Destroyed By Distrust: The Relationship Between One Of My Sisters And Myself

[Note: There is alot of important information regarding this sister in my blog post titled "More Of My Memories Of My Mother", dated May 8, 2019. (Within our family dynamics, due to both the opinion and the influence of our mother, she was considered to be the favorite; the perfect can-do-no-wrong 'golden' child. Because of that, she always got away with whatever she would do, with no consequences. Since I was, equally unfairly, designated as the family blacksheep, this especially applied to anything she did toward me.) Therefore here is the direct link to that post:
 https://ascentthroughthedarknightofthesoul.blogspot.com/2019/05/more-of-my-memories-of-my-mother.html ]

I don't have any momentous memories about this sister, Pat, who is three years younger than I, coming into my life. That is probably because I was still so young, myself, when she arrived. The earliest interactions that I really recall having with her were when I was around 5 and she was 2. Some of those were the typical ones. I felt annoyance, from having to accommodate a younger sibling, being underfoot, when I just did not feel like doing that, sometimes. When we would play together, usually with our dolls, in our room, I always felt that there was something really different, from one another, about the two of us. It amounted to my feeling that we were on different wavelengths from each other as far as our personalities. While no two people are completely identical, this feeling I had, about her, was more of an uneasiness, in me, from my seeing, and sensing, that she and I definitely did not engage the world from a similar mindset. She was a free spirit, writing her own rules as she went it seemed, while I'd been taught that I was to be a people pleaser; especially by my mother, from the time I was a toddler, from both her verbal and nonverbal signals to me, about that. I could not understand why Mom not only allowed Patty to act in this wild way, free and unencumbered, including outside the privacy of our home and around, and with, others, but she even seemed to completely encourage it. As much as that confused me, I also resented it; feeling stuck in the stifled state I was supposed to contain myself in. I felt begrudging toward my sister, from her being allowed to act in these ways that I was never allowed to do, and those observations of my sister, as well as many of my interactions with her, did alot to sour the relationship, that I had, with her. So, almost from the start, there were differences and divides between us, that would only seem to deepen as time went on. There was some support, and protectiveness, shown toward her, by me, when we were still quite young. But she was The Tattler that was always more than ready to 'throw me under the bus', causing me problems with our parents, that I did not deserve. This trait of hers so undermined my relationship with her that I came to avoid her as much as possible to try to cut my losses some, from her intrusive, impudent, and interfering instigations in my life.

Although she sometimes irritated me, as younger siblings can, and will, do simply from being around, when I was not in the mood to interact with or play with her, at times, that was never enough of an issue to create, or cause, the real rift that grew between us. I vividly remember Dad coming toward her once in a frighteningly menacing way when I was just 5 and she was only 2, angrily saying "BASTARD!" at her. Although I had no idea what that word even was, I instinctively stood protectively in front of her. She was so small that she was oblivious to this even happening, while I was truly terrified by seeing my father acting so enraged toward her. Thankfully, that was as far as that very scary incident went, because Mom said to him "Stop! Johnny, don't! Johnny, stop, just stop!" There had once been enough closeness between us, when we were still young, that when she asked me to wake her up early, one Christmas Eve as we were going to bed, so that she could see what Santa had left her, I talked to her about the true meaning of Christmas, as we lay there in our beds, under what I now know was that unction of the Holy Spirit that came on me, at times, from the time I was a young child. Then, for practical purposes of our not sleeping too late, especially after we had stayed awake and talked awhile that night, I reassured her that I would sleep with my stiff-bristled hair brush, in the bed with me, so that when I rolled over on it and it stuck me I would wake up right away! Because of that brush, in my bed, Pat and I initially crept into the livingroom while it was still pitch dark, able to see that Santa had come, from the moonlight filtering in through the large picture window. We were allowed to play a little, then, with our new things, after our parents heard us, before being sent back to bed, at least until daylight. When my sister had needed, and wanted, my support, I was there for her, back then, although sometimes she shunned it, also, preferring to sulk instead. Soon my supportiveness of her stopped, because it became completely clear, by her behaviors, that she did not demonstrate that, toward me, when she could have. I began to see Pat as being nothing to me but a taker, tattler, and troublemaker.

When I was little Mom strapped me in outfits that she tightly tied the sashes and bows on so that these were always perfectly prim and proper on me. I even recall, as a pre-schooler, her changing me into a dress from my little short set I'd had on and brushing my hair while telling me that I needed to look pretty for Daddy when he got home from work. Then she sat me on his lap, and I played with his employee ID badge that he wore on his pocket while the two of them talked. These things are always little life lessons that teach us who we are and how we are to be, in this world. So, I was really confused and concerned, that Mom not only allowed Pat to run half-naked and free as a topless little girl with her long dark hair flowing down her back, wearing nothing but panties (hopefully), and shorts, with no top, or shoes, but allowed her to scamper up and down the street that we lived on playing with a group of several other children who lived in the neighborhood, most of whom were boys! This was bewildering, and disconcerting, to me. I had even questioned Mom about it being a good idea, but she simply smiled approvingly, shrugging off all of my concerns. Pat became a frequent source of stress for me. Could it be that Mom was actually more concerned with Patty being popular, however that happened, than with her being safe? Or was Mom merely acting out of her own wild side, vicariously, through my sister, by these things that she did, in regard to Patty? Since she was born from our mother's extramarital affair, perhaps Mom was subconsciously sowing more of her own wild oats, through these, freedoms, that she allowed my sister to have. In any case, Mom always made it very clear, in various ways, that Patty was the 'golden child' in her eyes.

During this time, probably from my sister walking all over outside, and going in other people's houses, without any shoes on, with this group of playmates, she got plantar warts on her feet. Because we shared a bedroom, a bathroom, and all our socks, then, I caught these from her, and struggled for many years, to finally get rid of them. They were quite painful, feeling as if I were walking on hard little stones, in my shoes. During the many years that I had to deal with those warts, on the soles of my feet, I often thought about the fact that they were yet another negative type of thing that Pat had brought into my life, which I would have been much better off without. Whenever someone becomes seen as a liability, not a blessing, in someone's life, this does not bode well for the relationship holding up well under that strain. From this type of thing, and others, as well, I began to feel that I was always in a defensive posture toward her, trying my best to do damage control, in order to protect myself, from the problems, which she seemed to bring into my life; none of which I needed. I began to really resent her, for multiple reasons, although, all those came down to the same common denominator: Patty caused me trouble. To add insult to injury, when she did, while she did, she behaved very blithely about it, showing me that she not only didn't care, but she actually seemed to even enjoy doing that to me. Whatever her payoff was, for that, meant more to her than our having a good relationship.

One Easter morning she quietly vanished from our room while I was dressing. Getting to wear our brand new Easter dresses, for the first time, was always a very special part of that holiday for us girls and, as I put mine on, I was thrilled to finally get to wear that! It felt so exciting as I smoothed its skirt with my hands before heading to my parents' room to show my mother how pretty it looked on me. Pat was already there, ahead of me, sitting on Mom's lap, even though she was not quite young enough, to do that, easily, by then. As I came into the room, she said nothing to me, but turned, to Mom, and said, "See? I told you!" While this was obviously about me, for some reason, I had no idea, at all, what was going on, making the impact, of whatever this was about, feel even more distressing, to me. Then, Mom said for me to look in the mirror above her dresser. I stared in disbelief at my face, which was covered with bright red measles which hadn't been there, when I went to bed, just the night before. Mom told me to take off my Easter outfit and go back to bed. While the rest of the family went to Easter church service, all wearing their new clothes, I stayed behind, feeling alone, alienated, and, annoyed by how Pat had handled this sad situation happening to me. She didn't cause it, but she also didn't help it any, as far as I was concerned. By her doing that in the way that she did, I simply became the object of her secret, and a very upsetting one at that, which she had hurried off, to share, with our mother, about me, instead of her just telling me; her real, flesh and blood sister, which she could have chosen to communicate with. Or even console. Patty decided instead to turn it into something that she and Mom shared together, just between the two of them, leaving me to be the last one to know; making "Look in the mirror" into some mean punchline, for a prank being played on me, rather than my being emotionally supported for something that would obviously be very distressing to me. That, and almost everything else, this sister ever interjected herself into in my life even after we were grown, wasn't dealt with in a compassionate way toward me.

This was simply the way that Pat chose to approach things, involving me, beginning from the time we were still small. She was the tattler, of our family. The one that went behind my back, instead of to my face. She was the one that would even try to make trouble for me, whenever she saw even the least opportunity to do that. While some may simply shrug this off as how a younger sibling behaves, to try to make their older sibling's life more miserable, because they seem to resent and/or want to discredit them, having her around at all in my life became, and remained, a very unwelcome liability, because of her doing this to me. I was already suffering the stigma of being stuck as the family black sheep, which was unfair and painful enough, for me to have to deal with. Also, even between two children it goes without saying that this type  of thing doesn't do anything good, to create or deepen a sense of a safe, shared, relationship between the two involved. Whenever this would inevitably happen with my sister, Pat, toward me, I would always wonder why she could not simply deal with me directly or even just show me some sisterly support, when she had these opportunities, to do that. Instead, for her own, self-serving, reasons, she typically chose to do this gratuitous gameplaying of hers. She was never discouraged, by my parents, from doing this, either. They even joined in on it, with her, toward me, at times, giving me real cause to believe this was, actually, approved of, by them.

When Mom went back to school to get her graduate degree, I was tasked with doing the daily household chores. Very seldom, did I get help from my siblings, with any of it. I also didn't get any praise or thanks for that, from my parents or my siblings, although I was very good about keeping the house up and getting the chores done, day in and day out. Some appreciation by any of them would have helped my self-esteem, which was damaged, by my being made the family's scapegoat. Patty, however, was the one sibling to run to the end of the long driveway in Mebane, and wait for our mother, to tell her about anything at all that I did that she thought she stood a good chance to get me in trouble for. She succeeded at it too. I'd kept the house clean, hung out to dry and later folded several baskets of laundry for all 6 of us, cooked our 4 lunches, while Mom was at school, and Dad at work, which included Pat's, and I even baked, homemade cookies, for us several afternoons. My parents had given me all the responsibility without any authority, though, which is a very unfair position to put anyone in, that is basically left in charge of everything. That was very frustrating and very disheartening for me. I literally felt like Cinderella, in that house, with these people, except I was missing that happy ending!

Even when my sister had reached the age, that I had been, when all that responsibility fell to me, she was never expected to do that much around the house. I thought it would be fair, for her to take her turn, at it, as well. However, that's not how that played out in this family. Mom usually did the dishes by hand, in the sink, after supper, although by this time we'd moved to Hickory, and there was a perfectly good dishwasher, installed in the kitchen pantry, that Mom chose to almost never use, except occasionally; and that was usually for some larger holiday meals. For the most part, neither of my sisters stepped up over the years to do these chores, once they were big enough, although when Pat did she had a way of making it seem that she had very nicely stepped up to do it because I was somehow being remiss to have not done it. As the 'golden child', she was also appreciated, for her very occasional efforts, by our mother. >sigh!< On rare occasions, though, for whatever reason, Mom just left the dishes, in the sink. Although all four of us children were old enough now to have been able to do this chore, Dad would, of course, completely bypass ever asking Mike to do it because he was the only 'man-child', but would stand at the bottom of the stairs yelling sternly up to me, to come downstairs and wash them. Never Pat, or Pam. Always me. Even those nights that he woke me, out of a sound sleep, that way, because, at the age I was, then, I was in bed, and rightfully so, at that late hour. Dad didn't even see them, still soaking in the sink, until quite late, when he was on the way to bed, himself, because he'd been sitting, in front of the TV, all evening, as usual. It was only me, that was in trouble, for the dishes, from the family's meal, still being in the sink. Pat seemed to always enjoy these situations, from the sidelines, when they happened to me, which only caused me to resent her, even more, especially since she was off the hook, for it.

Because Pat preferred dealing with situations involving me in a way that clearly came across as her disrespecting me, dishonoring our relationship as sisters by it as well, I felt continually victimized by her, instead of cared about. This prevented any closeness developing between us. She seemed happiest when she made me unhappy. She wasn't affirming, or affectionate, toward me. She was underhanded and undermining, by doing and saying the things that she did, including, but not limited to, those behind my back. This sister was always seeking some opportunity, no matter how silly, or small, to tell my parents anything that, in any way, put me into the spotlight in some bad way when they already were negative, and critical, rather than approving, and affirming, of me, as parents. Shockingly to me she always got away with that, too. However, this wasn't surprising. One day something that was taught at school about the importance of parental affirmation toward their children caused me to ask a question, when I got home. As I came in, Mom was sitting at the sewing machine, and I asked her which child was her favorite. Without looking at me, or hesitating, in her answer, she immediately replied that Patty was. That wasn't the answer that I expected to hear but not because it wasn't true.

