11/2/2017 I’m still reeling from my daughter’s departure. I’m not talking about missing her or worrying about her or being nervous about her decision.

No, I’m pissed off. And beyond anxious. And massively broken-hearted.

On Friday, October 13, 2017, she finally got into her car (I turned over the title to her, so the car and the insurance are all hers now) and started on the road to Portland for her new life. She spent a long time planning her exit—everything from getting rid of things to getting an apartment to getting new tires to giving a cat up for adoption. She did, indeed, do all those things. She told me that she cleaned the condo (I own it; she paid rent) and got it down to leaving some things she didn’t have time or the ability to bring to Goodwill. They were tagged and organized for my use. I asked her to please throw away her mattress and box spring, as they were definitely ready to go. She said she would, no problem.

She came over a couple of times during that week to wrap things up with me, do her laundry, and get some pep talks from my husband and me. She didn’t stay long as she had to “do some more cleaning.”

We had some nice chats—where we admitted that, though we love each other, we don’t really “get” each other. She claims I wouldn’t understand how/who she is and that we live in different worlds. Probably right, but I told her that while I know she’s different, she’d be surprised at the things I could accept. If she’s gay or bisexual, or whatever, I don’t care. She said she wasn’t either of those things, but it was good to know. I told her the most important thing is for her to be healthy, happy, surrounded by good people, on the road to moving forward, and not on drugs. She’s for sure bisexual, but it doesn’t matter. I’d rather have a clean, respectful bisexual daughter than a straight, filthy, asshole of a daughter. But that’s just me.

She was excited about her trip, though nervous about the drive. I established that she had her boyfriend traveling with her. Originally, her boyfriend was going to move there with her, then she told me he changed his mind. He would drive up with her, but would be coming home, where he still has his job and family.

She was great about keeping me in the loop during her drive up, which took several days. And get this, she let me track her via our iPhones. In fact, the location tracking is still on! She sent me pictures of scenery, her Airbnbs, and her new apartment once she got in. She shared the views and her neighborhood, and all along she’s been updating me on where she’s applying for jobs. Of course, I was under the impression that she had five job interviews set up already, but she hasn’t mentioned those.

So why am I pissed? Why am I beside myself with anxiety?

Her boyfriend is the one who got her car impounded a few months ago while it was still in my name. She told me it was a random coworker that she ran into while out. To this day, she has refused to tell me her boyfriend’s name. I didn’t think it was going to last, so I stopped asking.

Her boyfriend is apparently living with her. She lied about this too.

After she was gone a week, it was time to go into the condo with the maid. On my way there, I had a feeling I would be disappointed in my daughter’s cleaning job, but didn’t know how bad it would be. I had overwhelming anxiety and fear on my way there, no joke.

• There was dried cat shit under the kitchen sink.
• There was dog food in the closet; she had a dog apparently.
• The place smelled like cat piss.
• The gross, dirty, shredded mattress was still in there, with dirty linens on top of it.
• There was cat food and kitty litter in the carpets, in the drawers, and on the back patio.
• There was trash under the sinks.
• There were dirty dishes in the sink, the broken dishwasher, and in the guest closet.
• There was food left in the refrigerator and pantry.
• The blender pitcher is gone, but the other parts were there.
• The oven and stove were filthy with caked-on food.
• There were beer bottles under the couch.
• The chair was completely scratched by her cats.
• There were dirty area rugs all over.
• I filled up about five giant bags of garbage.
• I filled the back of my husband’s pickup truck with donatable stuff.
• And so much more.

It took me two days to clean it—with the maid—and I had the carpets cleaned and sprayed with enzymes. It still smelled so goddamn bad in there. I thought it might be the dishwasher, so we replaced it. It was still gross. I put air freshener plug-ins in there, but that didn’t cover it. There was a smell when we bought the place, but this was so much worse.

My stepdaughter went to the place (we’re selling it and she’s the realtor) and said it was unsellable in that condition, and she got my husband all riled up. After brooding and being rude to me all day, he finally brought it to my attention, but he wasn’t very nice about it and it put me on the defensive in a big way. I was already so disgusted, appalled, ashamed, angry . . . and now I felt humiliated. After all, this is my own child. He said I should’ve gotten new carpeting. It had been a day and he was on my ass. I think partially he didn’t want to say anything and that’s why he was so mean, but these were unusual circumstances.

So, yeah, I had a giant meltdown—this was just this past weekend. A meltdown like the kind I had when I was younger and still getting my period. I yelled and screamed and cried—to tell him I knew how it was in there and I knew it was her fault and I was so embarrassed that a child of mine could be so disrespectful and disgusting. Until then, he didn’t know about numbers 1 through 19 above. I wanted to shield him from it. It all came flooding out and I couldn’t stop it. It brought him off his high horse to see me so emotional about it.

I took my older daughter to Home Depot (she’s visiting) to buy some damn carpeting. It started out as a bit of a fiasco. My emotions were on high alert, and they weren’t listening to me. I had a full-on argument with a clerk and a minor one with the manager, loudly enough that my daughter was embarrassed and walked away. It took a while, and I finally got somewhere, but I had to wait until Monday to actually order the carpeting. It was a couple of thousand dollars out of my pocket once again, along with four hours with the maid and a carpet cleaner. Oh, and a new dishwasher and a hundred other things, big and small, over the course of the year she lived there. 

I was drooling with spit and anger. I still am. Just writing this is making me very emotional, and I don’t even think I tapped the surface of the emotions that were triggered by this series of incidents.

I still haven’t brought it up to the offending daughter. I am separating myself from her. She has a new place, a new life, a new world. I don’t want to be part of any of it. Anyone who can leave me such a filthy “fuck you” doesn’t deserve me. It’s very painful, though; I’m really hurting over this. It has caused me a new level of depression and anxiety, and has triggered several stress migraines. I love her because she’s my daughter, but I’m so enraged I don’t know what to do with all these feelings.

I visited a therapist today. She doesn’t know what she’s in for in the coming months.