Have you ever had an abyss-like wound that you wonder if it will ever heal? You placate, analyze, and apply the salve of the day only to discover you have been treating a different kind of wound? It has been 40 years and you worked hard trying to get that thing under control. You almost had it fixed. Things were getting better and you didn't really think about it much. Then something happens that not only rips it open but uncovers another part you didn't even know was there.
I had forgotten when it even started because I was so young. She was younger but she was different. I want to believe that she had it worse but looking back I think I was made to believe that. She must have learned to play the victim to get her desired attention. I remember the first time I witnessed what she had been doing. She would tell Mom a lie about me to get me in trouble or diminish me. When I attempted to defend myself Mom told me to stop lying. We were 7 and 8. I didn't know how to fix it. I was so shocked that Mom didn't believe me. There was nothing I could do but take it. I remember considering my options. I could catch her in a lie but it would require witnesses and that was hard because my only witness would be my older sister. Mom always believed her but she didn't really like me. I could lie too but deep down I knew that was wrong. I believed my Sunday School teacher and the pastor when they said lying was wrong. I knew I didn't want to do something so blatantly sinful, even at 8. The only tool I had at my disposal was to distance myself from her, my little sister.
I would have vivid daydreams and made plans to tie her to a chair and tape her mouth shut just so I could have a chance to tell my side of the story. They were so satisfying to think about. Equally bad or worse than lying, I knew I was trapped. The only thing I could do was withdraw. I knew she wouldn't stop. She never apologized or showed any remorse. If anything she seemed very pleased with the results. When no one was looking she was nice to me and we would play together as we always had. In my naive childish state, I would think we were friends again and everything was fine. It wasn't.
As time passed I withdrew more. I decided my parents were stupid if they could be fooled so easily. If they were stupid then they couldn't be trusted. Even when she was caught all they did was feel sorry for her. She made sure of that. If I attempted any kindness somehow it got twisted. I remember Mom being upset I was so helpful and kind in other places but not at home. By that time I had given up. It was too hard to deal with being a teenager, 100% taking care of myself emotionally, and fighting my little sister to make sure what she said about me was the truth. At home, I was angry and felt trapped. By my junior year of high school, I was really struggling and my parents tried really hard to help me. It was the first time my father listened and believed me. But then she really exploded and engaged in some dangerous behavior. I was on my own again but it was nice while it lasted.
Inside, I knew I was a kind person who cared a lot about others. Outside, I was too scared to open up for fear of judgment but still desperate to connect. College was spent trying to figure out what was going on with me. I was desperate to understand how people worked, why I felt like this, and why my parents didn't like me I majored in Psychology. I started working with troubled teens in a treatment center and looked into doing social work. It didn't last but the desire to figure it all out remained. I tried going home for a short time but it didn't work. I was expected to behave and conform to this person they thought I was. After being away for 5 years at school it felt like returning to a dystopian reality where everyone had drunk the Kool-Aid but me. She was there and still very much playing the victim. The fits and vitriol had amped up. Now she had a daughter, the first grandchild and I was very much the enemy. To survive, I would have to give up my family.
Fast forward 25 years and I see it more clearly now. When I was a child, it never occurred to me she was lying when I wasn't around. Just like a well-worded news headline, she probably got very good at slanting the truth well enough that it just became reality to them. I am not sure we will ever be able to unweave the lies. It feels like starting over in some respects with these relationships. A big part of me will always feel like no one wants to have a relationship with me because I am all those bad things I was told as a child. I know I am not. I know who I am and I have worked very hard to get here. I still struggle with it.
Last month my parents discovered that she had been taking money out of different accounts. The low end estimates are around 400k. They were devastated. Financially they will be fine. Emotionally, they didn't see it coming. It has forever changed the landscape of our family. The wound that I thought had scarred over had a knife plunged back into it.
You see, I had done as I was told. I eventually gave in and believed she was the victim. I believed she needed extra attention and help. That is what my parents saw and believed. That is what they told me she needed. Pushing the idea that she was anything other than that got immediate backlash from both my parents and siblings. Any praise or attention I received was either diverted with more grand victim behavior or emotionally attacked directly by her. I figured out that for everything to be okay for me or the family I needed to be something that I was not. I knew long ago that for my family to survive living in the same town with her I had to allow them to see me a certain way and they could never believe anything other than what she wanted them to believe. Any attempt at anything beyond that was met with emotional outbursts, mood swings, and manipulation. My leaving was the best thing for everyone, or so I thought. It never occurred to me that she would target anyone else. My leaving only preserved me.
30 years ago, as a true GenXer, I had blamed my problems on my parents. In therapy, I worked through my feelings for my parents and what my childhood had caused. I had accepted that my mother didn't like me and my father was indifferent. I was okay knowing they would never know the real me. I knew who I was and that was enough. My husband loved and knew the real me. He accepted me in all forms, good, bad, and ugly. It is still my favorite thing about him. I had rebuilt my life and had friends, family, children, and purpose. We spent 20 years living far away and only had to deal with home once or twice a year. It was never 100% pleasant coming home but we had adapted. 5 years ago we moved an hour away. We were all older. 1 hour was close enough and far enough. My husband and I made plans to basically lie. We decided that as long as we made statements in front of everyone and to her directly she was so much smarter, better, and anything we could reasonably get away with saying we were going to say. It wasn't going to hurt anyone and it meant the drama would be minimized. Despite that, we all felt like outsiders but at least we weren't being directly attacked. It was as good as it was going to get and this was all I was ever going to get from my family.
But now, it has changed. It was an expensive lesson but they saw her. They truly saw her. It has been over 40 years, but they finally saw her. I wasn't anywhere near it. There is no chance for her to blame it on me. Now I have to find a new dressing for the freshly opened wound. I am better at wound care than I was in my early years. This time I have the tools I need already on hand. I also know how strong I really am.
I don't know what will happen to my family. They haven't ever had to deal with this type of pain or loss with someone so close. They are still reeling. I am looking in my toolbox to repair this wound and heal. I hope this is the last time that I see that knife.