Mom's behavior through the years subtly but surely demonstrated that this was true. I simply couldn't fathom any mother actually going on the record about it, like that; not even caring to gauge the impact of such a declaration on this other one of her children, as she did to me in that way, that day. To make it even more devastating, to hear that, I was also already deeply conscious of my being unfairly relegated to the unbearable position of being the family black sheep. So, for both direct and indirect reasons, the more I experienced, in my life, regarding this sister, the more I chose to close myself off from her, in a very protective posture. Since I couldn't negate the fact of who she was, and wasn't, in my life, I could at least try to limit my exposure to it. To her. This article is very helpful, in documenting what I am describing, here, about the deep damage that this sister's tattling, and other behaviors, did to our relationship:   https://www.focusonthefamily.com/parenting/taming-the-tattletale/ Unfortunately, this wasn't limited to our childhood. Patty continued to do these things, which left me perpetually feeling that she was 'pulling the rug out from under me' and seeking more ways to do it. This article, written by Lisa B. Marshall, articulates some of what I am trying to express here, about Pat's ways: https://www.quickanddirtytips.com/business-career/public-speaking/how-to-deal-with-difficult-people  Here's an excerpt that describes some of what I went through with this sister:

"Unfortunately, she’s more likely to tell others rather than go directly to the person because she enjoys stirring up intrigue, controversy, and dissension.

One response to her tattling about someone else is to ask, “Have you spoken directly to Sue about this?” Chances are she will say “no.” You then have an opportunity to say, “Well then, let’s go together to talk to her.” At this point, the tattletale will probably find an excuse to depart the conversation, or make a mental note not to tattle to you again. In a rare case, she may care enough to agree with your suggestion. Any of these results will work.

If you have the starring role in the stories of the tattletale, that can cause an enormous amount of stress. Keep in mind that your conversations and mistakes are the tattletale’s ammunition. The best thing to do is to limit your interactions with her . . . ." [which is what I did, with Patty]

I was once selected to sing a solo part, in a church Youth performance, for the congregation, and visitors. Patty was old enough, then, to be included in this group of young people, at our church, so she and I both attended the rehearsals for it. It was a special event for the church Youth Group, because it was so rare that we got to present a live performance, like this. We were excited, enthusiastic and energetic young people. While we were waiting in the church sanctuary, one evening, for a run-through rehearsal, a few of my friends and I were all being playful with one another. All the anticipation of the upcoming performance was causing us to behave joyfully! I can't recall what exactly my sister considered to be something I was doing, there, then, that she couldn't wait to get home and tell my parents about, because, frankly, I couldn't even fathom at the time what the problem was, with anything that I was doing there, that night. I do recall that I was scolded, as soon as I came in the door, back at home, which confused me because I knew that I had not been doing anything, at all, that should be either censored, or criticized! My friends and I were all very good kids. None of us had been mean, destructive, or in any way inappropriate. We were just acting like teenagers, waiting for their choir director to arrive, to begin a rehearsal. We simply weren't sitting there sullen and silent, as we all waited for this man, who was running a bit late. I honestly don't know if this 'golden child' was just jealous, of my solo part, out in front of this group, that she was lumped into, in the background, or what her actual problem was with me, but I knew that I had not done any thing, that had truly needed to be tattled about, by her, to my parents. I had just been happy!

She apparently told them that I was running around the church sanctuary. I had been, briefly, with a few of my friends, as we simply shared our happiness with one another to be together, doing something special. We had caused no harm of any kind to anything or anyone; except apparently Pat, for some silly, or strange, reason. It had been so innocuous! But, because of Pat, our family's tattletale, I was scolded for that, without even being asked to tell my side, to them, about it, at all. They just took her word, and from that, very unfairly criticized me. Patty loved causing, and then watching, this trouble, she got me into, the times that she would put me in this position, with my parents. To make this even more stressful, and infuriating, to me, neither of them allowed me to say anything, bad, about any of her behaviors, including those she did which were inappropriate, insulting and even inexplicable. Patty's 'throwing me to the wolves' like that, with my parents, seemed to be a fun sport for her, but I was already living a miserable existence, in this house with these people, including her; aside from her additional 'help' with that. So, I began to stay in my room, which was across the hall from hers, after we moved to Hickory, with my door shut, trying to keep Pat out of my business and as a result of that desperate endeavor, out of my life, all that I possibly could! I simply didn't need the extra grief, that she was causing me, especially since she always made such an effort to maximize and even catastrophize every little thing, that she could find, as a way to do that, to me, while she, as the 'golden child', got away with that, every time; and knew that she would, when she was doing it. I saw her as a very troubling, traitorous, and therefore treacherous person to be around. Or, open myself up to. Given the results, of my doing that, it clearly would have been foolish, for me to continue to allow her access, to me, anymore than I absolutely had to. Ever.

One day while we were still teenagers, I was doing some chores around the house in Hickory, and also talking with my other, youngest, sister Pam. We three girls were the only ones home at the time. Back then, Pam had not yet begun to adopt the really toxic behaviors or mindsets that were rife in this dysfunctional family. She had a kind and open heart including toward me, and was sincere, in her motivations, rather than how Pat chose to be, toward me. Because of that I really liked Pam, and opened myself up to her, then, because she never made me sorry that I allowed myself to be vulnerable with her. (That would change later, after she was grown and married; and for whatever reason began to adopt alot of the family's behaviors, including toward me, which will be dealt with here in the blog post specifically about her at some point.) At that time, Pam was a precious gift, to me, from God, as the only family-of-origin member, I had, that was actually a genuinely good person! She was also respectful and appreciative, of me; even honoring our relationship as sisters, by asking me to be a chaperone for her church Youth Group's swim date, which I gladly agreed to do, for her. (I was happy, and proud, to be Pam's older sister! However, Patty didn't seem to want to accept any responsibility for, or, the consequences of, her negative relationship with me, because of how she tattled, and taunted, and treated me. I believe that she actually thought that she could continue all her crap, in our relationship, with one another, and not ever be held accountable, by me, at all, for any of that; especially since Mom and Dad overlooked all of this, that she did toward me. As the victim, of those things, I was not overlooking it! I had already learned to avoid her, at all costs, if only to give her less to twist around, on me, and then tattle about. The other thing, with her, was that, for whatever reason, she couldn't seem to stand it when I was happy, about anything, even if, for me in that house and family, that was always so short-lived anyway.) So, on this particular day, Pat heard me in the den talking and laughing with Pam. She came in there holding a wet washcloth that may have been from her shower and slung it at me, hitting me in the face with it, told me off, curtly, as if I were denying her something delightful, that she deserved from me (which she did not!), and turned and left the room. I put the washcloth, that she had basically slapped me with, into the washing machine, while wondering if she had just washed her butt, with it, before throwing it in my face, and also thinking about how she would probably twist it, into me somehow doing something to her, to tattle when Mom got home. Only because Pam was a witness, Patty didn't bring it up, and I wanted to make sure she felt me minimizing her ability to upset me, anymore, by not even addressing it as anything worth mentioning (plus I knew that if I did, it would somehow only be blamed on me, anyway). It was a quick moment,  of more, of her bad behavior, targeting me, and, because so many years have passed, since then, and she and Pam became very close later after which Pam changed toward me, I have no idea whether Pam would recall this incident, or even admit it, if she did. Before God, I am speaking the truth about it though, and I will stand before Him as my Judge in full confidence that He knows that what I am saying here is true! People will have their biases, and loyalties.

I believe that my sister was always seeking any way she could find to prevent me from feeling comfortable, or developing closeness, with this family. Based on the pervasive, and prevailing, family dysfunction, I do not believe that I could have ever achieved either one, of those things, with these people, anyway. But, for my sister's own reasons, she seemed to have a real stake in making sure that I remained the 'scapegoat'; the 'black sheep'; and she, the 'golden child'. I was never allowed, to feel safe, and secure, as a family member, for many reasons, but Patty instigated most of the verbal jabs, that kept me from feeling those things in that house when I was there whether that was while we were growing up or as adults being back there for visits. Occasionally she would even seek to set me up, by some out-of-the-blue ambush, of hers, to attempt to start an actual physical altercation between us, which, just like I did with the rest of the ways she would taunt me I simply sidestepped, and walked away from, because I already knew that, if it got going, I would always, and only, be blamed, as the family 'black sheep', for me somehow starting some crap, with this 'golden child'! Only once, I took that bait, from her, when she was causing me trouble and refusing to be helpful, when I was left in charge of the house and chores, while Mom went back to school, to get her master's degree. Exasperation, from my being left in this position, with no cooperation from Pat, then, drove me to spank her. That was the time she ran down to the end of the long driveway, so that she could turn me in, for that, to our mother, as soon as she got home, and, sure enough, I got into trouble for that, while I was not supported, in any way, by my parents, for my being put in that position. Patty, the 'golden child', got no punishment, at all, of course, for her part in it, that had finally driven me to try to discipline her. I never let her push me to that point, to that place, again, after that, although, she did try, on occasion, over the years, even after we were grown, to get me to go there, again, with her. Very tellingly, of her, Pat 'The Tattler' usually started this crap when our parents were not at home, or she felt there were no witnesses, at least that would be against her actions and would tell on her. That made this 'golden child's' word against 'black sheep's'.  A 'fixed fight'. From the start! I was the 'black sheep'. So, I was the one blamed for it. When I even tried to tell them these things about her, they cut me off, and shut me down, and simply wouldn't hear it from me at all, so I normally never even tried. I just 'stuffed it', and resented it.  I felt so violated, by my sister, Pat, that I ached, at times, to smack the shit out of her, frankly! Except for spanking her, that once, I never touched her, in my life. I just seethed, from anger.

One of these set-ups, that Patty did to me, was successful though (by which she deliberately intended to get me into trouble and, in doing that, earn me even more disapproval than I had  to bear already, being the token symbol, of this family's dysfunction, otherwise known as 'the scapegoat'). So much so, that it was directly responsible, for me having nothing, at all, to do with these people for years afterward, because of what happened to me during that incident, including my not going back over to my parents' house for years after that.  Not even when I lived just a couple of miles from there, in my first apartment.  I was in my early twenties then, and going through my first divorce. The only reason that I, ever, even contacted my family at all, after the unrighteous rift, between me and them, which was created, and caused, by Pat, was because I joined the Air Force a couple of years later. In spite of my personal protests, I was ordered, to contact them, while I was at Lackland Air Force Base, during Basic Training,  to obtain 'family background' information, which was required, for the military, to begin to run their background check on me. My being a civilian prior to that, and able to answer the basic questions, they had asked, about my family's background, on their initial paperwork, had me believing that it would never need to go beyond that. It never occurred to me, that my joining the military would, in any way, force me to (have to) speak to anyone in my family ever again  in my life--  which I, deeply, did not want to do, at that point. It was never a healthy, or happy, situation for me, interacting with them, which is why I had stopped, doing that, altogether, by then; as a young adult on my own now. Exposing myself to them, and their dysfunction, was not good for me. My knowing that, without any doubt, prompted me to advocate, for my own best interests, and avoid doing that. Now the Air Force had forced me to be in contact again.

Over the course of time, because of how she treated me I came to detest Patty! So much so that due to our relationship with one another as sisters being thoroughly tattered by this toxic taunting from her, toward me, that was never ending, I actually felt relieved, and even happy, when I was on the phone with my mom once while I was stationed at Keesler Air Force Base and she told me very matter-of-factly with no tears or sorrow with her words that Pat had just been to the doctor and been told that she had some deadly disease that she would probably die from, soon. I just recall feeling hopeful, on hearing that Patty would actually not be in the picture, going forward, because, long before that, she had become this sinister sister, to me, that I had, literally, prayed, would somehow be exorcised, from my life! As I was hearing this news, I was feeling that, now, I would, finally, be able to live my life, without all the problems, Pat continually caused me, in my relationships, with others; which seemed to me like such a welcome relief! What Mom was telling me just felt like the answer to all those prayers, to me. Nothing more. Nothing less. However, my mother, being a narcissist, was, also, always very manipulative toward me and especially my emotions. I never heard anything more about my sister being deathly sick, in any way, at any time, from anyone.  And, she certainly didn't die. So, I do not even know why my mother told me that, since it turned out not to be true. To be completely honest about it, I was sad about that, too--  it not being true--  which gives you a clear idea of how much I had come to loathe my sister's treatment of me, and how much, of her behavior, truly made me miserable. Pat continued to make me miserable for many more years, after that, until I finally quit having anything to do with her, at all, anymore. I felt that if this was the best she was willing to do, with me, in an adult relationship with one another, I'd be better off without it; and her. All of those years, through which she continued to cause me problems, she seemed healthy. However, I do not think that anybody, that does these things, that Patty always did, and even seemed to enjoy doing, to me, is a very, emotionally, healthy person. She was a bully toward me. She was always goading me just to try to cause trouble.

These are the details of what had happened earlier, in Hickory, to cause the estrangement. I had been over at my parents' house, for a visit. Against what I really believed, could ever be possible with these people, I was continuing to try my best to find some way to have a family with them (because they were my family, if only by birthright, even though I really didn't even like them, for the most part) without it being dysfunctional and destructive, for me, with them. Everything, I have described and detailed in my blog posts about my family and its members was all still exactly that same way as it always was. (I refer you to the other posts that I have written about all this, for more background information, because it is too much to cover again, in this post.) So, this included the fact that I continued to consciously avoid interacting with or exposing myself to Pat, as much as I could, without being outright rude about it, because our lifelong relationship, with one another, had taught me, all too well, what she would do, toward me, given even the slightest opportunity, that she could find, with that crap she seemed to so enjoy pulling on me (because apparently her emotional and familial payoff for doing that was something that she desperately needed and even craved for whatever reason). Because she consistently 'pulled the rug out from under me', in these ways, when given any opportunity at all to do so and she even by all appearances (which often included a slight smirk on her face) actually seemed to enjoy putting me into some unpleasant and untenable position, especially with my parents, I was always extremely wary of her. On this, particular, day my visit with the family had gone as well as possible, meaning, the dysfunction remained rampant among this group of people, but no outright hostilities had erupted during any of my interactions and that was always the best that I could hope for, in that house. I was getting ready to go back to my apartment, at the very end of this visit over there, at their house, and had merely walked into my parents' bedroom, which was at the opposite end of the house from where the rest of the family was gathered, at the time, in the den; just to tell my mother, who was in her bathroom, with the door closed, then, that I was leaving there, now; just as a courtesy gesture from me.

