Another Bunch of Craziness

Here are some pictures of my sister at Christmas time. It's hard to believe that someone so innocent looking could be such a witch. She's really narcissistic and rageful, but you couldn't tell by looking at her, and these pictures don't really do her justice. She's really quite pretty in person, very small and pale and blond. She looks like she couldn't and wouldn't hurt anyone.

This is my Mom with Lily

This is Lily with our cousin, Emma. And then Lily, below, holding up her Coach purse she had to have for Christmas.

There has been much activity in Crazyland, New Hampshire these past few days or so. My sister is off on another rampage which always affects everyone in the family in so many ways. Living with Lily is like living with any addict or alcoholic, although drugs are not what makes her act like this, she's simply mentally unstable all on her own, without any help from narcotics of any kind. Of course the misuse of her medication clearly exacerbates the problem, it's not the sole issue here. That would almost be a relief to have addiction be the issue. At least then there is a clear problem with a clear solution. Drugs are an issue, stop using drugs, get clean, live life. But in her case, as most people who are addicts, she has more than just that issue. She is an addict, prescribed or not she takes opiates, but she also suffers from several personality disorders; that is, of course, probably what caused her to want to self-medicate to begin with. But it's getting so out of hand now, something has to be done. Even my mother is beginning to understand that it's gone too far. That's huge, Helen admitting that Lily is super crazy and needs help is a revelation for our family. We have been pleading with our mother to do something about Lily for years, and she would always blow us off by saying Lily was depressed or was more affected by the way things were growing up, my dad was the most mean to her, or that she just doesn't know how to deal with life. And she would make sacrifices so that Lily could finish school, promising that as soon as she finished that semester she would have to move out, but of course that would never happen. And it would just go on and on. We couldn't do anything ourselves without the support of our mom, she was the owner of the home and the only one who could say "Get out" and mean it. But finally, after twenty-five years of manipulation and anxiety, my Mom has had enough. She's getting too old to deal with this crap. She's done her duty for her children and it's time for her to be able to live her life for herself. Whatever it was that broke the camel's back doesn't matter to me nearly as much as the fact that it has been broken and we may have a possibility of living in peace in the near future.

My Mom is listening to people tell her about having a person who is an adult sectioned. I'm going to have to look into what, exactly, that entails. I have a lot to do today, but tonight I'm going to try to do some research on what that would mean for all of us. Maybe it could help other people who have someone like Lily in their own lives. From what I've heard in passing so far, my understanding is that the police and judges get involved and basically force the person to get help from a mental health hospital. But the person has to be proven to be a danger to themselves or others. Lily is definitely a danger to others, and without a doubt there is a major likelihood that she could hurt herself acting the way she does. Maybe it would be the best thing for her, she would finally get in depth therapy and there would be no point in lying to her doctors because they would already know it was pretty bad if she had to be sectioned to begin with. Because she is so manipulative that her doctors now just buy into her crap and prescribe her whatever she wants. It's crazy how the way someone looks can be so deceiving; blond hair, blue eyes does not an angel make. But men in particular are very susceptible to her wiles. She flirts a little and this man prescribes suboxone, an opiate replacement medication, to a young girl who has really had no history of opiate abuse to the degree that she should need that type of medication. She got him to give it to her because she still gets high from the crap. Someone like me or my brother, who shot dope, we don't even feel it, it just blocks our receptors so we can't get high. Well, methadone is what I prefer to take, and do take, but it does the same thing as suboxone. But my sister never did enough heroin or opiates in general to make her need replacement therapy. She uses he script to get fucked up everyday legally. She sniffs a chip of suboxone every couple hours or so. The sniffing makes it hit her just as hard as sniffing dope, how is that any different from just using illicit drugs? And then the idiot doctor gives her a benzo script too. That's, like, a really bad combo which can be totally lethal. If she were to take a bit too much of a mixture, her heart could stop and she would die. And she has a history of having a bad reaction to benzos, they make her crazy. So my Mom is trying to call her doctor now to tell him she is misusing her meds, and she's given her the option to stay here at home and go to a really in depth therapist who does, like, four hour long sessions. It's that or she needs to get out as soon as she graduates. And she doesn't want to go to the therapy, so hopefully my Mom will stand by her word.

I'm actually hopeful that things may be different this time. My mom made an appointment for her, my brothers, and myself to go to a family therapist and she's promised to do whatever the therapist tells us to do. And I know that the therapist is going to agree with us and make my mom stand up for herself. Having an adult, mental health professional say it like it is could be just what my mother needs to hear. She thinks that we are just biased and being mean sometimes, but having an outside source back us up could be the catalyst we need to make a change. Especially because we have a lot of Lily's outburst lately recorded either by video, audio, or a combo. It's hard to lie when the actions are right there in front of you on a t.v. screen. There will be no denying the level of crazy once we're in an office away from the mayhem. It's easy to want to downplay it when it's not actually happening. It's easy to not want to think about the problem when you're away from it because there is so little time in life to be peaceful when you live with a crazy person, you try to take what you can get. But that ends up biting you in the ass because then when it happens again, which it inevitably will, you haven't set up any supports for yourself and you're just stuck in the same cycle. Having her actions taped makes us unable to downplay it after the fact as not that bad. It IS that bad, and we need to remember it and do something.

