I just *know* it.
I'm sick of this fucking house. I'm sick of my worthless shit for brain male parent. I'm sick of all the shit he put me through my whole life and I'm sick of pretending that none of it ever happened just to keep up some sort of bizarre WASPY pact of silence and normalcy through denial.
I'm sick of my sister.
I'm sick of all of my sister's hangups having to also be *my* hangups through the magical psychosis of projection. I'm tired of nodding along while she tells me that she AND I can't accept help. That she AND I should have deep fears about our explosive tempers (you know.. the temper that she AND I have).
I got over most of my shit when I was still a teenager. I'm *sorry* that Wendy didn't. I really am. I'm sorry that therapy didn't help her either. I'm sorry that the best hope she has for happiness is TOTAL CONTROL OF HER SURROUNDINGS.
But... just because I sympathize and can see in her the frustrations I dealt with when I was 16 doesn't mean that I am the same person.
She's a former prep who listens to country music and thinks mullets don't look too bad.
The ONLY things we have in common are such miniscule similarities in interests. Serial Killers, Forensic Pathology, crime scene investigation.. things like that.
And those things are such a *tiny* part of me.
I'm frustrated that every time we get together and talk it's about the same set of things that happened when we were children.
No, don't forget.. there IS NO forgetting..
But you're 33 years old.
I need to get away from my family.
I need to get far far away from my family.
As much as that scares me...
Really... just my mom. I adore her.
I'm gonna go cry some more now.