I said maybe two sentences to Mom about this, and was turning to leave the room when Pat suddenly entered and making some sudden, loud, emotionally-frantic-sounding exclamation (similar to one that you might hear from a woman whose purse just got snatched!), aimed at me, that had absolutely nothing to do with anything, going on, that day, including toward her, she created a scene where even the second before that there had not been one at all. Then she fiercely swiped at me, using her arm, clawing my hand sharply, with her fingernails, as I desperately tried to get past, and away from, her, to flee! Mom had only heard what Pat had made to sound like some attack I had done, on her, from through her closed bathroom door, when I had done nothing at all of the sort. Because Pat had suddenly loudly exclaimed, with such an intense inflection, something completely incoherent, seemingly to do with me, and it was only me and her who were there in that room, when she pulled this bullshit, with no real (actual, visual) witnesses, of course, she had managed to 'get me good' this time. By setting me up, yet again, as she so liked to do, it was almost like it was really just fun sport for her. I was her prey in this game she played at my expense. The sole victim that she set her sights on. This was an extreme case of sibling rivalry on her part, directed at me, and fueled by her own insatiable insecurities; her own dark demons, that really had nothing to do with me! She chose to resent me rather than hate herself. Clearly, Pat's intention, with this ambush attack approach, that she took toward me, was to undermine my relationships with the family at the very least; to try to worsen those, even more, than they already were, for me as this family's 'scapegoat', while somehow causing her to end up looking victimized somehow, by me, with the ultimate outcome that she desired being that she would end up feeling more secure then.

She was very slick about it, which showed me that she had really put alot of thought into this. That was not only terrifying to me on an emotional level, as her victim, it was very, very, very sad, for Pat to be that insecure; to be that competitive with someone that was never going to engage her in that shit. Someone who had been there for her and had wanted to be there for her, until I got burned by her so many times, from her silly subversive subterfuge, that it went way beyond that expression of "Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me."  Now I was only interested in protecting myself from her and no one can have a real, or good, relationship with anyone which they constantly feel that they must somehow or other protect themselves from! This time, she had first cornered me in a room, with only one way out, that she was standing in front of, to try to block my exit, so that she could create this scene which she had devised. She had trapped me in this compromising position alone with her, however briefly, since I fairly flattened myself, along the wall, to get around her, as fast as I could, and escape. Although the whole thing lasted only a moment, it had still been long enough, to suit her purpose as, after trying to block my path from the room, she then made it sound to all the others in the house, who had to have heard her hysterical-sounding shriek, like I had actually attacked her physically! Not only had I not started this shit with her, I never touched her at all, including to defend myself from HER attack on ME because I knew that if I did I would surely be blamed because of my being the family 'scapegoat'. What I had not realized then, though, that I surely should have, was that I would be blamed, for this crap, regardless, of what I had, or hadn't, done; did, or didn't, do. I ran out of the front door of this house as fast as I could, to get into my car, and leave, before I was hurt, by her attack, on me, even more, than I already was! My hand was dripping blood, from where Patty had deliberately attacked ME, using her fingernails, as I got to the side of my car and tried to get the door open to get inside to safety.

Hearing the commotion, from her screaming, at me, Dad had come out, of the den, where he had of course been watching television, and saw Patty acting hysterically upset, in the house, and then me, out in the front yard by the driveway, by that time. Without his ever even asking me ANYTHING at all about the situation, or what had actually happened between Patty and I, which was always how this crap went, for me, in this family, MY dad stood, on the front porch, and sternly scolded ME as I stood by my car in the driveway bleeding; raising his voice as he did so, to be sure that I heard his words (along with some of their neighbors, too, most likely), saying to me, "If you can't behave better, then YOU DON'T DESERVE THIS FAMILY!!!" I was the one that had been attacked, outright, by Pat, who had been behaving in a very calculated way, yet again, when and where there were no real witnesses to it, simply to make trouble for ME, to get her junkie-like 'fix', from that, of whatever this emotional payoff was, which caused her to always do this to me. I had done nothing except go around her as fast as I could, while bleeding from her assault, on me, to escape the traumatic situation that she put me in, for her own selfish gratification. There are not words to describe Pat's triumph that day from this crap that she was always looking for the opportunities to do, to me, despite my best efforts to try to protect myself from her ambushes. Or to describe the abject abuse I suffered as I stood there bleeding from it, both physically, at her hands, and emotionally, from my father's words, which were the breaking point, for me, then. His face had a shocked and confused look, of absolute cluelessness, when my response seemed to take him by surprise. With a, completely, broken heart underneath my words to him I simply said "You know what, Dad? You're ABSOLUTELY RIGHT! I DON'T deserve THIS family!" Then, I got in my car and drove back to my apartment, where I washed out my bloody scratches, Pat had inflicted on my hand. I not only tried to stop the blood from that, I tried to stop the pain of that. Her doing shit to me, again!  And, for what?

The only time, between when Pat pulled that stunt that day, that had severed my ties with my family completely, up until I was literally ordered against my will as an airman to contact them again, that I saw or spoke to any of them, at all, was not even from my choice. When the next Christmas came, it was a mild, North Carolina, day, that day. I had the screenless window, of my ground floor studio apartment, fully open, to let in the fresh air while I did some chores.  I was well aware that it was a special holiday that day but I had neither the desire nor intention to interact with anyone, in my family.  Especially in some strained, superficial, way, simply for the sake of something that I did not feel, from them, with them, or toward them, as my family. Not just because the calendar suddenly showed it was December 25th or for any reason. No one from my family ever in my life apologized even one time, for any, and certainly not for all, of these toxic ways that they had (mis)treated me!  My father is a tall, thin, man, with a gaunt appearance, deeply etched into his features, that appears neither warm nor welcoming.  As I was peacefully sweeping the floor, at the back of my small, rectangular, one-room apartment, oblivious to anything except my focus on that effort, a shadow seemed to suddenly block out the bright, and welcome, sunshine, which had been filling the room just the moment before. I glanced up to see whether there was a cloud passing overhead at that moment, then audibly gasped, when I saw that someone was standing there, at my open window, instead, blocking out those cheerful rays of the sunlight.  My father.  I was not glad to see him at all. Especially because of those very last words that he had spoken to me, the last time I went over to their house, many months earlier. That last time that Patty had pulled the crap that she did on me.

I had even always felt a little afraid, around this man. I had been the one child of the four that seemed to notice all the emotionally traumatic events that happened in our home when I was growing up. Dad's mean, menacing, glare as he called Patty a "BASTARD!", when she was a tiny toddler of two. His lying on the floor of the garage bleeding from his head when Mom had sent me to call him inside for lunch, when I was a young girl, and I found him like that, looking dead in that moment. His growling words as he fled the house in a fight with my mom, when I was 8 years old, with her pleading after him to stop whatever this was, that he was acting out, and my standing there, then, watching this unfold, in terror, from the back door, that they both rushed out of during this spectacle, as he veered the car back and forth from side to side with both of them in it in wild swerves all the way down the long, dark, driveway until they were out of my sight, seemingly trying to kill them both, and leave us 4 kids orphaned. His breaking the flyswatter, from hitting my brother so many times and so hard with it because he stole a piece of candy from a store. The way his asthma-attack-sounding gasps for air terrified me when he didn't have asthma, but was having a nervous breakdown, sometime in those months after he was fired, from his job, for punching a subordinate, of his, at the plant, he was a supervisor at, and then he couldn't find employment for awhile after that. Mom's sobbing uncontrollably, and holding one of her cheeks, after coming in one day from talking to him outside. So many other memories, burned into my brain, of his physical and emotional severity, as a human being, all came to bear, in that one, short, audible gasp that involuntarily left my mouth, when I saw him standing at my window, that was easily low enough and wide enough for him to climb through into my safe and sacred space, if he had decided to do so. It-- he!-- was terrifying to me, for a moment. So much so that it wasn't just that I didn't want to talk to him, but I couldn't speak, at all. No words could come or would come out of my mouth in this brief and startling encounter with this man who was in so many ways someone I had come from that I didn't want to know.

All of those frightening, and unnerving, memories had all flooded through my soul, in a single second, as I stood there frozen in place holding my broom with the debris that I had swept up lying at my feet on the floor. This man, my father, tried to look friendly, toward me, with a face that was not used to contorting itself into such an expression with me. Lamely he said, "So, it looks like you're making progress there, with your sweeping." My eyes still riveted to his face, much like a frightened deer, facing a man, in the woods, who has suddenly come upon them, against its wishes, as the animal tries to sniff out this human's intentions, toward them, in the air, I stood completely still and only nodded very slowly. He then explained that he had some presents for me in his car and also came to see if I would come over to their house. My eyes were still locked on his. My fierce anger at him, stoking my firm resolve, caused me to shake my head at him as my response to all that in a very strong 'No!' motion with me never saying one single word, to him. This was so typical, of these people, I was simultaneously stuck with and severed from, as my 'family'!  After how he had treated me, on the heels of what Pat had pulled on me (especially when he wasn't even her father, but mine, which he well knew!) and all the months that had passed since that day with us not speaking, now he came around my peaceful place, on a holiday, just to try to cash in, on some cheap sentimentality, because he apparently wanted me, yet again, to allow-- and even assist-- these people to feel better now, about themselves, when they really were not worth it, by wanting me to act, again, as if none, of their crap, toward me, ever happened; and 'make nice' for them, now. Even as he stood at my window, those few moments, he never apologized to me at all, and I never said a word to him, then, because I knew by then that it would never be different for me in this family. Just a few days before the next Christmas came I began Basic Training at Lackland. I didn't want to 'make nice' with not nice people anymore. I wanted a better life and a better future for myself, and I knew, that I knew, that I knew, in my heart of hearts, that it would NEVER be with these people whom I would always be merely a 'scapegoat' for if they were given that chance again.

However, I will say, here, that, for various reasons, and, at different times, because everyone wants to have a family, they belong to, I would end up still trying, with this group, many times more over many years-- mistakenly thinking that, as the years quickly passed, and everyone grew older (and hopefully wiser), they would realize, the real tragedy, of all this, before it was too late, and mend their ways, make their apologies, and do better by me than they had ever really done before. But, of course, that was not to be, and as it is in all types of dysfunctional relationships, especially that are abusive, in some way or other, as these were, toward me, I can tell you, for sure, from firsthand experience, that when someone, who behaves this way, toward you, is given that most precious opportunity of another chance with you, they wrongly assume that you did that, for them, because you, really, just want them, in your life, so badly, that you are, actually, saying to them that you will take their crap, which is not at all the case. The only 'cure' for this that I have ever found to work, in my life experience with abusive and manipulative people, is to finally completely cut them off from you and your life, and build the life that you need and you deserve for yourself, replacing them if you choose to, with healthy, happy, people that will not (feel the need to) do these things to you, to make themselves feel better because they are not happy with who they are but they won't do what's needed on and in themselves, to change that, instead of distracting themselves by victimizing someone else.

Alot of the things that I am describing here about my sister, Pat, sound small, straightforward, and even silly, but over a lifetime, beginning when we were quite young, and never coming to an end, from her, toward me, these sly, subtle, slick schemes, of hers, apparently intended to cause me both discredit within the family and distress within my soul, took such a toxic toll on me that I wanted nothing more to do with her. When one is, physically, wounded by someone there is a scab that forms, over that wound, so that over time it can eventually heal. However, when more wounds are continually inflicted, there, on that victim, by the perpetrator, it cannot ever really form a scab, or heal properly; and eventually there remains a scar, which will most likely never go away in the person's lifetime. My mother's manipulations of my emotions were passive-aggressive, so there were some seasons of subsiding before the next round of those came from her, and affected me. The taunting from Pat, though, was so opportunistic, on her part, that if I were in proximity to her it was virtually guaranteed that I would experience some form of this methodology that this sister used toward me. "Taunting" is the right word for what she did, toward me. Wikipedia defines and describes this as "A taunt is a battle cry, sarcastic remark, gesture, or insult intended to demoralize the recipient, or to anger them and [also to] encourage reactionary behaviors without thinking [in them]. Taunting can exist as a form of a social competition to gain control of the target's cultural capital (i.e. status)". A thesaurus lists synonyms for it, that I can feel, inside me, resonating with my memories, of the encounters, I endured, with Pat: "bait, hassle, haze, heckle, needle, ride, tease". In her blog post Christine Fonseca describes this taunting that I am talking about here, which Pat did to me, in this way:

(https://christinefonseca.wordpress.com/2013/10/21/taunting-and-teasing-when-is-it-bullying/)
"Teasing, like I said, is a normal part of life. It is not meant to hurt, involves an even exchange between two or more people, and is meant to generate laughter.  It is a type of verbal sparing that is innocent in nature  and typically discontinued  when one of the people involved  shows any amount of discomfort with the teasing. More than anything else it is playful, good-natured 'ribbing'.  Taunting, however, is something quite different.  Taunting is a typical way in which a bully 'attacks' their victim. It has one purpose – to hurt the 'victim'. It is one-sided, sinister and meant to  diminish  the other person.  Taunting typically increases  when the 'victim' becomes upset. There is no playfulness in taunting – and no way to 'misconstrue' the intent. Taunting is something a bully does!" I came to see Patty as being, not only a brat, but a bully, toward me.

