He began making threats at me (with the attitude I’m a pansy little faggot to his “I served in the marines”attitude. And just like my brother he came at me with the scowled look and a first up like he was going to punch me. 

The Douche didn’t realize I was fed up with his empty threats. The douche didn’t realize I remembered the time in 2017 when he threw a serving knife and fork at me because I didn’t tell him precisely the size of the piece of pork I wanted leaving it to “his judgment, I was happy with whatever piece he gave me… (yeah, that was said three times before the knife and fork flew… The douche totally forgot in his attempt at intimidation that I was a Southpaw. So pinning just my right hand is useless when my left has been left free. It took him more than a bit to realize I wasn’t a right-hander like he is…. 

But I’m going down the rabbit hole a bit too much with this. 

So he was coming at me first with the veiled threat he was going to punch me for my surly faggot mouth…he didn’t say that F word, but his attitude was clearly implying it) Yeah, he’s 6’1″ (185 cm) weighing in at a a mere 250 lbs (113.4 kgs), and I’m 5’9″ (175 cm) and about 170 lbs (77.1 kgs). He got pushed to the wall with more force that he thought I contained. After a bit of working leverage, I pinned him to the ground and yelled at him, “I win.. And don’t think I don’t know how to do worse…” 

What did the douche do, you ask? When my mother woke up and came out of the room he looked at her and like my youngest brother did said, “he started it. I didn’t do anything to provoke him…” 

I’m honestly not sure whether she believed him (although she definitely acted it for his benefit). But at the same time she either remembered or didn’t how Jon (my brother) used to do this sort of things to me for decades when we were growing up. She gave me the routine scolding I got when my brother and I were growing up, in spite of the protests I made that if you threaten me, I’m not going to permit it or else it’ll get worse… 

In her mind it was settled. In my mind, it was far from settled as I knew what sort of energy the man had and he holds a grudge in ways that only the youngest sibling does when it comes to being bettered. 

And still, her dementia was getting worse… 

The next part covers her deteriorating mental state that followed her health once again… Until the next time.