Lily got into an argument with my brothers last weekend, and for the rest of the week it has been a disaster. She and her boyfriend were sitting on the couch in the living room, lounging around, chain smoking cigarettes, food and glasses all over the coffee table, being basically loud and obnoxious as usual. And my brothers came out to get some of the breakfast I had made for everyone (eggs, potatoes, danish, etc) and there was none left because they had taken huge portions and didn't wait for everyone to have some. So that wasn't even the issue, it got worse when Rob started talking about how he was going to take out the kayak that we all got for Christmas next weekend. And my brothers were like "No, you're not taking that out before anyone in our family takes it." And they were kind of getting annoyed and one thing led to another and Rob jumps up from the couch and puffs his chest up, sticks out his chin and is towering over my brothers now. He knows that was a confrontational move, he knows my brothers don't appreciate him using his height to attempt to intimidate them. Sam and Scooter are not very tall but they are very strong. Especially Scooter, it's unnatural, he can eat whatever he wants and he never gains weight, he stays fit beyond believability. And he's beat Rob up already on several occasions when Rob has challenged him. So it was just a bad move. Clearly, things were slowly getting more and more physical. Rob stands up, they move forward, and the defining moment came as my sister kicked her foot out at Scooter's head and he catches it with his hand. At the same moment, with his other hand, he flicks a lit cigarette at Rob. Sam notices that the cigarette landed on the new couch cushion and reaches for it, passing by Rob in the process. Rob mistakes this gesture as a move toward him and flails out a fist towards Sam, this creates an instant reaction in Scooter and he jumps on Rob and puts him in a face-reddening headlock. Now my sister is screaming for them to get off Rob and my mom and Larry (oh, yes, Larry was here for the weekend as well. Although he was surprisingly easy to get along with this time. I'm actually glad, for my Mom's sake, that he was here) come running down from her room upstairs and join the melee. So now both my mom and my sister are screaming their heads off and Larry jumps on Scooter, putting him in a headlock. So it's a big pile of men in headlocks, flailing around on the couch, until they must have become tired out and they separated. But not before Lily had called the police, again. It's her favorite thing to do, yet it always seems that she gets herself in more trouble than anyone. At this point the police in Exeter know my sister is insane. But they have to come out to make sure no one is hurt once they get a call like that. So Saturday at Noon we have two cruisers parked outside our house, Lily is screaming bloody murder so loudly that all the neighbors must have thought she was being murdered inside. It was totally humiliating, yet they left without doing anything about her, once again. She can drive through town in the middle of the night with no headlights on, all wacked out on benzos and they let her go, they catch her with weed and let her go, she smashes her car and gets away with it, when is it going to hit the fan? When is she going to be held accountable?

So after the cops leave, Lily goes crazy because my brothers weren't arrested because Rob didn't press charges because my Mom told him he would never step foot in this house again if he did. It was hours and hours before she stopped screaming and smashing things. They dogs ran and hid in the bushes behind the house because she was freaking them out so much. And now Rob isn't allowed back in the house, for now anyway, we'll see how long that lasts this time. He's always never allowed back, and then there he is, smelly feet, loud mouth and all the very next morning. Lily sneaks him in at night and my Mom doesn't want to create more problems so she says nothing. Lily has the ability to drag something out longer than anyone I've ever met. I don't know how she has the stamina to stay angry for so long. I feel so emotionally drained after just a short time of being angry about something. I actually become physically tired when I've been upset for too long. I just don't know how she manages not to collapse after being so angry and dramatic for so many hours and days in a row. But manage it she does. She's the Champion of Grudge Holders, the Queen of Condemnation, the Czar of Revenge, she never lets anything rest. She never passes up an opportunity to make a scene, and it's quite exhausting honestly.

I think my mother really knew that something was wrong, beyond what she had been previously willing to accept, when Lily began to use feces in her revenge plots. Yes, you read that correctly: feces. The first time, she simply picked it up with bare hands and flung it at Scooter's door to his bedroom where it splattered, hung, and slid down the white wooden door. It should be explained that she came by the excrement due to the fact that our mini little rat terrier becomes so terrified by her that she shits herself everytime Lily screams. So Lizzy had just crapped on the hallway floor when Lily happens by and an amazing idea popped into her pea-sized little bean brain and she scooped up the poo and flung away. Then, she must have been so pleased by the horrified reaction of all who were present and she added it to her repertoire of hideous go-to revenge tactics. She decided that it would be better if the person didn't know the shit was there and just smelled it, not knowing from where it came. She stuffed it under doors so people would step on it when they opened the door. She's really gone bonkers. We can't leave our bathroom products in the shower because she'll pee in mouthwash and shampoo or spit in body wash. We're not sure of our food is safe. How can people live like this?