The way that Pat got away with doing this, to me, and what added insult to injury, about it, was that my hands were tied, making me unable do anything about it other than really resent it: My own parents (and, even the family dysfunction, itself, as a very palpable entity, always at work, within the family dynamics) were the shields, that protected Pat, as she took every opportunity to take these potshots, at me, in an ambush, that was intended to wound me, however slightly, or significantly, that she could come up with given those current circumstances. Any little thing would do, for her, as ammunition against me. Here is one example, from two different visits, at our mom's house, while Pat was there, as well, that gives you some idea of how pathetic, and paltry, some of these things were, that my sister did, toward me: During one of my visits to my mother's house, decades after I was now an adult, I was standing at the kitchen sink, trying to be both caring and helpful, by my rinsing off a new, unopened, container of milk. Years before, I had seen a health-related story, on the news, that had said there could be alot of dirt, germs, and bacteria on that, especially from the various people handling it along the food distribution chain, who may or may not have practiced good hygiene and hand washing. For me, it was a gesture of my simply trying to 'love others as myself', since I did that to all my milk containers, and such, where I lived, ever since I saw that report on it. However, the reaction that I got, for that, from Pat, with Mom joining in, with her, at my expense, was this sister lambasting me for doing that; stating, emphatically, it was completely unnecessary and a silly thing for me to do!

When I was there, later, during another visit, I had no trouble recalling this chiding of me, that she did about the pointlessness of my rinsing off the milk jug previously, so I started to simply open the new one, this time, respecting her wishes, by simply, and silently, foregoing my own hygienic preference, about it, in order to accommodate what was, obviously, preferred, in this environment. After all, I wasn't trying to change their behaviors. I had simply been trying to be supportive, in my showing a health consciousness, on their behalf, by rinsing that milk jug off, when I had visited before. What I wanted most, after all, was for things to simply go smoothly, for me, and between us, there; something that almost never happened.  However, this time, I was criticized, by Pat, again, for my neglecting to, first, rinse this new milk jug off before I had opened it!  With an animated annoyance, to her tone, toward me, Patty said, "EWWWWW!!!!  DEBORAH! HOW could you NOT KNOW to WASH THAT OFF, first?!?!"  Then, Mom, also, spoke up, again, to side with Pat, again. Only it was the exact opposite side, from what either one, of them, had taken about this very situation, when I was there, with them, before, saying, now, in fact, they always washed these containers off, first, because of all the germs on them!  If they did do that now it would likely have only been because I had started doing it during the previous visit, only Pat, and Mom, never would have admitted, or acknowledged, that was so, because that would have meant they were giving me credit for something when both of them seemed hellbent on discrediting me; each for their own reasons. Either way, I didn't think this was ever really about the milk container, based on Pat's behaviors toward me, over a lifetime.

The 'golden child' in a family constantly needs external approval from others to feel confident. Patty often sought to get approval, and attention, from my parents and others, at my expense.  I never saw sincerity, in her actions toward me, just her usual efforts to manipulate a situation, usually in such a way as to leave me feeling unsupported or uncomfortable. I think that alot of that had to do with how Pat chose to interact within that family dysfunction, deciding on those actions, which she thought would strengthen her own position, within the family dynamics. Of course, birth order played a part, in this, with her, too. She sought to undermine me, her older sister, simply because she was younger. She got away with that because of being the 'golden child', who was celebrated rather than chastised by our narcissistic mother. Julia L. Hall has a blog titled "The Narcissist Family Files", that I recommend as an excellent resource regarding much of what I have described in my own blog posts about my family of origin, and its various members. While no two families are completely identical, in every way, she says some things, about  'golden child syndrome', in her post,  "A Golden Child Story Of Guilt In The Narcissistic Family", which ring very true, to me, about my sister, Pat, as well as what someone who left a comment following her post shared about it. She begins her post with the following statement:

"Those familiar with narcissistic family dynamics know all too well how narcissistic parents divide and conquer  by treating their children differently and pitting them against one another. Often the narcissist favors one child and places him or her on a pedestal as the family’s golden child pride and joy, serving as an enmeshed extension of the narcissist and an idealized mirror for his/her grandiosity. In contrast, the other child or children are scapegoated, blamed for the family’s problems and punished for mirroring all that the narcissist hates about him-/herself."

That clearly describes the interrelational dynamics, between our mother, and Pat, and myself.

Saoirse Quill left a comment after that post, which says in part "Oh, my gosh! I know the role of the scapegoat very well, my sister who is younger than me, was the family golden child. I knew that my sister had to suffer under that somehow, but because my mother engineered us to never be close, she and I never confided in each other – we were never close and my mother made sure of that. To me, my sister’s life looked like ‘cloud 9’ … but Jan’s experience as the ‘golden child’ sheds light on this for me as to what this must have been like for my sister. I can totally relate to Jan being (t)he scapegoat in her marriage – except I was the scapegoat in my family of origin (not in a marriage.)" Like me, these things in Saoirse's family of origin "resulted in very strict no contact with all family of origin". [This is the direct link to that blog post and the comment following it: https://narcissistfamilyfiles.com/2016/05/27/a-golden-childs-story-of-guilt-in-the-narcissistic-family/]  Patty did, always, at least outwardly, seem to relish her position, as the 'golden child' in the family. Still, it must be said fairly that she was, also, in her own form of survival mode just as the rest of us children were, especially while dependents of our parents.

I do not know at what point my sister became aware of Dad's accusing Mom of having her by another man (early on in my parents marriage) but I know that at some point she knew about that from them. Someone, along the way, told me that the three of them finally went for blood tests to confirm it but I do not know what happened with all that. So many, in fact most, things simply were never really talked about openly or directly in this family, even when that affected us; and actually, all of it affected all of us, in some way, shape, or form. I do recall my brother-in-law, Ted, telling me once that he knew, about this situation, but that Pat had told him not to say anything about it. The fact that she doesn't want it discussed says, to me, that it's true. In family photos, there were several, notable, differences in her appearance, from the Robinson features the rest of us children had. What angers me about it is just that when something like this is a vulnerability for her she wants it hidden and not talked about, which is self-protective, at the very least. But whenever there was anything she could find to tell on me or expose any vulnerability I had, in such a way as to cause me trouble, with my parents, and others as well, Patty never hesitated, but was eager to do that, to me. Nothing she ever 'threw me under the bus' for came close to this supposed secret about her, and yet, I not only stood in front of her to protect her, from my father's anger about it, when I was very small, but even when I felt so betrayed by, and furious with, her, for her causing real problems for me in my relationships, I never talked about any of this, that was about her, until this blog. I am 63 now and she is 60!

I am clearly the more secure, of the two of us, in who I am. She tried to shake that in me, but all Patty accomplished was to cause me to disrespect, devalue, distrust, and distance myself from, her. Enough time has passed, that the result of these behavioral choices can be clearly seen, and, it seems to me, is not a good, or healthy, or happy, one, overall. This was and is a very fractured family. I could care less, that Pat is a 'half-sister', to me. I don't think bloodlines beget a true family feel in many cases, and how something feels is ultimately more important than what it is, to the human heart. Although I carried my son, Jay, inside my womb and gave birth to him, Linnea is most definitely his mother. He's also said that, to me, in his own words, even telling me in one email that he was spending more time reading those from me than he was spending then 'with his own family'. Since Jay entered this world from my womb there is technically not a 'closer' relative to him on the planet! Yet I knew what he meant by that and I completely comprehend why he feels that way. I came to feel that way, about it, too, over the years. It is what it is. Genetics can't generate a feeling, of who is fully family, to any of us. To me, I have nothing against Pat for how she came into this world. That was not by her choice. Life is complicated, and human interactions cause many of those complications. I do have a real problem though with how she chose to behave about and toward me, when she entered my world, however, and it is for those things that I am better off having nothing to do with her.

Pat had the right to choose how she wanted to be, toward me, as I had every right to choose how I felt about, and reacted to, that. There are always consequences for our decisions, that we each and in this case both have to live with. The consequence of her choices, that I most attribute to Pat, is that I definitely, and deeply, distrust her. Some of the Google definitions of "distrust" are: "the feeling that someone or something cannot be relied upon" and "doubt the honesty or reliability of; regard with suspicion".  Similar words, to it: "wariness", "skepticism", "qualms", "be leery of", and even, according to Google, "smell a rat"! I would say that I have definitely felt all of these things toward and about my sister, Pat, over the course of our lives; much of it continually and pervasively. Despite my trying at times, after we became adults, to risk opening myself up, to her, fully, to try to establish enjoyable interactions, with her, I have ultimately never been able to accomplish that. Every time, she sold me out, in some way, or other, in that same 'throw me under the bus' strategy that she used against me as children. I really don't think that Pat cared, about the quality of her relationship with me. Not enough to interact with me, and about me, in a respectful manner, since she seemed to always want to discredit me, and undermine me. Because of how she operated, regarding me, out of all the family-of-origin relationships that I have, she was the most distressing, and destructive, one, for me, after my mother's with me. She has personally caused me more problems and harm, relationally, because of her tactics toward me, than I could ever overlook or get past with her.

There is a physics principle called Newton's third law of motion, which describes the dynamic that always occurs between actions and reactions. It states that "For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction". There's cause and effect in interactions between two people as well. Given my sister's choices in how she has behaved toward, about, and around me, there could have been no other reaction, from me, but what has naturally occurred, as the outcome of it. There's an extensive online article, that well describes the dynamics, involved in distrust, between two individuals; as well as other interactions which are larger, and broader, in scope. The following citing, and link, are for this essay,  by Roy J. Lewicki and Edward C. Tomlinson, from the website Beyond Intractability, that is titled "Distrust" [Editors: Guy Burgess and Heidi Burgess,  of the Conflict Information Consortium,  University of Colorado, Boulder. Posted on the site December 2003] <http://www.beyondintractability.org/essay/distrust>.  They say, in it, that  "Distrust naturally prompts us to take steps that reduce our vulnerability in an attempt to protect our interests" They describe how our "Distrust is felt viscerally (in the gut) as much as cognitively (in the head). In most cases, we would choose to separate ourselves from people  with whom we have [a] strong [distrust], and minimize both our interaction with them and our dependence on them." That is exactly what I had to do, in my relationship with my sister Pat.

I don't trust her! I literally spent my growing up years, and many grown ones as well, trying to do damage control, protecting myself by avoiding Pat as much as possible, just because she always chose to make things worse for me, and not better. I have nothing against her except for this but I cannot minimize it, either, as something trivial. The ways that she did this, to me, were so deplorable and damaging, and so tacky and tainted, that I cannot fathom ever being able to be comfortable, having anyone or anything else, that I deeply care about, around her, and trust her not to undermine me or show deference to those causing me trouble or trauma, rather than be there for me in a supportive way in such situations. When I did try, as an adult, to open myself up to her, and to what she might finally do differently in a relationship with me, if, in fact, she'd ever really wanted a relationship with me (especially a good one, or a healthy one, that we both would want to have, and could each enjoy together), I always regretted it. I tried my best, to communicate, in an open and caring way, with Pat, again, when we were in our thirties. I initiated that, with her, so I cannot blame her, for the outcome, of my doing that, which turned out to be just exactly what it always was, with her.  I did it, though, because we were adults, by then, so I was hoping for better results, due to that, while knowing even then that it was taking a real risk, for me doing that with her at all. And sure enough she ultimately made sure that I felt the, discouraging, deficit, in that, in some way or other. Every time. This blog post is already lengthy, as I try to describe, and detail, my relationship, with my younger sister here, and it would be impossible to catalog every, egregious, example, of her behavior. This began, with her, at a very young age, and has remained in this exact pattern throughout the years. Even when we were grown adults. Her methodology toward me came down to two things, both of which she really appeared to enjoy doing: making me uncomfortable, any way that she could think of, and manipulating people to make me look bad and her look victimized.

When I was in my mid-30s, and in my last marriage, I went through so much abuse, that it felt like I was married to the Son of Satan. It was one of the darkest times of my life. That's saying alot, because of how many, dark chapters, I have had, to get through (which is why I chose to title this blog, which is all about my life, "Ascent Through The Dark Night Of The Soul: My Life Reflections"). It was during this period in my life, when I was already at my most fragile from it all, that I allowed myself to be vulnerable with Pat by calling her and talking with her about the dire situation I was in. It was the first time I had ever really gone into, deep, detail with anyone in the family, about what went on in the private life of my marriages. Some of my decision was to protect the reputation, for one reason or another, of these men I had married, and the other reason I chose not to share those things, with my family members, was because I did not trust them, or feel respected by them, and these memories were each, in their own way, something very profound, for me, in my life, which I did not want to present (the facts of) to my family and in doing so, provide them that much more, hurtful, ammunition to harm me with, emotionally. I knew that, whatever the facts were, including about my marriages, that I would be the one my family would fault, for it all!  Regardless, of whatever, had happened, to me, with these men. I was never comforted, defended, or emotionally supported by my family. I was the 'scapegoat'.

