This entry was very cathartic for me to write, and it is also very long. Don�t be surprised if I end up deleting it (or severely editing it) tomorrow.
Remember that introspective, depressing entry I promised earlier? Well, here you go.
If you were to ask me about my family, my immediate response would most likely be glowing. Something along the lines of, �Oh, I�m very lucky. I adore my family, and we are very close.� That is just my knee-jerk reaction. But you know what? I�m full of it.
In actuality, my family wears me out. I have spent the entire weekend being depressed to the point of tears over the seemingly minor details of why they wear me out. Most of this comes around to my brother. All of my life I have really tried to like my brother. I love him in that familial you-have-to-love-your-brother way, but I don�t like him. Not one bit. A lot of this stems from his mental and emotional problems, and while this doesn�t make me a good person, it at least makes me an honest one.
I should back up a little here. A couple of years ago, my brother took a dozen hits of acid, fell off of a mountain, and wandered 11 miles to the nearest town to call a friend to pick him up. He lied to my parents about what happened, telling them that he fell and called for help for hours before bravely finding help. Fine. Whatever. Then, things got complicated. It seems that the massive amount of hallucinogenic drugs he had ingested sent him into a manic frenzy. He was calling my parents, saying the craziest shit, mostly about how he was a prophet and how he was really starting to relate to Jesus. Rather than get his ass home, pronto, my parents took turns flying out to Denver to watch over him. It wiped out their bank account and strained their marriage to an irreparable degree. Eventually they brought him home for a bit, but he guilt-tripped them into letting him go back. He swore that he had learned his lesson, and they believed him. They forgave him for the incredible strain he had put on the whole family (even though he never so much as apologized), and happily forgot about the whole incident, thrilled to go back to pretending my brother is perfect. My father borrowed money so that my pathetic brother didn�t have to worry about his own finances anymore. See, part of the guilt trip was that he doesn�t have any pocket money, and the stress led him to take the drugs, and he swore that he had never tried acid before (*cough**bullshit**cough*).
This is the perfect opportunity to note that when it came time to choose a college for myself, my father said that I would have to pay for it completely on my own, and to make my decision thusly. I had no problem with this, and chose a State school because it was the most economical decision. I never expected my parents to foot the bill for my college education, and wasn�t bitter in the least. I wasn�t bitter, that is, until it came time for the Prodigal Son to make his college decision. When he decided that he absolutely had to go to a private institution in Colorado, my dad paid for half. But I digress.
Fast forward a couple of years to last summer. On a whim, my brother decided to tag along with some friends to a music festival taking place in Middle TN. He actually ran into my sister there, and she called my parents to let them know that she is with him. My parents are kind of annoyed that he was in TN and wasn�t even going to tell them, but they get over it quickly because my brother can do no wrong. Except when he does. My sister goes on to tell them that my brother is acting a little strange. Like drug-crazy strange. So, she convinced him to come home with her, and my parents told him that they will pay for him to fly back to Colorado in a couple of days.
Well, turns out my brother ate a bunch of mushrooms and had reverted back to his manic state. This time it was even worse, he was delusional and telling everyone that he had been sent by God to save the world. I wish I was making that up. My parents finally send him to see a therapist, and the good Doctor declares him to be bipolar and gives him all kinds of medication to calm him down. My mother, who clearly has her priorities in order, cannot handle the stigma of her son being diagnosed with a mental problem, and orders the Doctor to remove it from his medical record. It seems that ignorance really is bliss.
To make an already long story a bit shorter, my brother eventually came around, and my parents borrowed more money to get him back on his feet. He went back out to Denver to be with his fianc�.
The only problem is he still has serious unaddressed mental issues. He and his fianc� broke up, and he had to return to TN because he had no money, place to live, or job in CO. Since his return to TN, I have been absolutely miserable. He is still manic, and while his condition is not as severe as it has been in the past, it makes being around him an impossibility. My mother is still bound and determined to sweep everything under the rug because she puts far too much value on what other people think. She always has. In the meantime, however, my selfish little brother is nearly destroying my parent�s marriage. He just got a job and is in a hurry to move out of my parent�s house. I can understand this, since when I moved back from NYC last year I couldn�t wait to get my own place. However, I understood that I couldn�t move out until I was financially capable of doing so, and my brother does not. He has made my mother feel so sorry for him (as well as subtly terrifying her into thinking he might just take off) that she is constantly haranguing my father about money. My father, on the other hand, rightly believes that my brother is an adult and it�s time he started having some accountability. Unfortunately, my brother was born without a sense of accountability.
Luckily (for my own sanity), I realized along the line that I couldn�t keep getting so worked up about it all. Things will not change�they will always treat him differently, and I can either get upset about it, or let it roll off of my back and work towards my own betterment. I have a good job, and a great little life completely separate from my family. I�m keeping it that way.
But they manage to hurt me without even realizing it. This weekend they planned a big family dinner for my Grandparents, whom I adore and have no issues with. Even though they planned this on Thursday, my mother didn�t call me until 3 hours before dinner was to begin. I had made plans by then, and I was more than a little miffed that she didn�t call earlier. When I asked why, she said the phone was upstairs when she thought of it on Thursday, and she didn�t feel like going up there to get it. Then she forgot.
I realize this is such a minor thing, but it hurt. I guess I am just sensitive around this time of year. My birthday is in a week, and they have a history of forgetting it. Last year it fell on Mother�s Day, and my grandfather took everyone out for a Mother�s Day dinner. Right before dessert, my Dad goes, �and, Hey! It�s Marianne�s birthday!� Wow. Thanks. This year I have decided to just spend my birthday with C. and not worry about my family. If they remember, grand. If they don�t, whatever.
Sigh.