Sorry if this post was all over the place and hard to follow. I'm just so stressed because you never know when she's gonna blow. So we all walk on eggshells. When is she coming home from school? Will she come in screaming or crying? Will she start problems later tonight? Will it be a good night or a bad one? It can take a lot out of a person to be so anxiety ridden all the time.

Anyway, on a positive ending note, I'm really hyped about joining Curves. I think it's really going to help me to lose weight finally. I really need to not be so fat. I can't wear anything properly. Everything I own is too tight or too baggy and I just look ridiculous. But it feels good to get some exercise and hopefully I'll start to see results soon.

Oh my God, I am practicing some serious control over my emotions right now. I can't fuckin stand this asshole in my mother's kitchen. He just tried to use one of my Mom's linen dishtowels to soak up the grease from his bacon, that he took out of OUR refrigerator. And I'm the asshole for stopping it, and saying, "Are you fuckin daft?". Who does that? I mean really, who in their right fuckin minds does that? In someone's home? Someone ELSE"S home? I mean seriously???????? I hate, hate, hate him!!!!!! I really can't stress it enough. I tell them to use a paper bag, because they don't know what to do with themselves if there are no paper towels. Oh my God, what will we do? Nellie won't buy paper towels for you all to use as if they fall from the sky for free. Along with the eggs, milk, coffee, bacon, sugar, stove gas, electricity......

Why is he even here? He's married to some woman who is domestically employed by his family, get this though, he only married the woman so she would pay him to make her legal. How illegal is that??? Who do I call to report it? Does anyone know? Has anyhow dealt with that before? I mean, it's against the law on so many levels. Besides the fact that he is committing tax fraud, he's exploiting this poor woman to the nth degree. He's taking her money for his "payment", so she basically is being forced to work for nothing now because she feels indebted to his family. How fucked is that?? I mean, I'd feel bad for the woman, but really she should have to go through the same route as everyone else who wants to be a part of this country. Unless they were truly in love. But this purely a financial arrangement. I am sort of resentful of people who immigrate to this country and work for nothing because they take jobs away from people like me. So I'm competing for a spot against people who will either work for nothing and won't ever complain, and then on the opposite end of the spectrum are the people who are totally over qualified for the job but willing to work for less because jobs are so scarce. But anyhow, that's not the issue at hand. The issue is that I am willing to compromise my typical code of ethics by which I live just to get rid of this bloodsucking LEACH!!!!!! Would he be put in jail for something like that? Probably not, right? Unless he has a record, maybe, which he does, for sure. But not in the realm of tax evasion, just theft, drugs, domestic violence, destruction of property, assault, stuff like that. I sit and I think what can I do, what can I do, what can I do??? I can't murder him, obviously. Although, if this were the Wild West or something, he might just go off on a hunting trip and not return. But I could never get away with anything like that, and when it came down to it, I don't think I would have it in me to kill someone. (Although sitting here listening to him rant about all the drugs he's done to my little brother, is not redeeming him any. Sure, Sam is twenty, not ten, but still, is it necessary to sit here and go on and on and on about how much acid he bought and did when we were all teenagers. Nobody cares, we've all been there, we've all been on Phish lot, we've all sold drugs, we've all been spun, we've all travelled across and back across the country. Well, maybe Sam does think it's interesting, but it's not the kind of bragging he needs to hear. Way to be a good role model, asshole). I can't stand him. But is that enough to justify becoming a rat for the first time in my life? Is it okay to be a fink if the thing you're finking on is really wrong? I'm really not sure, I don't want to create really bad energy for myself. But maybe in the long run, I'd be doing her a favor. I think she would be better off going through the proper, albeit poorly designed, system rather than suffering through a modern version of indentured servitude. But maybe I'm wrong, and my dislike of this moron is clouding my vision.