This time, though, because I was so damaged, and so desperate, during the continual abuses from my fourth, and final, husband, I had told Patty, over the phone, on more than one, phone call, what I was going through with him. So, she absolutely knew what was going on, with that. And, she didn't even know this man, but I WAS HER SISTER! I WAS BEING ABUSED! During one call, as she and I were discussing it, my husband had apparently picked up the extension, down in his basement home office, to the landline, I was on, and been listening, to what I was saying, about his abusiveness, to me. In his attempt, to discredit me, he suddenly turned on a recording of me screaming, crying, and carrying on hysterically, that I didn't know he had, and he played it into the phone for her to hear. Pat asked me what it was, and I told her it was me, that he had apparently recorded, and to just hang up the call, then, because I couldn't stay on the line and listen to my own anguish like that. I don't know if she did hang up then, after I did, because the call would've stayed connected, as long as she, and my husband, were on those two phones. But she had heard a very extreme tape of me crying and sobbing, and such, and whatever she thought of it, or of me, no one sounds like this that is in a good situation. By the way, I sounded that way because he had driven us both to the grocery store one evening and when I got out of the passenger side to go in, he got back in the car and drove off, going back home, and leaving me, standing there. He had been threatening to do such things, to the little Cockatiel bird, CeeBee, that I had gotten, about 6 months before that marriage, finally, ended, such as putting him out, the window, to freeze, in the cold, or, put him in the garbage disposal, and turn it on, etc. So, I was terrified that he had gone back to the house to do something like that to the small, sweet, little bird that I loved! I had to walk back from the grocery store, to the house, a couple of miles, in the dark, and when I got there, I had no key, or anything, with me, to be able to get inside. So, hysterical by now, I started banging on the front door of the house which all the neighbors could also hear, that night! I was screaming, sobbing, and shouting for him to let me in the house! Eventually, he let me in, and he had not harmed CeeBee (but, just his threats to, were enough to totally terrify me!). However he had apparently kept me outside until he had recorded my 'craziness', as far as what that would sound like, to others hearing it, who weren't there, to see what was actually going on, so that he could use it then, to discredit me; especially to anyone that I was trying to turn to, to tell them, he was very abusive, toward me. He was trying to turn it around and make it seem to be that I was just 'crazy'. In that way, his methodology was very similar to Pat's; the twisting things around to discredit me to others.

Regardless, Pat had to know that I was in some bad situation, to be carrying on, that way, on that tape recording, no matter whose fault she might think that was. It was clear that I was, at the very least, in a really bad marriage then! Then, during a second phone call that I made to her, about it, during this same marriage, Pat actually seemed to be (trying to be) there for me emotionally and I was so hopeful, about that, and so grateful, for that! Then, as we continued to talk together, by phone, about my marriage, her words, tone, and whole attitude, changed! Suddenly, and drastically. It was so abrupt, and startling, and confusing to me that I wasn't at all sure what was happening, with that. At first. She had gone from showing me sympathy for my situation in a very calm, and reasonable, manner to elevating her voice in a sudden shrill, hysterical, wail and then she started to cry, while she also began saying things about herself, and her life, that had no correlation, or context, to our conversation about my marriage!?! As she was sobbing, while still holding the phone, her husband took their phone, from her hand. He seemed as confused as I did, by her outburst and crying, and thinking, of course, that the person on the phone with her must have caused his wife to feel this way, he wanted to know who was on the other end, and what was going on, with this phone call, that was, apparently, upsetting his wife! I realized, then, that he must have just come into the room where she was, and that she had changed, that suddenly and completely, for his benefit, as her audience, for this faked performance of hers, for her own reasons. She had manipulated this situation, too!

Not just with me but with her own husband in that way. That caused me to also begin to sob, sitting on my kitchen floor, clasping the phone to my ear, as I heard what was happening, on the other end of this call, between us. I realized, right then, that, even with all I had going on, living in fear, of my life, in this house, with my very abusive husband, that Patty had, still, just 'thrown me under the bus', like she always did, to me. To make it seem, to her husband, that was only hearing (some of) her side of this call, that I had said something to terribly upset his wife. So, I didn't say a word, after he took the phone. I just sat there holding the receiver and crying, knowing that, whatever she would tell him, about it, would likely not even be true, and that there was nothing, I could do, to protect myself, from whatever her agenda was. For that outcome, with him. From that call, with me.  He continued holding the phone, while she cried there, and I cried, too, over the open phone line, not knowing what to do about what she had done, until I finally just hung up, without a word to him. No matter what she would say to him, about it, I knew that I would not defend myself, in any way, that would cause him to doubt his wife; so I didn't try. I wasn't sure WHY SHE DID THAT, on that call, with me, then. I just knew that she HAD. She had so suddenly changed, in her tone, her emotions, her demeanor, what she was even talking about--  on her end of the call--  that, to me, it became obvious, that her husband had just come into the room, where she was; prompting her to pull this crap of hers. Both he, and I, had just been 'sucker punched' by Pat, in different ways, for whatever reason; and I just let it go, for the sake of their marriage. I never called her again, though. I was done. With the games. She played. With people's lives. And emotions. I was done. Dealing with her.  I had tried my best! It didn't work with her. Being vulnerable and open. Being real, and honest.

Not long, after that, my grandmother died. The timing was terrible, because it was right at the end of that nightmare marriage. My worst one, of all (and that is saying alot since none of my marriages were very good), when things could not have been more terrifying or tense for me, with this man. I had loved my grandmother, so deeply that I wanted to be at her funeral! That meant driving all day and all night, straight through, alone in the car with a man that routinely threatened to kill me, and my little bird, who was, now, in the backseat of the car, in his cage, annoying my husband by saying, "Praise God! Praise God! Praise God!" over, and over, and over, because I had taught him, to say that. Often in heavy traffic, during the long trip, on the highway, Mark kept driving right up to the bumper of the car, truck, van, or 18-wheeler, ahead of us, time and time again, on the way there, while saying that he was just going to finally kill us; "JUST KILL US ALL!" To this day, I find it nearly impossible to feel comfortable, or safe, if someone starts to drive their car on the interstate with me in it, because of all those times my husband almost killed us, on that trip. When we finally got to Mebane, North Carolina, and to the First Presbyterian Church where my grandmother's funeral service was being held it was starting in just about 5 minutes. We cut it that close, getting there. But I was there! We hadn't had time to even check in, to a motel, or to clean up, from the long, stressful trip, or anything.

Because of that CeeBee was also still in the car, and as concerned as I was, about his safety around my husband, I didn't think he would risk hurting this little bird when all of my extended family was now inside this building that he was parked outside of, so I asked him to stay with CeeBee, in the car, keeping the windows cracked for fresh air, and so forth, while I went in to the funeral. I had only enough time to view my grandmother's body, at the front of the church, before the service started. It, later, became clear, to me, that Patty had been watching for our arrival, from Nebraska, because the parking lot was filled with cars, but she knew right where my husband had parked our car; at the far end, of the back lot, near the road. She was not in the service, that was honoring our grandmother. At least, not when it started; if at all. She had also pointedly not shown herself to me, greeted me, comforted me, checked on my well being or anything else, to do with me.  Her sister!  Although she could have chosen, to do so, along with, even instead of, what she did choose to do in that moment. Even though she knew very well, if only because of our phone calls, together, that I would be coming all that way, in a car, with my abuser, who, continually, threatened my safety. And my life! Since Pat did NOT come find ME, her sister, in an abusive marriage, and I didn't see her, then how do I know what she DID do? Because as soon as I got back to the car, after the church service, Mark told me that Pat had come up to his car, no more than a couple of minutes after I had walked away from it, to go into the church. Alone. She saw me and waited for me to leave so she could go to Mark.

So in this packed parking lot Patty had found out where he was parked because of seeing me leaving the car all by myself. Mark told me how she had walked up to him smiling, introducing herself to him, and had given him something to eat. Then, she chatted, with him, alone, there, at the far end of the parking lot. When she came up to the car, Mark had even pointed me out to her, still in view, as I walked toward the front of the church, to go inside; naturally assuming that it had to be me, her own family member, that she must have come looking for. Pat simply blithely responded to him that she had seen me leaving the car before she had approached it. It hadn't been me that she had wanted to talk with, be there for, or even feed. Mark had taken note of that, as well as other things he observed during this first time he was ever around any of my family members. Just as that did, to me, each of their actions spoke louder than words, regarding who I was, to these people, and how I was treated by them. Of course, Patty never took any opportunity, at all, during the several days, of my time, there, among all my relatives, following  Grandmother's funeral, to say, or do, anything kind, caring, concerned, or nurturing, toward me; nor did I have any illusions at all that she would! Such behavior as Pat always did regarding me sends a powerful message. Not only to me, who is the actual focus, of it, but to those others, that see, and internalize, this treatment, of me, by her; however they interpret it. Mark once said to me, after he had hurt me with more of his abuse, that 'even my own family didn't care, about me, so, WHY SHOULD HE?' I wonder, how he EVER got THAT idea in his head; and so VERY CLEARLY? He took what he saw, as permission, also, to treat me badly.

Due to the lengthiness of this post, I actually recounted only a very few out of all the examples from the, mostly hurtful, memories, that I have, of Pat, because I think that this narrative, that I have written, here, about my sister, and my relationship, with her, is sufficient, to describe it all, regarding how she behaved, toward me and about me, throughout the time that she was in my life, in any way. You can Google "Safe Space", and find lots of information about why that is so very important, to have, in your life, including for your emotional, and mental, well being. Kriste Peoples authored a very good article on "What It Takes To Be A Safe Space" for someone else (https://www.meetmindful.com/articles-difficult-times-what-it-takes-to-be-a-safe-space/),  which explains, well, what I did NOT have, really from anyone, in my family; but 99.99% of the time, I never had that from my sister, Pat. The Merriam-Webster dictionary defines "safe space" as "a place intended to be free of bias, conflict, criticism, or potentially threatening actions, ideas, or conversations". Needing a safe space, for my soul, on this Earth and never finding that among my family, including with this sister, I have been much better off, in every way, not having them in my life; at all. I never found a way, for me to have safe, secure, happy, healthy, relationships, with these people. I was the one, that, at great financial, and emotional, cost to myself, moved, back, around them, several times, as an adult, in thinking, they may, finally, have realized, that these relationships needed some real effort, by all of us, to improve or even survive; but it was always the same scenario.  Although, they are, biologically,  my 'family', I was not willing, to be victimized, by Pat, or any of them anymore, by any of their ways. These people were not good for me. All of my family-of-origin relationships were damaging, to me, but the one with Pat was by far the most pernicious of any, of the relationships, that I had, with my siblings; and second, to mine with my mother, for how pervasively the relationship negatively impacted me in my life.

For the record, which this blog is, being the true story, of my life, I always regretted any, and every, time that I ever went back around these people, for any reason. Especially due to any attempt to have a 'family' for myself, which usually only happened, back then, because I still sometimes succumbed to the dangers, of ignorant, naive, idealistic, or well-meaning people, who had never been in my shoes, been treated this way, by these people, or even seen this side of them, for themselves, but who guilt-tripped me into putting myself back, into that hell,  for the misguided sake of these people technically being my family. That never proved to be the best thing, or the right thing, for me to do about this crap! The best decision I ever made was when, back in 2007, I finally severed all ties, with all of them, once and for all, and have never had anything to do with them ever since. I smile as I write that because I still have the psychological, emotional, spiritual, and relational scars from them, though the physical ones healed, from Pat scratching blood out of my hand, or Dad leaving belt welts on my little legs, for several days, from spankings for my early childhood transgressions, or my brother, Mike, hitting me, on my head, with the hard heel of his shoe, when I interrupted his watching a TV show, but I am free of these people! As much as it is possible for me to be, I am now free of them! I have been so much healthier, and happier, all these years, since severing those ties, and no one can guilt trip me, anymore, to ever do that to myself, again, now, for any reason.

I recommend the following articles for further reading on and comprehension of this subject:

"7 Signs It's Time to Cut (Toxic) Family Ties" by Genevieve Shaw Brown
https://abcnews.go.com/Lifestyle/signs-time-cut-toxic-family-ties/story?id=27278012

"6 Signs You Should Rage Against the Power of a Toxic Family" by Yeshourun https://medium.com/@yeshourun/6-signs-you-should-rage-against-the-power-of-a-toxic-family-df8d17966014

"Scapegoat & Golden Child | How and why narcissists assign these roles (and not just in the family!)" Written by Inner Integration https://medium.com/@OwnYourReality/scapegoat-golden-child-how-and-why-narcissists-assign-these-roles-and-not-just-in-the-family-f78fe568dfa7  (www.InnerIntegration.com)

"Understanding Types Of Bullying & Teasing vs. Taunting" by Stephen Walton https://www.the-positive-parenting-centre.com/types-of-bullying.html

"10 Signs of a Passive-Aggressive Relationship" by Preston Ni, M.S.B.A  https://www.psychologytoday.com/us/blog/communication-success/201508/10-signs-passive-aggressive-relationship

My Older Brother; And That Relationship.

