Another Fence Down

I have been having some interesting conversations with AttainingMe and Cremello across our blogs.  The conversations have begun to transcend any given post…that’s why I describe the conversations as taking place across blogs.  An example of this is a dialog that took place in the comments of AttainingMe’s post, What I want in a man.  As we have gotten to know each other better, we refer to things we have learned about in each others blogs.

Somehow, I ended up writing about why I tend to discount my own experiences.  AttainingMe reminded me that I need to hold my experiences, dreams, and values in higher regard.  I thought about what she said and made a connection.  My mother and my sister often played the “I had a worse childhood than you did” card.  Apparently, my sister learned this “trick” from my mother, who genuinely had a terrible childhood. 

I have only recently realized how sick my sister was (and presumably still is).  Here I am, 36 years old, finally beginning to realize the extent of her lies growing up.  What I have literally realized as I am writing this post is that my sister probably made up (or greatly exaggerated) how bad her childhood was.  It never even occurred to me until a few minutes ago to question the legitimacy of her statement…the statement that excused her behavior and minimized my experiences while I was growing up, all in one fell swoop. 

“I had it worse than you.”

I’ll go into more detail another time.  Suffice it to say that I have always been reluctant to “claim” I had a “worse” experience than anyone else.  I never wanted to play into that dynamic because it robbed me of any validation of my own experience.  I would NEVER want to invalidate someone else’s experience.  Unfortunately, I’ve gone too far in the other direction.  Now I am realizing the extent to which I have become “programmed” to invalidate my own experiences.

Another fence down. 

(The fence explanation is in my response to Cremello’s comment in the My First Breakdown post).

The Elephant in the Room: My Sister, the Sociopath

My mom is one of the nicest people you’ll ever meet.  She’s a people pleaser.  She’ll put her foot down…eventually.  But when she does, watch out, because she’s stubborn!  She is the most indecisive person I know.  It takes her years and years to pick out the right lamp.  And then she’ll take it back.  Wow.

My dad is a nice man.  Socially inept at times, but he means well.  He’s kind of a nerd, is kind of obsessive compulsive about order and cleanliness, and has a short fuse.  I think I learned every bad word from him.  When he gets really ticked off, he strings them all together as if they all constitute a really long single word.  He’s funny, though.  He’s very smart and has a good sense of humor.

Kim is my older sister by 6 years.  She was a “troubled child.”  My parents took her to a psychiatrist when she was 5.  She was doing things like ripping heads off of paper dolls.  It was a pretty big deal to take your child to a psychiatrist in 1971.  She was a horror to have for an older sister.  She did pretty much everything she could to make my life hell while I was growing up. 

All these years later, I am just now coming to terms with the fact that she is likely a sociopath.

Chris is a mystery to me.  He’s as close as you can get to mute without being mute.  I think he had a kind heart.  I say that in past tense because I’m not sure about him anymore.  He’s always had a good sense of humor.  I was close to my brother growing up.  We didn’t talk much, but we played together and shared a quiet camaraderie.