Oh, and now the Mega Douche is downstairs, screaming like a banshee. She has no levels besides pretending to be civil and nice and then super insane bitch. There is no such a thing as reasoning with her, she can't have a logical argument with anyone. If you try to talk to her about anything, if you disagree with anything there is just no talking to her. She just starts screaming and swearing over everything you try to say. She tries to get you to her level, where you're screaming and flipping out too. But I have made it my goal to not be like that, ever again, with anyone, for any reason. It gets you nowhere. That's not to say I don't get upset, and that sometimes I react in a way I wish I hadn't after the fact. But I do everything in my power to stay calm and logical. I don't swear at her, or call her names. Despite her repeating, at the top of her lungs, over and over, "Fat fucking bitch, Loser, why don't you go suck a big, fat dick. Why don't you go eat some more, fat ass. Shut the fuck up you stupid cunt, all you do is sit around and do nothing but eat. Why don't you go back to school and do something, loser". How do you talk to someone like that? How? I just don't know. Everything I try, just doesn't make any impact, nothing works with her. You'll think you're getting along, you'll think you connected and she'll bitch to you about school, and her sucky, dirty boyfriend, and her schoolwork, she'll ask for help editing her paper, she'll eat the dinners I make and leave her dishes out in the hallway for me to do; and then without warning, she'll turn on you, just like that. Like just this last time she turned from "normal" to nasty because she decided that her boyfriend was coming to dinner at the very last minute and I was like, "Lily (sigh) I asked you, I asked everyone who would be here for dinner so I could plan for the portions. So I could buy the right amount of food. This wouldn't be so frustrating if I hadn't just asked and you said he would not be here." I didn't say he couldn't eat, I didn't freak out. But it goes from that to "Fuck You, we wouldn't want for you to lose any weight, NELLIE! You fat bitch, spend all day in the kitchen eating all the food, you fucking bitch". It sounds like I'm making it up, but really I'm not. She's that crazy. She can't have a disagreement and talk it out, ever. It's really frustrating.



The best thing would be if I just didn't have to be anywhere near her. That was the solution I've opted for until recently. But I've been holding in this anger and resentment for all these years because I feel like I was driven out of my own home because of her. I know that my Mom, like Jeannie so wisely pointed out, puts up with it because she doesn't know what to do about it, because she doesn't want my sister to hate her, and I think she also thinks I'm more capable of doing things for myself. But that sucks. Lily's more damaged, so she gets away with everything, because my Mom doesn't want to hurt her feelings? It's made my life really hard, my childhood was marked by Lily's outbursts, there was never any peace once Lily turned twelve or thirteen. And before that she wasn't right either, but she was a little girl. A little blond, blue-eyed girl, so people assumed she was innocent. Anything but. She would hit my brother when no one was looking, and then when he finally retaliated she would go rat on him, crying wolf all the time.



I'll always remember the exact day I knew for sure that something wasn't right. The first day her behavior scared me. We were on the swing set in our back yard and me and Scooter were swinging happily until Lily came out. She began to throw mud and rocks at Scooter for no other reason than she was clearly jealous that we were playing together on the swings and she has never known how to deal with anything, right from the start. And a lot of people would probably blow it off as normal kid stuff, as was undoubtedly Helen's take on the situation for years, "Oh, she's just a kid, she's jealous, she'll grow out of it". But she never has grown out of it. And it wasn't just kid stuff, she had a malicious look in her eye that day. Like the creepy movies you watch about children murderers; watching her was like watching a little blond angel rip the wings off an injured bird laying in the grass, and smiling. When the rocks and dirt didn't get him off the swing, she became more physical, trying to grab at him as he passed back and forth. Mind you, she was probably only five or six years old, but she had a mission. She wanted him off that swing, no matter what it took. She finally decided to take a stronger stance and she got behind him, as he came up for the back swing and she pushed, with all her might. And Scooter went flying forward, into the mud, and the rocks littering the dirt below him from her earlier projectiles. His hands were cut from the rocks, his face was cut from pounding the ground with his cheek, and he was crying in no time. And what did Lily do? She smiled, briefly, clearly, maliciously, and the she turned heel and ran inside crying that Scooter had hit her. And did she get reprimanded? Oh, no, Scooter did. Because she lied, and she's been perfecting her skills ever since. Scooter was sent to his room, and Lily got to swing. Alone. Because I have been wary of her ever since. You would think that the physical evidence of attack on my brother would argue in his favor. But it happens time and again that Lily physically injures people and gets away with it on the premise of self-defense. "I only hit him because he was swinging at me."

I really, and truly, believe that she has a mental disorder of severe standing. I believe she would stab me in my sleep, if she thought she would get away with it. I lock my doors. Especially after the day she was sitting in the living room, with everyone in the family, smoking a bowl, and out of the blue, for no known reason, Lily announces to us all that she would have no problem dismembering someone if she were high enough. Who says that? Who thinks about that? She worries me a great deal. And worse, she's studying to be a teacher for elementary school age children. She's doing her student teaching right now. Even if she manages to get through school, it's going to be really hard for her to find a job once employers conduct a back ground check on her. Most schools don't like to hire teachers with prior drug and assault charges. Not to mention she was let go from her last teaching job after she brought weed to the school and the whole classroom could smell it. It's the thought of people like her that make me wary of having kids to begin with. Looks can be deceiving. The kids will sometimes say mean things to her, like your dress is ugly; and rather acting like an adult, she'll reply, "Well, your dress is ugly". She comes home and tells us this, as if it's funny. She's crazy, totally crazy.