[Note: Up until this point I have been listing all previous, but associated, Blog posts, if there are any, in the newer posts that are about these same subjects, to be able to cross-reference them more easily. This is my 33rd Blog post, so far, this year. Many of them are quite lengthy, and all of them are really detailed, so my trying to go back now, to list which of these other posts tie in to a particular post, such as this one I most recently wrote, has become much more difficult for me to do, simply because of the sheer volume that I have written so far, in this Blog; with more coming. Therefore, I am no longer doing that here. After all, every post is a part of my life story so they all, ultimately, tie together, and all converge into this one story, of the life that I'm living, on this Earth. You are welcome to use the Blog Archive though, which should be a good guide, if you seek further background on certain chapters of my life story. You can also contact me by the email link, which is located on my Blog's Profile Page, with any questions, as well as leave your comments, for me, and any questions you have, at the end of any Blog post. Thank you.]

There are all kinds of studies done on birth order among siblings, and how much it affects who we become. Various studies debate this impact, on our personality, our intelligence, as well as many other factors, regarding our personal identity; and even whether birth order really affects us that much at all. While there seems to be no clear scientific agreement on this, I can testify firsthand that each, and every, one of my siblings affected who I became, as a person. I could physically see the interactions, that I had, with my three siblings, which I was directly involved in, with them, and also mentally detect, or discover, their indirect influences, going on, behind the scenes; especially from the sister that was the tattler. It definitely needs to be included, in this, as well, the ways that my father, and mother, also had a strong influence in how the four children formed these sibling relationships with one another, since the two adults created the familial framework, that led to all of the dysfunction. For better or for worse, my siblings most definitely helped shape who I am as a person. While birth order was not the only factor, it did contribute to my experience of, and with, my 3 siblings. I also felt the emotional impact, of all that, some of which left lasting emotional trauma, chronic trust issues, and deep resentments in me. I was the second child born of 4 children. The first born, and only son, was my brother, Mike, and I had 2 sisters, (apparently a half-sister) Pat, three years younger than I, and Pam, who was 6 years younger than I. So, I was the oldest girl, of the three; with one older brother.

From what I was told, apparently sibling rivalry was the very first experience that I had, when my parents had just brought me home from the hospital, as a newborn. There is an article on the subject of Birth Order which I recommend you read as an overview of this, which you can access from the link: https://www.sciencedirect.com/topics/medicine-and-dentistry/birth-order.  It describes the family dynamics involved in birth order and sibling rivalry, including this quote from the article:"Because firstborns are physically bigger than their younger siblings, they are more likely to employ physical aggression and intimidation, dealing with rivals. Firstborns are the  ‘alpha males’  of their sibling group, and they generally boss and dominate their younger brothers and sisters." This was true of my older brother with me, although he mellowed some with age. He also seemed to need to establish a better relationship with me later in life for his own reasons.  Sadly, by that time, however, I was living a busy life, far away, in another state, missing those subtle signals, from him, entirely, until it was too late.  Not "too late", because I wasn't open to it, because I was; and I would have welcomed it, as a nice change in what our relationship with one another had been like; but because he was dead. He killed himself. But that describes the end, with my only brother, so I need to go back now, to the very beginning.

I was told that when my parents brought me into the home and had placed me in the bassinet that my brother immediately tried to push me out in it saying he didn't want me here! I already had the physical stigma of being born with port wine stains, on my hand and hip, so I wasn't a 'perfect' baby girl. Now, at mere days old, my older brother adamantly rejected me outright, at first sight, and it seemed to stay that way for much of our childhood, except for the occasional times that he needed me for something. Then he would be more civil for as long as that need of his was being met by me. Otherwise I was basically invisible to him. I have some very early memories, of my interactions, with my brother. As a very little girl, I had looked up to him, and trusted him, to know more than I did and, from that, to help me to learn, as I tried to figure out the world around me, and all these things, that I was experiencing for the first time. One day I had my brand new coloring book and my crayons, at the kitchen table, beside Mike, who was playing with his small, plastic, toy soldiers, there, as well. The first page showed a dog, with a bone, and I had no idea what color a bone was; so, I asked Mike. He then instructed me, very matter of factly, to color it, with first one crayon, and then, over this, another crayon, and then, over those, a different color, until the bone was some murky mess, on that, otherwise, pristine page. When it could not look any worse than it did, he simply started laughing, saying that my pretty, new, coloring book was now ruined because bones didn't look like that at all! Even as a 3-year-old girl, such a 'Life Lesson' stuck, in my heart, and mind. Some of those things remain with us consciously and some do subconsciously. But they are there, all our lives, somewhere inside of us. They become part of us. How we think, and how we feel, about ourselves, others, and this world we live in. They form the unspoken beliefs about, and the rules of engagement for, our relationships, not only with these specific people, but with others as well. So, even this seemingly small incident with my brother that I am describing here left its (crayon) mark on me.

I learned alot that day that I didn't want to learn, but there it was, impacting me, with the shock and dismay, that I had felt, at that young age, which I could not possibly have articulated, then, to my brother or even myself. If it hadn't been him teaching me a lesson for no good reason, it would have inevitably been someone else, showing me such things, about what life was going to be like for me on this fallen planet Earth. I didn't learn what color a dog bone was from Mike. Instead he taught me what being disappointed, and disrespected, felt like, for me, and I began to learn how to be distrustful, suspicious, and resentful from that. If you believe that is an over-exaggeration about such a childhood memory, as that, the very fact that, now, at age 63, I can still see that moment in time, with my brother, so clearly in my mind, from 60 years ago, and, I still feel it, in my heart, demonstrates what an impact that had, on me, as a completely trusting little girl that had looked up to her older brother, with an admiration that he didn't warrant, from me. He scorned me, for trusting him! It is hard to tell ourselves in those moments that the fault is not in us, but in the other person. There is an old saying, credited to Randall Terry, "Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me." The shame for this was my brother's; but especially because he laughed at me, over it, I internalized his belief that the problem was my being stupid enough to trust him. Adults often underestimate the impact of the things that kids experience, especially at a very young age, during what is known as the formative years. But, these are the very years that we learn the things, through this very type of social conditioning, that we'll carry with us throughout our entire lifetime! Robert Fulghum wrote a book titled "All I Really Need To Know I Learned In Kindergarten", about this very thing, I am describing, here. This link is to an excerpt from his book: https://www.penguinrandomhouse.ca/books/56955/all-i-really-need-to-know-i-learned-in-kindergarten-by-robert-fulghum/9780345466396/excerpt .

When I was around this same age, I once innocently picked up Mike's little stuffed animal, from where he had just left it lying on the livingroom floor, beside the door. Like a ferocious parent to this toy tiger might behave, Mike pounced on me, before I even saw him coming, slamming my head, hard, against the door, as he grabbed this thing out of my hand. It felt vicious, angry, and terrifying, to me! He was very territorial, and no matter what I did, or didn't, do, after I came into this family, he made it very clear to me that I was an intruder, an interloper; and he was always quite indignant, toward me, about that. Since all of this was my first experience, and education, with what a family behaved like, it was what I came to know as normal family life. I had no way of knowing, for awhile anyway, until my limited world began to enlarge, and to include knowing others, outside of my immediate family, that there were actually other families which were truly welcoming, loving, and supportive, to their members, which in my experience ours was not, for the most part. All that I knew, about the concept of 'family', was what was going on around me, in this house I lived in with these people, leaving its legacy within me. What I was learning was our family patterns of behavior. Alot of those things have been discussed, in my previous Blog posts, about my parents. Some of it is also being shared in this post. More will be expounded on in my future posts that I need to write about my two sisters and my relationships with them.

For a variety of reasons, I came to realize over the course of my childhood that I did not have one single secure relationship, within my family, of origin, with the definition of "secure" being "feeling safe, stable, and free from fear or anxiety". The articles at the following links help me to describe here why this was so, in my own life, since one of the most frustrating aspects, of this, which adds insult to injury is that these perpetrators, and their enablers, within the family pretend that this wasn't actually the way it was, for their own reasons. They, at least in effect, call me a liar, for saying otherwise about it, and treat me like I am just some troublemaker for unfounded reasons. They try their best through 'guilt trips', shaming, and other manipulations to simply shut me up about it, since I, or rather the truth, is a threat to them, or actually to the status quo, in the family dynamic. My choosing to speak the truth is one of the main reasons that I have been treated like the family Black Sheep, and discredited in several different, and damaging, ways, demonstrating that, to these people, being honest about it, even if just with ourselves or one another, is generally something that they want no part of. Largely to protect themselves from admitting their part, in it, or having to openly acknowledge the truth about it, for their own reasons, they are more than willing to try to negate the reality of what I have, in fact, experienced in that house and in that family, with these people, leaving me feeling from that as if I am living in some weird,  'Alice In Wonderland'-like, alternate reality, in which they  try to tell me that the truth is topsy-turvy, rather than all of their lies about it. Reference these links:  https://www.kgrierson.com/uncategorized/family-origin-snapshot-history-matters/  by Karen Grierson, who is a Registered Psychotherapist, and this article, from Corrina Horne:
 https://www.betterhelp.com/advice/family/defining-your-family-of-origin-how-it-impacts-you/ .

As kids we would play games like Monopoly together, and go sledding when it snowed, but I just felt that Mike only needed me, to interact with, at those times because of needing others involved in these activities, for him to do, or really enjoy, them. He and I never really had any deeply meaningful conversations, with one another, though we talked together sometimes. I don't fault either of us for that because I believe that this was our natural reaction to, and the way that each of us was dealing with, this environment we were living in. This familial format which our parents had created for their own reasons to be the acceptable atmosphere in this home, was being experienced, every day, by each of us and all of us, as what our 'home life' was obviously supposed to be, which we children learned, because we could observe it and feel it. We kids adapted to that, in whatever way we each did, because we were dependents. There was no choice, for us. The tenor of this home definitely did not facilitate interaction, or communication, of any real substance, or depth, between our family members. I learned this pattern of behavior from Dad, Mom, and Mike, who were part of this before I ever was, and I behaved this same way, then, with them, and with my sisters; but it did not originate with me.

Dad, being Mike's only male role model, in our home, spent the majority of his time in front of the TV. It was not only an easy distraction, for him, from the real life goings-on all around him  in our home, and family, but an actual disappearance, of him, from a relational standpoint, as far as interacting with the rest of us. That left me feeling fatherless, throughout my childhood, and beyond, even though Dad was, physically, present in the home. He rarely spoke with, or spent time with, us, shutting us out, as he watched TV, probably 99% of the time that he was home. He would usually speak to us to sternly admonish us for interrupting his incessant TV viewing by trying to start a conversation, either with him, or someone else, in the room. God help us, if, when he seemed to have finally fallen asleep, on the couch, in front of the TV, we tried to change the channel or turn the TV off, because he immediately woke up and actually interacted with us, then, only for the purpose of demanding that we leave it, just as he had it, saying the TV still had his full attention, even while he slept! The clear message was that his relationship with the TV was much more important to him than a relationship with us children. That was what he chose day in and day out, year in and year out, demonstrating it was what he found to be preferable and gratifying to invest himself in emotionally over anything that he could have developed, or nurtured, with the four children living in this house. This behavioral choice, by him, trickled down from him, as head of the home, and permeated the interactions of all of us, with one another, as he led by example, demonstrating that cultivating real, direct, interpersonal, relationships, within this family, was not considered to be necessary, important, or even preferable, to living disengaged, from one another; each distracting ourselves, with a non-relational pastime, shunning any cohesiveness, each going our own way. Dad even gave each of us our own portable TV, for our rooms, one Christmas; likely so he could watch his in the den mostly uninterrupted by us, from then on. That did not create closeness, between us.

Why does this matter when I'm describing my relationship with my brother? Because Mike also was addicted to watching TV. He shared that focus, and priority, with our father. When we were home, Mike sat himself right in front of the television set, just like Dad did, and he stayed there. One day, I was also trying to see something on a show that was on, only I really couldn't see it at all, because my brother was sitting so close to the TV set that he was blocking the screen. I asked him, several times, to move over, some, so that I could see it, as well, but he completely ignored my requests. He did not simply refuse, to move over, some, out of the way, for me. He did not even respond to me, at all, although he heard me plainly, disregarding my request, and me, totally. So, out of frustration, I went to touch his arm, to get his attention, off the TV, to ask again that he move over a little so I could see the TV screen too, and he immediately flew into a rage, chasing me through the house, hitting me on the head, using the hard heel of his shoe that he had grabbed as he came after me; literally attacking me, because of my small request of him. I was screaming, both in fright and pain, as he kept hitting me hard with the heel of his loafer. I was cowering in a corner, just outside my parents' bedroom, where I had run, to try to get some help, and protection, from our mother. She came out of the room to see what all this commotion was about, but when she saw this she did nothing to Mike, about this abusiveness toward me on his part, but I was admonished by her, for 'starting it' with him. It was scary, and bewildering to me, that she did that! My head had a knot on it from his shoe, but he simply got away with doing that to me. I was indoctrinated to be abused by males while I was growing up.

