Friday morning violent fit of rage

Mom: I already know that you're lost to me. You don't talk to me about anything. I already know. And I know that he's your dad and you'll defend him. I'll move. I'll leave the country.

[Pause.]

Mom: I think I have an apartment in Russia. I'll go there.

This came after an hour or so of mom's screaming at dad at the top of her lungs, calling him names, and accusing him of rearranging things behind her back--sometimes at night. That's right: dad gets up in the middle of the night to misplace things, out of spite to her.

Mom: I did everything. I bought everything in this house. I thought everything through. I made every good decision for this family. All he does is destroy things. Look at that TV: does it belong there?

At one point, she ripped a spice rack off the wall and threw it on the ground.

Mom: I used to think your father was a good person, but now I realize he just boosts himself up that way, often at my expense. I've lost myself. I've become dependent on him. And he benefits from having someone dependent on him. But I don't need that. I don't need his care, at my expense.

This is all so sad, because mom is justified in being frustrated at her loss of independence. It's just that, as with everything ever, she has to blame it on someone else and take it out on someone else.

Mom: The only way to find myself again is to leave the country.