Well, I just really needed to vent. And I needed a way to keep busy while sitting here keeping the corner of my eye on them so they don't do anything drastically stupid. Like burn down the house. But they are finally clearing out. So I need to clean up after them so I can cook my own breakfast, and Sam and Mikey's too. Then I'll vacuum, turn all the thermometers down that I know have been turned up to seventy (thanks LILY). I know without looking because I'm sweating profusely just sitting here. They don't pay for it, so who cares?

Can you Smell the Rage from there??

Is there even a way to fix things that have been broken for too long? For example: A chair breaks, if you fix it immediately, it may be okay, if it wasn't all that broken to begin with. But if you were to put it aside in the garage or something and wait five years, the chair would be so much more work to fix. Because now it's not just that a leg has been snapped, now the actual wood is corroding and you have to get a whole new peice. With a lot of repairs, it could be almost like new again, but never quite right. Aren't people like that too? If you don't fix the problems when they first start, it's that much more difficult to fix them at all. My family is a corroded chair thrown in the garage. Is it even worth fixing? Personally, I take chairs like that to the dump. Is there a dump for people????? I guess that would be like a jail or a state mental institution. And everyone in my family would probably fit the bill for either one of those places, sadly enough. My Mom and I would go to the loony bin, both my brothers would go to jail, and my sister would only be suited to a prison hospital, since she is a criminal and a psychotic.

I really wish I could put hidden cameras all throughout the house so professionals could see what I have to deal with. People think that if there is not overt physical abuse then there isn't anything that bad to deal with. But I've read articles about how psychological abuse can even cause post traumatic stress disorder. And that's if you take away the fact that whenever my brothers get angry, everyone in their path is in physical danger too. This morning alone, my youngest brother didn't like that my mom and I had our voices raised so he threw the laundry basket down the stairs at us. Then he came storming down, spit flying, voice hoarse with screams, flailing fists like a mini man hurricane of anger. He threw a punch a couple of centimeters from my face and then when I sat down in a chair he tried to wing the top of the cat tower at my head, but in his irate haste he misjudged and it hit my Mom in the head on the couch at the other side of the room. Then he started to scream about Mikey in response to me telling him that I hope the time that my Mom is gone works really well for him since I won't be buying him or anyone else any cigarettes, because I don't smoke. And I won't be driving him back and forth across town five times a day to get weed, and neither will Mikey. I wouldn't be doing his dishes, washing his clothes, making his meals, that I basically would no longer be his surrogate Mother. That's when he starts in on how neither of us do anything for anyone and he doesn't care, blah, blah, blah......and Mikey (who, what a surprise, didn't make it very far for very long, is back) thinks it would be a good idea to pop his head out of our dungeon space living quarters and ask if Sam has something to say to his face. And then later he acts as if he were actually defending me instead of himself. Because I didn't need nor ask for his help. I do just fine myself in arguments. See, I've learned that you almost always win if you stay logical and make sense and don't act like an idiot. Then you just have more weight behind you to back up the fact that you must be right, because you're not the one acting like a freak. It works for police and politicians ALL the time, so why not me? So when Mikey puts himself on my side w/out my asking and then proceeds to act like an ass, that pisses me off and makes things worse. So then him and and my little brother start fighting, Sam lunges at him and it gets physical. Then, my Mother always has to jump in the fray. So I'm yelling at them all to let go of each other, they're hurting my Mom, and they're rolling around on the kitchen floor, and my Mom's screaming, and I'm yelling at her now to just get away from them or she's going to get hurt. But in a fight no one wants to be the first person to let go because the other person might use that as an excuse to throw a sucker punch. But eventually they realized that they were hurting Helen (my Mom) and they separated. And then they act like nothing even happened and right away Mikey's all, "Hey Sam, I'll smoke you up". And I'm like "No, you won't, this is what the whole argument has been about". I get stuck in the middle because my siblings use all of their allotted money for the time Helen is away, and then they have nothing, no cigarettes, no weed, no money for food or gas, nothing. So then they start acting like horrible monsters, everyone has to walk on eggshells around them or another scene ensues where they are throwing things at you and screaming and calling you names. So I end up buying them that shit with my personal money or they money that Helen left me for taking the dog to the vet and buying groceries for everyone. She originally left me all their money too, to dole out as they needed it so it didn't get spent all at once, but that was a nightmare as you can probably imagine. Then EVERYTHING was my fault and I wasn't buying the right things and Lily didn't have enough of this or that. So I told my Mom I wasn't doing that anymore. So they have their own money allotted to them. But, like I said, they spend it all in about three days or less, and we're talking, like, a couple hundred dollars, not twenty bucks. So then she'll leave two hundred extra dollars in a "household" account that only I can access but then that makes me the middle man and puts me in a really horrible situation. I don't have a license but they're always bossing me around telling me they need this or that and they think I have all this secret money hidden away that I use to buy myself lavish things. And I'm so mean that I won't just give them what they want. They don't understand that that money is for emergencies or milk when we run out in four days, they don't understand the concept of planning and thinking ahead. So I end up doling out all that money in about two more days because now it's going to Lily, Sam, and Scooter because none of them have any of their own money left and so without fail, every week Mikey and I end up going through almost all of the money we live off on our own, which isn't very much honestly. I split Mike's unemployment with him every week which pays for my methadone, gas to get there, food for us and then, like, incidentals such as toothpaste, weed (which we hardly smoke very much of at all these days), shampoo and crap like that. I hate to admit it, but my dependence on that little bit of money is a huge reason why I am not more firm about Mike leaving. Because I have a bit of tax money I'm waiting for, but that will only go so far. I have to pay all my fines to get my license back and then Mike will take the car when he leaves, so it would leave me with very little money and no car. I maybe could buy a crapper with what's left after fines, or I could try to find a job within walking distance, but that's not proving very fruitful as of yet. So I feel really stuck and super pressured by parties on all sides. What's new? This has been my life for as long as I can remember. I know what I need to do in order to get where I want to be. I just never seem to be able to find an environment to reside in that stays stable enough, long enough for me to accomplish anything. Does that make sense? I feel like people are always making me feel as if everything really is within my control and I'm just always not making the right choices. But I feel like I try SO, SO hard to do the right thing, and work hard, and plan ahead and then something crazy, totally out of my hands happens. And I'm sort of left floundering and I have to sort of start all over again to figure out how this new situation works. And it just takes so long that way to get anywhere new, it seems so daunting that sometimes I just want to give up even trying. Not, like, kill myself. I can't stress enough how much I despise people who kill themselves. And I hate even more the people who simply act like they're going to kill themselves and then don't. Cry for help motherfuckers. Sorry to anyone who may be in that category and thinks I'm being insensitive; but I've had to live side by side with too many people who have pulled that crap. It's so hurtful to the people in your life, it's selfish and cowardly. I know there are certain instances when people have imbalances that are so severe that they really don't know what else to do, and I guess I feel a little sorry for those folks, but I feel more sorry for the people they left behind.