My brother climbed in through the bathroom window one summer night while my sisters and I were all bathing together like three little naked nymphs in the tub on a Saturday night, getting clean for Sunday school and church service, the next day. We girls all screamed, but that did not deter Mike from doing that, to scare us (and perhaps, take a peek at us). Our mother had us girls take our bath that way often, when we were all smaller, as it likely made that process easier for her, by getting all 3 of us clean, at one time, and as quickly as possible. Although it was just a boyish prank, by our brother, then, Mike never seemed to get in trouble, for things he did. Not even those occasional ones which were considered more serious, except for one time, which I witnessed watching from my room, hurting for my brother, after he had stolen a piece of candy from the grocery store and Mom told Dad about it. He hit Mike so many times with the fly swatter for that incident, and so hard with it, that he actually finally broke it in two! Mike was running around the room trying to escape the stinging blows, crying out in pain, but Dad relentlessly chased after him, and wouldn't stop punishing him until the fly swatter finally broke. It was the only time, that I ever saw, my brother being punished, like that, for anything. There was, unspoken, parental, 'letting him off the hook', for most of his behavioral decisions including those that negatively impacted my life at times. Part of that is the 'boys will be boys' get-a-free-pass syndrome, which seems to be some invisible shield that protects males from being responsible, and accountable, for their own, bad, behaviors, or lack of character, in the circumstances that this is applied, on their behalf. Most of it, though, seemed to be due to his being the first born, male, and heir of the family name, since the rest of us children were girls.

Mike did get focused attention from, and social outings with, our father during their father-and-son activities, which just the two of them did, together; even after my brother was grown. Dad was the one that took Mike out, into the backyard, as a boy, for a father-and-son session, and taught him how to shoot guns. I seriously doubt that was something that my brother had really wanted to learn or sought to experience, if the decision had been left up to him. At least at the time. But as children we often go along to get along especially in such situations, because we are a dependent, being told this is what we're going to do now, and because the approval and affirmation of the parent is so needed by the child. Besides being the only son, Mike was even named after Dad, although he went by his own middle name. He was trying, as most boys do, to learn to be a man, from our father, who was, for better or worse, his primary role model. So, when your dad says "I'm going to teach you to shoot a gun today" you just go do it. There isn't the choice, or chance, to say no. I wondered, later, when Dad was viewing his dead son in his casket, and sitting at his funeral, and burying him in the ground, after Mike had used a gun, to kill himself, if he thought about how he taught my brother that very skill, which he used to take his own life. When any of us make choices in life, even the ones that seem straightforward, to us, it is really impossible to see what the consequences of those will be, as time goes by. I am certain our father could have never foreseen this outcome, from teaching my brother to shoot.

One Christmas, Mike got a race car track, and he and Dad set it up, and began to play with it.  I was probably around 7 or so then. That year, while I did not know how to articulate this very well, what I wanted most for Christmas was to have a family! These people lived in the house where I did, but they did not feel like a family to me, in the way that, by then, I had seen other families being together, such as on many TV shows of the 1960s, and when I was visiting the homes of my friends, and relatives. I couldn't exactly explain what was missing, with us, but I knew that something, surely, was! So although I saw, and really appreciated, my Barbie dolls and other gifts, that day, what I longed for was to bond, with my family. I went over beside my dad, and brother, because that seemed like a good place to start, since the two of them were already spending time together, versus the rest of us who were each interacting with our new presents, separate and apart from one another. I sat down on the floor next to them, to watch them race the little cars around the track. They did not really pay me much attention, but they did not send me away, so I was enjoying being able to share the celebration of the season in this way, by seeing them having such a good time, with this toy, together. Mom came and got me, though, and asked me if I did not like my toys, because I had left them, across the room, where 'Santa' had left those for me, to (try to) spend time with my family members; hoping to feel a bond, between us, that way. I answered that I did like all of my toys, but I could not tell my mother, then, what I really wanted and needed, much more than the toys, that Christmas, because at that young age I did not even know how to put into words, yet, what I clearly can, now, about this family, and how I felt about being in the midst of it. So, I returned to my dolls, dressing them in their new outfits, but I looked wistfully back across the room, at other family members, all enjoying their Christmas gifts, together-but-apart from one another (which was the hallmark of this family, in nearly every way), instead of us all interacting with one another.

One day, Mike had a friend over, and they were out in the yard, throwing a disk back and forth to one another, that used to be the metal wheel of a wagon, as they each attempted to portray athletic prowess. I went outside, to watch them, and was standing, behind his friend, when my brother hit me in the ribs, sharp and hard, with that heavy disk. I fell to the ground, and unable to draw a breath, wondered, to myself, in a panic, if I were dying, in that moment. Mother said, afterward, that I had just had the air knocked out of me, by Mike; but I had never been unable to breathe at all, like that, before, so it was really scary to me! However the worst part, of that, was that I always wondered, whether Mike had hit me with that thing on purpose, because if I ever did anything he really didn't like, from the time I was very small, he would not hesitate to put me in my place, as he saw it, by becoming physically aggressive and even violent toward me, if he thought he could get away with it. I was not quite a year-and-a-half younger than he was. Since I was close to his age, and size, he sometimes recruited me, to play football, with him in the yard, since he didn't have a brother. I wanted my brother to recognize that I had at least some value, to him, since he treated me as if I were nonexistent, most of the time. So, I truly did my best to be a good playmate to him, those times that he wanted me to, or allowed me to. I felt myself very consciously making alot of effort to compensate for the actual lack of closeness in our relationship during each of those times, but that ultimately did not change it. To Mike, his relationship with me was merely utilitarian; just as so many males treat females.

[I wouldn't understand until much later that a main difference between males and females, in general, as far as their view of others, especially those of the other gender, seems to be that males view females, primarily, in ways that are utilitarian in function, valuing us when we are being serviceable to them in some way, while females are more interested in experiencing a reciprocal relationship which is mutually beneficial, enjoyable, and balanced in the relational bonds that we form with others with an emphasis not only on allowing that but by promoting that with each other. This is not limited to sexual relationships between these two genders. I believe it is a pervasive problem affecting any, and many, social interactions between males and females. While this is a generalization of the two genders, I believe that these divergent viewpoints account for how men seem much more able to be unfaithful, in what they vowed would be a committed monogamous union and fail to comprehend, or care about, what that does to devastate their female partner who views this as being an egregious violation of the covenant between them. To the man, sticking his cock in another female simply because he saw opportunity, and had motive, was simply further expressing his general view and belief, that the females are mostly, if not even merely, serviceable objects to them rather than their relational partner. I believe that this same predominantly male mindset also greatly explains why the huge majority of criminal acts committed against others, including but not limited to rape, are by males. That fact, also, seems to support this view that men make many of their behavioral choices, based, very subjectively, on what they perceived to be their own needs, with little, if any, thought to the impact, of their actions, on the ones whom they are violating, some way or other, through their assertion that, within this relationship, their own needs are their only consideration or concern; regardless of the impact, this has, on that other person. I've experienced this distressing dilemma, in my attempts to have a relationship with males, including with my brother whom this post is about. I don't want to be just a means to an end. This link provides a further explanation of what I'm trying to say about that, here in this post:  http://www.bbc.co.uk/ethics/introduction/endinitself.shtml.  The bottom line, with my brother, was that we never had a close relationship, with one another, and my only value to him was  my being a means to some end for him at times which, even so, were few and far between.]

Mike came home from an extended hiking and camping trip with his Boy Scout troop along the Appalachian Trail, and not having bathed, for quite a while, and sleeping outside, he reeked of a very unpleasant, gamy, smell! However even with all that, he did not head to the bathroom to clean up but, immediately, sat down, in front of the TV, the minute that he came into the house. That room, and then the whole house, began to fill with this creeping, unpleasant, stench from him, so I asked him to please go bathe! Just as I have described before about him, toward me, he didn't even acknowledge that I was bothered, by this situation, or had said anything, to him, about it. Nothing. I was invisible to him; nonexistent; not even worth responding to, by him. He was the first born; the male child; and, he was going to do whatever he pleased, whenever he pleased. He also knew, just as I did, by then, that for the most part both Mom and Dad let him. I began to ask Mom to make him take a shower, since he ignored me, but she let him sit there. By contrast, when I suddenly hit puberty and unaware of this change in my body came into the kitchen, to talk to my mother, after being outside playing in the summer heat and humidity, she wrinkled her nose, at me, told me sharply to get away from her, and with a look of disdain, and disgust, told me I stank and sent me to shower right away, causing me to feel both rejected by her and judged, especially by this double standard which never seemed to be in my favor. The subliminal messages that I was being taught by my family through these experiences as I was growing up, in this house, including through my interactions with, and due to the behaviors of, my siblings, especially how they behaved toward me, were so often so negative that, in effect, they had little to no positive influence on me, in my life, at all. They were not very good for me.

While we were still living in Mebane, North Carolina, before moving to Hickory, we had large gardens, that we planted, and harvested. When we would have to shuck the corn to prepare that for Mom to freeze it, for later on, Mike would flick the caterpillars onto me, that he came across underneath the husks as he ripped those off the ears. I hated having to do that chore with him, because of that! We had one short season of raising our own livestock there, also, and I felt devastated when this sweet cow whom we had, and knew personally, named Star, was suddenly taken away, one day, only to return, later, in multiple pieces, wrapped in white butcher paper! My brother, knowing it deeply distressed me, began calling every hamburger that we had, from that meat, 'Star Burgers', and every steak, from it, which was now piled in our freezer, 'Star Steaks'. He would say that during these meals, for many months, until that meat was finally all gone. As a result, I gagged, on nearly every bite, and developed such a phobia about it that I was traumatized to the point that I simply could not eat any beef, at all, after that, for quite a while. If I tried, because it was served as our supper, on many nights, I simply couldn't swallow it, and had to just spit it out into my napkin, because it would not go down my tightened throat. Even Mom's admonishing me, for this, could not cause me to be able to eat 'Star', anymore, after my brother had created such a disgust, in me, toward that. Mike also fostered my fear of dogs, I had growing up, that, also, took me many years to get over. He had compassion on the dogs but not on me, his sister. Mom told me that Mike had chosen a collie, Prince, that he picked out at the pound, after he saw someone that worked there turn the hose, with its cold water, full force, in this dog's face. So, through that story, I learned that Mike was capable of being caring and compassionate; only he wasn't with me. Again, though, I blame the family dynamic, this family's dysfunction, for that poor quality, of interpersonal relationships, that developed and existed from then on between its members. Especially since things were not discussed and resolved, resentments built up in members, and relationships either did not develop, or thrive, in many cases. Our parents set that tone.

My brother was extremely intelligent. One summer while school was out, just for something to do, he spent it reading all the volumes of the encyclopedia! He was in National Honor Society, and Mensa. I felt sorry for him in some things, though, that he wasn't nearly as proficient in as he was with his academic accomplishments. Mike felt the pressure of being the only male heir to the family name, since daughters, when they marry, take on their husband's name. He was both interested in and aware of the family genealogy. Sadly, though, from the time he was still quite young, and asked his very first crush to go steady, with him, and she rejected him, Mike never had any success, at all, with women. It is my belief that he died, at age 40, still a virgin. Just as I have seen so many men do he always tried to 'punch above his weight' romantically, shunning the perfectly nice but perhaps a bit plain girls and then women, that still would have been a good catch for him since he grew up from a cute little boy to a somewhat odd-looking, fairly unattractive man. His early balding, and thick eyeglasses, didn't help that any. He came close to being homely as a grown man although he had a nice smile which he rarely used. He was for the most part a very serious person, and I suspect, given our upbringing, and his own unrequited aspirations, a fairly depressed one as well. While he could not be blamed for what he was personally dealt genetically, he continually chased, and tried to charm, females that he was drawn to because they had social status, or looks, while being abrupt, and cold, to any of the regular women, any of which could have probably given him the love and nice married life that he so deeply wanted to find and experience. He never gave any of the average women a chance, but to literally his last breath, he chased women which I believe he knew, in his heart, were always out of his reach. His self-esteem issues deepened; not just from that, and due to his appearance, but the deficits in our upbringing, all of which he tried to over-compensate for.

He was prone to take out his unhappiness and stress, for his life not going exactly the way he wanted it to, on others, but always women, who were not to blame, for this situation. While he was probably just acting out of extreme frustration, and probably alot of anger, over all this, it came across, from him, at least to me, as his being very egocentric, hostile, and misogynistic, none of which caused me to personally admire him at all. When Mom went back to (graduate) school, I did the majority of household chores, made lunch for us 4 children, and basically kept the house going, during that time, while Mike sat in front of the TV all day, was never any help, to me, with any of this, and only, grudgingly, went to mow the lawn (on a riding lawn mower, at that!) because Dad had told him to do that, and he likely did not want to risk another spanking. I was there, for Mike, as much as he allowed me to be, but I did it very circumspectly because he just barely welcomed that from me. When we were both attending high school I'd often buy an extra candy bar, from whichever student organization was selling those, for their fundraiser, and would hand each extra one off to my brother, as he stood outside his classroom and I was headed down the hall, to mine. In playing football, with him, I would let him tackle me, hard, to help develop his male confidence, more, since he did not have any brother to do that with him.

