No, I’m still doing great, Naltrexone is the absolute liver-saver I’d hoped it would be. The problem is my mom. She got sober about two years ago (she’d been sober since I was nine, but decided “eh, what trouble can I get into at 70-ish?” - the answer was quite a lot of it, actually).

We’re about to leave for a massive vacation together (all family members in a beach house for a week) and after Mom’s visit for my daughter’s recent graduation I’m realizing I’m going to be facing huge, and I mean HUGE problems.

Mom gets very competitive with and jealous of me. It’s not healthy, I hate it, but what are you going to do? (Weird things like when I mentioned a new bathing suit she had to go buy a new one as well, then picked a huge fight with me and I realized later one of the core reasons was “I hate my bathing suit, it makes me look like such an old woman...” coupled with her constantly stating how much less she weighs than I do - which is basically a lie and impossible at this point. She’ll ask how my diet is going, I’ll tell her, and she’ll say something like “That’s so funny, I just weighed myself and I weigh ____” which is always like 4lbs less than I do. Exasperating as FUCK and so goddamned weird. Like, I can’t in a million years wrap my head around competing with my daughters.)

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So anyway, after graduation we came back to the house, those who drink had wine or drinks, and Mom & I were sitting on my back porch, smoking and just chatting. It was entirely pleasant, and a great evening, right up until she told my adult daughter to “go sneak me a drink.” “Everyone else is having fun, and here I am, left out again.” OK, we weren’t “having fun” - we were hanging out talking, and WTF? WTeverlovingFUCK?????????????

So her next move was “So the beach sounds like a perfect time for me to try Naltrexone. Make sure to get a refill.” (Uh, k, because we’ve got a massive vacation coming up and I’m apparently sweating out twenty dollar bills these days.)

And on top of it, there’s already fucking drama. Over pasta salad. You read that right. Mom mentioned she’d make a huge batch for the beach. Cool! We make killer pasta salad in this family! I mentioned that some of my family members don’t care for the veggies (ie, the good stuff) so I usually mix the pasta, dressing, cheeses and meats first, save half of that mix in ziplocs, then add the good stuff.

She threw a fucking fit. “Well, House Rules are if you don’t like what I cook” (hahahaha, she never cooks, she was going to make her husband or I do it at the beach, guaranteed) “then you don’t have to eat it.” I gently explained that it wasn’t “making two batches, just interrupting the batch for a minute to save some of the non-veggied version. (I didn’t mention to her, but will mention to you, she thinks green olives have “always” been in her PS. NO! This is an abomination!)

Her response? “Fine, I’m not making it at all.” Oh, great. SO FUCKING SELFISH.

We’re halfsies on the house and a chartered fishing trip, but somehow I’ve become responsible for 99% of the food, a $500 tip for the first mate on the boat, and now this goddamned pasta salad that cost literally $70 to make enough for nine people. Because guess what? We have to fucking eat SOMETHING for lunches.

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In short, I’m fucking PISSED and can’t figure out what to do so my vacation (and UncleK, and everyone else!) isn’t ruined by her insane selfishness, competitiveness and jealousy. Every goddamned thing has to revolve around her. :(

tl;dr, I don’t even know. Just gifs? I mean, what advice can you even give. :(