I think I must have been around eight years old the first time I remember being told that my Mom had tried to kill herself. She must have already had a history of being overly dramatic and self-absorbed, but I was a little kid and just saw her as my Mom still. I remember my aunt came to pick me and Scooter, my brother and the second oldest in the family, up from school. At the time we were going to The Atrium School, in Watertown, Massachusetts. It was this really liberal, artsy, private school where, looking back, all the teachers and administrators must have had their heads up their asses. I didn't get taught that you have to add numbers from the left to the right until I was almost ten years old. I just thought you were supposed to be able to look at them and know what they added up to. I just didn't understand how everyone could do it so quickly once the numbers we added got into the hundreds and thousands. Finally, one of them realized what I was trying to do and explained the correct, and much easier, way to do it. I remember being amazed. I had, at that point, acted out several Greek plays, made a Maypole and danced around it, disintegrated the shells of eggs with vinegar, made numerous cloth dolls, and gone on several treasure hunts. I could read anything, upside down and backwards. But I had no idea how to add. I guess they had certain priorities. But anyhow, back to the tale. We were picked up by my aunt, and I was surprised not to see my Mom. I always knew when my Mom was supposed to pick us up because usually on the days she didn't pick us up we had to carpool with my friend Jacob and his mom. And when we had to ride with him the car was always crowded and it smelled like baby poop and vomit, except when his little sister farted, which was often, and then we had the added benefit of two different poo smells. Yummy. I felt like I was going to puke the whole time. Every ride with them was a feat, a challenge of whether or not I could keep my stomach from ejecting it's contents. I dreaded those days. So I was highly concerned when I saw Meg rather than my Mother in the designated pick-up line. I was always an overly thoughtful, anxious person. Ever since I was born, my mother always said. My siblings were always fighting with each other and I would be sitting away from them saying, "It's not me Mom, right? You're not mad at me right?". And she would be trying to yell at them and turn to me finally and yell, "NO, NELLIE! I'm not yelling at you, am I? Just mind your own business". Or some such thing. Even to this day, she wants me to this or that, and I do it, and I try to please everyone, and she calls me a goody-two shoes. I just can't make her see me for who I am, which is sincerely a thoughtful person. I'm not doing what I do to get anything but respect and thoughtfulness in return. I don't want money, I don't want clothes or her car. I just want peace and consideration.