Our parents had moved the family to Hickory, when Mike and I were both in high school. I was a 9th grader but had to go back to middle school, after we moved, because the 9th grade was not in high school, there, although I had already started my freshman year in high school back in Mebane. Because of that, and the school year had already well started, it made things quite difficult for me, as far as feeling comfortable and fitting in. But for Mike, who was in 11th grade, with only a year left, in high school, this family move came at a truly horrible time, for his life. It threatened to take him away from all of his close friends that he had grown up with, something he really resented and adamantly resisted; so much so that our parents allowed and arranged for him to stay behind in Mebane, for the rest of that school year. He stayed with Grandmother, there, after the rest of the family moved to Hickory because Mike was not ready to let go of the support system he felt he had there. He rejoined the family again, after that school year ended, and attended Hickory High for his senior year before heading off to the university and studying to become a pharmacist. However, while he was living as a long-term guest, in Grandmother's house, with her going out of her way, for Mike, and disrupting her regular life, to accommodate him, so that he could attend all of the 11th grade in Mebane, he'd still rather rudely demanded things be on his terms, even with her, which had caused something of a strain with her having him there, although she still always tried to be gracious, and understanding, toward him, then.

When he was grown, our parents convinced him to purchase a house, although he was single, without any romantic prospects, at all, that could lead to a marriage, for him. It may have been advice, from them, based more on making the financial investment in it, but he did not need to do that, then, and he could have really enjoyed other options, such as travel, or moving out of that small city much sooner than he finally did, to seek a happier, more fulfilling life for himself in some other place. Mike was not happy, at all, being anchored to that house, he now owned. Probably from knowing that he was lonely, there, also, Mom and Dad suggested I go see him, and his 'new' house, so I did, to be supportive of him. It was not much of a place, but I tried to be as upbeat and enthusiastic about it as possible to be encouraging since he was stuck with it, now; at least, for awhile. It seemed to me he had taken some bad advice, from our parents. Perhaps, they had even thought that Mike's owning his home might help him attract a woman, which he never had any luck with, by demonstrating that he could be a provider for them. But the women, that he was always interested in, were a cut above the average woman and after seeing that small, plain, house I think that even average women, which he had spurned when they liked him, would not have really wanted to live there. He eventually moved away; once to Utah, to follow a Mormon family out there whom he knew, just because he had a crush on the daughter who only considered him a friend and nothing more. Then he returned back to North Carolina; and moved to Greensboro. It was a much bigger city with alot more to offer than the sleepy-seeming town of Hickory. He had been living in Greensboro for years though, when he committed suicide. People asked me why he did that, like I could read his mind or really know, when ours was never a family of communicators, including Mike with me. I always just answer with the obvious observation of "He wasn't happy." It looked to me like he'd chased everything, that he thought life could offer to him, that he wanted, and he had just never obtained any of it. That would finally make a person lose hope, and people deal with that in alot of different ways.

When I was 34 years old I was living back in Hickory, North Carolina, during one of the several Christmases that I suffered being among these family members of mine, yet again, in my futile attempts to, somehow, by a miracle, I could only hope, and pray, for, have a better relationship with these people, as an adult. Mike was 36, then. When all the presents had been passed, to the people to whom they were each for, one still sat under the tree all by itself, conspicuous in its solitary state. At first I thought it was unclaimed, but I began to realize that it was unwanted, instead! It was still wrapped, so the rejection of that gift had nothing to do with the contents. It happened to be a very popular candy, which was sure to please the one for whom it had been bought. This gift was what I had gotten, for my brother, that year! For no real reason, at all, he simply chose to, purposefully, shun it, which in effect was him showing his rejection of me, yet again. This situation, of such family member's behaviors, likely causes some of you, who had happier, more rational, and more loving families, than I have ever experienced, to think that--- surely!--- I must be leaving something out in this recollection of the events as they unfolded. I assure you, it is as curious, pathetic, and hurtful as what it seems like in my account of it here.

This being a family that continually 'walked around the elephants in the room' rather than really communicate deeply and meaningfully, with one another, there weren't alot of real discussions, or arguments, because either one of those things would take true communication, which rarely occurred in this house. So, there had been no clashes, nor clamoring, going on, between Mike and I.  As far as I could tell, based on the fact that I often, uneasily, had to second guess these situations, or read between the lines in my efforts to sense where I stood with the other person in each, and all, of these family relationships, there was no real problem, of any kind, between my brother and I. So, based on that, I even tried to hand him that gift, from me, to him, directly, myself, but he absolutely wouldn't take it from me! So, it was simply left, sitting, under the tree. This exasperated me, because there was no reason, for him to be acting, like that, toward me, especially on Christmas. So, I went to Dad, who had left the living room, immediately after the opening of all the, other, presents, except for mine to my brother, and was already back in the den, watching TV again. Since he had the closest relationship to Mike, although it still was not deeply close, even so, I told him that there was simply something going on with Mike that was really wrong, and that he needed to talk with Mike, about whatever it was, and get it dealt with. I knew that there had to be some really unhealthy, irrational, and, even angry, emotions, in my brother, in general, for him to behave in this way, because I had done nothing, to deserve this treatment from him. Even though I was now a grown adult, not a dependent child, Dad simply shrugged off my concerns, and refused to talk to Mike, about why he was acting out, that way.

Because of my very real concern for my brother, which Dad ignored, I wondered whether that had anything to do with the fact that none of my immediate relatives, from my family of origin, called me, where I had returned, to live, back in Nebraska, to tell me, themselves, when Mike killed himself. They had my brother-in-law, Steve, call me, whom I barely even knew since I'd lived away, from all these people, for most of my adult years, even before my sister Pam met, dated, or married him. My family's calling me, about anything, was rare, and Steve had never even called me before; and from the awful knowing in my gut, that the family dysfunction was so toxic that at some point it simply had to cause or allow for something really bad to happen  to someone, of us, I said to Steve, almost as soon as I had answered the phone, "It's Dad, or Mike. Which one?" Steve replied "It's Mike", then he told me about my brother taking his own life, with a single shot to the heart. I thought about Dad's downplaying my very real concerns, over Mike's mental state, that Christmas, only a few years earlier. Had that come to his mind, now that this had happened? Because, there were some relatives offering to buy me a plane ticket back to North Carolina, for my brother's funeral, but my parents told them not to bother doing that . . . because they didn't want me there! I sat all alone, that day, in my apartment in Omaha as they all, except for me, gathered in North Carolina as a family, to bury my brother. Afterward, my mother did send me one, small, color photo, of Mike, lying dead, in his casket. How 'thoughtful' of her to even do that for me. I remain so angry about all that, to this day! In fact, during a phone call years later with my dad, I told him in no uncertain terms that I would not be attending his funeral upon his death; or my mother's. Why would I want to be there as some symbol, for these people, of something that is not true? It is not true that I have a close and loving family that I would miss if they were no longer on Earth. It is not true that there's a depth of relationship, for me, with even one of them. That's simply not ever really been there.

Mike had never reached out to me and actively cultivated a real relationship between the two of us, so it shocked me when I got a letter from him, when I was grown, living in Omaha, and working, by then, as a Go Go Dancer in a nightclub. He was not too explicit in the words that he wrote, but, reading between the lines (a skill that I'd had to develop in this family because open and direct communication was almost never allowed or accepted, by this family, due to the behavioral patterns that my parents had put in place, for us to adhere to and accept as a 'normal' family pattern), my brother did not sound happy at all with his life, where he was. He seemed to be reaching out to me, about that! While I was distracted by the sheer shock, of it, after a lifetime of his basically having little to no use for me, I sensed that he truly needed my help and I felt quite moved to provide that for him, only I wasn't at all sure what that help was exactly, that he needed. Since I was making the best money I had ever made, working as an exotic dancer, then, I apparently sent him money, to help alleviate some of his stress, that he seemed to be describing in the letter to me. I actually love to give, and to help others, when I am able to do so and, equally importantly, am motivated to do so; and I do not have a showy style, about doing that. To me, it is simple, straightforward, and solely from the heart. I can. I want to. If, and when, I do it. I say "apparently", though, because, even though his letter was certainly a STAND OUT event, in my relationship, with him, so my responding generously in any way, including financially, should have probably been something I really remembered, it wasn't. I just did it, with an open heart, hoped that it helped, and that it was what he needed from me, and went on, with my own life. After all, his relational pattern with me had from the beginning been such that he had always only reached out to me to acknowledge that I even actually existed when he needed something from me. I was really glad, that he felt he could come to me and that I would be there for him, despite the family's dysfunction. As far as my sending him money, then, though, I personally did not recall my doing it. After his death, our mother was reading his journals and she told me that he had written about my doing that for him and how much that had meant to him. I just wish I had known what he truly needed from me, when he reached out to me, in that letter, which was the only letter he ever wrote to me.

I missed the signal, that his letter, reaching out to me, was sending me, though, and all these years, since, I have so wished that I had understood that he was in more trouble than I could ever know, from my having to read between the lines to try to discern any of it at all, and that he needed me, more than I had any idea about, then. Before God, I tell you, if I'd only known that he was sinking into the despair that he was, and really needed a refuge and a refocus to try to gain a foothold in his life, I would have done much more for him than I did by writing the check to him. (Doing that was actually another familial pattern though. My mother, especially, would, usually, just hand me her charge card and send me shopping, when I tried to express emotional needs, to her, because those real needs I had, which were not getting met, by this family, were something that she also could not or would not deal with. Giving money was the response, of choice, instead, which, while not all bad, never addressed, or met, my very real needs that I had for closeness, affection and affirmation. My check to my brother, Mike, likely had the same effect. Unintentionally.) That was all that I knew to do then. Later on, I realized that he was sending out a Distress Signal, to me, by writing me that letter, and while I am not sure what he saw as being the ideal response, from me, to that, I feel certain, now, the check was not what he really needed, from me. I wish I could go back, in time, and give Mike more! At that time, in my life, I made enough money that I could have invited him to simply come to Omaha and stay with me, with no pressure, while he figured out what he might like to pursue  to be happier, in his life. I could, and would, have gladly given him that time and space, then.

Mike had been a pharmacist. You could say that, on paper, he had all he needed, for a happy and successful life, but his life was really never either of those things, and unable to deal with the deep disappointment of that, any longer, he committed suicide. Not by taking pills, though he knew all about toxicology from his years working as a pharmacist, but by taking his loaded gun and shooting himself--- quite tellingly, and poignantly--- in the heart. That choice of a gun still revealed who he was, though, at his core, because it reflected Mike's anger, and violence, that I had seen, in him, and experienced, from him, especially when we were both very young. Those things were always there, in him, throughout his life, usually, barely, below the surface, with his intense desire, born of those things, to annihilate someone (which was himself, in the end). When he did that, he was still demonstrating that same selfish streak that was strong in him ever since he was very little that demanded that the world meet him on his terms and if it didn't, when it didn't, he lashed out aggressively in some way. Suicide is certainly a selfish act although I think that this is not always apparent to the person that's decided to kill themselves when they are in such emotional or mental pain, in that moment. However, I maintain that this was selfish on Mike's part because he was on the phone when he did it, with a young woman, that he worked with. She was apparently his current crush in a very long series of the crushes that he had throughout his life, that had never materialized into one single real relationship for him. She was, actually, even in the process of trying to work things out, with her on-again-off-again boyfriend, which she had told my brother about. With an extensive history of absolutely no luck with women, Mike was nevertheless interjecting himself into that situation by trying to woo and win her, so he likely would have never succeeded with this woman, anyway, even if her heart wasn't currently caught up in her feelings for this other man whom she had actually had a relationship with. While on a call with her, Mike shot himself. She had to call the police.

In case you are wondering how I know these things, when Mike killed himself, and I was kept out of the loop and away from his funeral by my parents, for no good reason, and shut out by the family as far as much information since, of course, no one wanted to actually talk about it,   I contacted the police and spoke with the detective that had to investigate his death, who was very forthcoming with me about all that he had discovered about it all. He appreciated my call because he had been curious about some things regarding my brother, and what had led him to do this. After we exchanged information between us, that we each needed, and wanted, to know, about this, he thanked me for filling in some of the details about Mike's life, that helped him to more comfortably close the case as fully investigated after indicating to me my parents were not very communicative, about these things. That was typical, for our parents, of course, since communication, while it is the very lifeblood of any relationship, between people, wasn't something that was practiced or allowed in this family in any real form or fashion. The woman had patiently reiterated to my brother that she did not see him romantically, and her heart was somewhere else, besides, but being unable to accept that answer from her, and being unable to handle any more rejection, he called her back, to express his pain, and then left her on the line, to listen to him pull the trigger to take his life. The Mike that I knew, from the time I was a newborn, insisted on his life being laid out for him exactly as he wanted it, and he did not deal well, at all, with it when it was not, which, in truth, was far more often than not; turning quickly angry and aggressive to express his displeasure and likely his despondency, over this turn of events. His suicide was just part of this pattern. He wasn't usually violent, and I don't mean to portray him that way. He, as I did, ultimately kept to himself, much of the time, as we grew up in that uncomfortable household, where mutually supportive relationships were not well made with one another. I'm acknowledging the latent hostility, that was in him, especially toward the females in his world who were not cooperating with how he wanted, even demanded, it to be. That fury was always there, in my brother, at the deepest level, and in the end, it took his life.