The problem with people who have no vices is that generally you can be sure they’re going to have some pretty annoying virtues. ~Elizabeth Taylor
Every family has one. That one relative who instigates trouble and then sits back to condescend and judge the reactions of those affected by it. The one who thinks that 3 therapy sessions renders them psychologically whole and puts them in a lordship position in the family tree. The one who researches internet diagnoses for all and hands them out like candy canes at Christmas. The one who pretends to have a perfect life who is more fucked up than anyone else in the room.
My sister is a psycho.
I am sympathetic to mental illness. I understand that it’s a condition no one wishes upon themselves and that an unfortunate life can contribute to the load. Abusive people can have a horrible effect on vulnerable victims. I get it. It takes time and a lot of energy to move back into a sane world once one has ventured to the dark side.
I’m out. Let her drown; maybe she’ll swim for the boat. I’d call it tough love, but really I’m just sick of her bullshit and I don’t care anymore. There’s nothing more I can do.
I feel some sadness, but mostly it’s relief. It’s not my problem.
I finally responded to her early morning emails after being chastised for being silent:
The world is not going to behave according to Wendy… It seems to me YOU are the one who needs to figure out how to live in an imperfect world. You can’t expect everyone else to change to accommodate you…
It seems to me your only hell is the one you create by trying to make everyone else be the people you think they should be.
The whole thing smacked of my intolerance of Mr. N/A and his behavior during our marriage. In retrospect, I suppose I shouldn’t have piously demanded that he go to AA. I shouldn’t have lectured him for not spending more time with us. I should have accepted him as he is, and either put up with it, or left quietly. I couldn’t put up with it. And I left loudly and judgmentally. Shame on me.