So Meg was there waiting for us, we climbed into her beat up old Volvo and asked where our mom was. She told us at that point only that Helen was in the hospital because she had been sick. Clearly we were worried as any children would be upon hearing such news. We rode in silence until we had made our way from Watertown over to Cambridge where my grandmother lived. But for some reason we didn't head to Grammy's house, and I really don't know what was going on as I've never asked for clarification from anyone who was old enough at the time to remember details, instead we stopped at O'Leary's which was a bar that my grandfather frequented. We were told to wait in the car while Meg ran in. She must have gone there to speak with either my grandfather, grandmother, or my Uncle Marty who may have been gathered there. So my mom's in the hospital after attempted suicide and we stop at the bar? Does anyone else think that's weird? Anyhow, from there I remember being brought back to our own house, over in East Cambridge. We lived close enough to the Charles River that we could see the Fourth of July fireworks from the roof of our townhouse, we could smell the chocolate from the factories that were next to the science museum. And I suppose we must have waited there with my aunt until my mom was released from the hospital.
I don't remember anyone trying to explain anything to us. I remember the hectic, anxious feelings in the air. I recall people rushing around and different family members coming and going. I don't know where my father was in all of this. I do know that was what we have always been told set it off that time. Helen and my father had separated, and she must have had some altercation with him. For a minute I almost confused this first time with another time. In the other incident, it was a weekend day and Helen decided to surprise my dad with fuckin donuts on a Sunday morning. And she finds him with some woman who worked for him. I guess, the story goes, she was sitting in the dining room with my father's shirt on and my mom walks in with home made donuts. I'm sure she made a scene. Probably donuts flew through the air. Sugar and cinnamon dripping down the front of the white collared shirt. But why, honestly, did she think he wanted his own place? So he could NOT fuck other women? At that point, after multiple infidelities, a woman has to make a choice. She either dumps the cheating bastard because she knows she can't live like that and he can't be faithful. Or she reconciles herself to what is the harsh reality and she finds some hot dude to fuck herself while continuing to live the life to which she has come accustomed. I would have respected her more had she made either one of those choices. But she picked an alternate course of action. Play the martyr and try to change an unchangeable situation; until everyone is so fucked up and angry that there is no foreseeable peace for anyone in the near future. Our life has been warped into this cluster-fuck of resentment, jealousy, anger, and depression.

And still, at almost sixty years old, my mother is not much different from that woman who was slumped in her bed in her East Cambridge townhouse with a wine bottle in her hand and make-up dripping down her face, blubbering to her three small children while they huddled in the doorway, unsure if there was anything they could do. We're still not sure what we can do when she decides she can't take anymore of the life she created. Not more than two nights ago she broke down because she spent too much money on Sam for his birthday, my brother Scooter went nuts with her credit card in NYC on a date with some girl he just met, my sister didn't act grateful when my mother told her that the Prius she drives everyday would be fixed by the next day; so that was it, nobody loves her, everybody hates her, guess she'll go make empty suicidal threats until we all want to pull our hair out. And the scene could have been any one from our childhood, only all of us are a little taller now. My Mom is freaking out on our siblings and I'm telling her to just calm down, she's overreacting and everyone is just tired. I tell her to leave the dishes and I'll do them very early so she won't even see them. And she turns and screams at me that she doesn't WANT me to do the dishes! Why don't I mind my own business, she knows how to run a home! So, same as twenty-five years ago, my siblings are spoiled to no end, act like assholes, my mom takes it out on me because they don't care when she's angry or upset and she needs someone to show a reaction so she fights with me instead when I'm just trying to be helpful and calm things down.

So, clearly, there is a lot more going on here than I could ever explain in crappy rant. But I'm sick and tired of having to deal with and clean up after this mess of monsters that Helen has created by never, ever setting ANY limits. She just throws money at anything that inconveniences her. If my sister is calling everyone big, fat fuckin cunts and calling the police on herself, my mom gives her money to go to a hotel for the night. Does anyone else agree that that is simply rewarding shitty behavior? I do. My sister thinks she's supposed to act like that, the worse she acts, the more she gets. Same with everyone. Except me, if I act out, even a little bit, or even if I'm not being unreasonable, if I'm just even questioning something my mother or someone is doing, I get attacked. She's thrown me out more times than I can remember before I even turned eighteen because I would try to tell her how to raise her kids. I'd tell her Lily was fucking twenty-five year olds and smoking cigarettes when she was fourteen, and my brother was doing acid at the dinner table, and she'd tell me to get the fuck out, I wasn't the parent and I was starting problems. She still resents me for pointing out the negative and wanting solutions. NO NELLIE! We look the other way, pretend it doesn't matter and let it eat away at our insides until we are so raw and bleeding that we need blood transfusions because the stress has caused ulcers that bleed through our ass, like you MOM.

Wow, I'm angry today. When I get treated the same as I did when I was sixteen, I get so angry, I want to burst. I don't even know what to do because I know that nothing I can say or do will matter. I just have to bide my time, try to get out alive, try to care more about myself, stop thinking that if I'm just nice enough, calm enough, if I do enough, if I clean enough than my mother will see that I'm good and and my siblings are not. That will never happen, she will never limit them, she will never reprimand them, she will never put her foot down, she will let them suck every single drop of energy from her and she wants me to do the same and I can't! I don't want for her to not love them, you can love someone who you think is wrong, you can tell them you don't love their actions while you still love them. She thinks that setting limits is the same as limiting her love for them. I think that if she loved us all more, she would have set limits when we we younger, she wouldn't have let us do whatever we wanted. Didn't she worry about us, worry is love, is caring. Letting your pre-adolescent children smoke cigarettes is not love, it nuts.

I have to go eat something before I faint. I can't not eat anything all day long like my mother and sister. Being a size zero is not worth my health and sanity, sorry. I won't starve myself because they think I'm fat! I'm so fucking tired of other people telling me I'm fat. Or talking about how fat they are in front of me when the are a size zero! Or telling me not to eat a brownie on my brother's birthday, it'll make it so I don't lose weight. Maybe I'm not all that concerned about my weight. I know I could stand to lose some, and I am, slowly. That's good enough for me. And lots of people still seem to find me attractive, so perhaps, Helen, it's possible to enjoy life and eat good foods and still people will love you even if you have a little roll on your tummy. I like having tits and an ass. I think they want to starve me so I look like a plank or a little boy, just like them. FUCK THEM! That's how I feel today, just fuck them all!

Coming Home to be Housekeeper

I kind of feel like I have accepted a job as a live-in nanny/housekeeper. I knew that part of the reason my Mom was so accepting of Mike and I moving in, with all our dogs no less, was that she wanted help taking care of the house and my siblings. I guess I just didn't realize that by help she meant do everything while she stayed with her new boyfriend three states away.

It should be noted, as well, that all my siblings should be able to care for themselves by now. Should be able to and able to are very different things, however. None of them can hold a job, and they have no way of earning any income, so my mother supports them all. This is not really something she is able to do easily either. They are under the impression that my mother is a bajillionaire. In reality, we are lucky to be considered lower middle class on a good day.

I moved out originally when I was seventeen, partially because I wanted to live with my boyfriend at the time but mostly because I couldn't stand living in the mayhem that had become our life. My parents had just got divorced and my Mom was a basket case. She didn't know what to do with the three teenagers and one pre-teen she was left to raise on her own. She was overwhelmed by all the responsibilities of caring for an enormous, old, falling apart Victorian home. And her heart was broken on top of it all. So it's not surprising that we were all, very suddenly, left to our own devices. And perhaps due to the fact that my parents had, for a time, fancied themselves ritzy, they had taught us shockingly little that would come in handy in the real world. And we all know that the school system doesn't do any of us a lick of good when it comes to filling out job applications or opening a bank account.

I had been lucky in that I had both parents in my life for the longest amount of time. I had also been lucky in many ways (although also unlucky in many ways) because my parents were able to send me to boarding school for most of high school. So I was super fortunate to gain skills there that my brothers and sister just didn't learn. For instance, I have a lot more discipline than any of them because I had to live by very strict rules and uphold firm expectations that taught me perseverance. They are still under the impression that everything should be handed to them on a silver platter, literally. But I really feel like we all didn't learn many skills which could have proved useful when it came time to make lives for ourselves. Our parents were terrible with money, and so are we. Although, I really believe I am accurate in saying that I am the most frugal and thoughtful when it comes to finances. That's really not saying much when the people I'm comparing myself to are members of my immediate family.

For example, my brother owes my Mom a ton of money. He has been living off her with no job for months. He was arrested in Virginia right after Christmas carrying a sawed-off shotgun (long story. But it sounds worse than it was. He was hiking part of the Appalachian Trail and he was in town waiting for a package and he didn't know his gun was a couple inches too short. What an idiot, I know). So he owes my Mom for the lawyer and travelling expenses, the whole lot. And finally he gets his taxes back, and what does he do? First thing, he goes out and buys a PlayStation Three and a bunch of new games. And then he wants to sit three feet from the T.V. in the living room and play video games all day. My Mom is furious, to say the least, and he has no idea why "she's being such a bitch". Can anyone believe that? I find it difficult and I witnessed the whole thing!

Anyhow, back to the overwhelming amount of responsibility I have just recently had dumped into my hands. My Mom opened a household bank account from which I must purchase groceries and any household supplies or necessities. I have to help my brothers get to their appointments and pick up their medication. I have been doing most of the cleaning and cooking when my Mom is home and all of it when she is away. I stacked the wood we just got, and the pellets - after we called around for the best prices. Holy Shit, it's never-ending. If I thought I was a maid to Mikey before, I just didn't know the half of it.

Anyhow, enough bitching and moaning for now. I'm making a pot roast and I'm worried it's not going to be juicy and tender but dry and tough. Oh, I hope not, it's taken hours! And I'm also trying to assemble a cream tart that is going to be done around two a.m. if I'm lucky. Oh, sad you, I'm sure everyone cares just so much about my disastrous life. Not. Until later.