The fact that I was still able to fit into my Christmas dress for Shawn's company Christmas party was a Christmas miracle in and of itself. I am more inspired by successes than I am by failures, and seeing that things aren't as far gone as I felt they were has given me a bit of a renewal of energy. And so yesterday I dragged Shawn out for an hour of hiking and today I try to do the same again. Maybe I can get back the level of energy and activity I had before.
K called this morning and said she would be coming out to visit some time in January, a thought that also pleased me. I've missed her, even as I've let myself lose touch and wondered if we didn't know each other anymore. A little visit would be wonderful.
Tomorrow we're going to my parents' house for the day. It's a bit of a drive so the actual time spent there can't be as long as I'd sort of like it to be, but there's good in that too, I believe. Leaving while we're still enjoying each other is a better way for things to finish than when we've begun to drive each other crazy.
***
I lived with my sister and her daughter for about two years, 1999-2001. I had hoped I could help her with her difficult role as a single mother and that I could provide my niece with some stability as opposed to the steady flow of roommates before me who'd come and gone by the month. My sister needed someone to share the rent with and I needed somewhere to live, and so we tried it.
It was hard. Really really really hard.
My sister was diagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder in her teens, while living in the hospital and under constant psychiatric care. She believed there was nothing wrong with her and that the only reason my parents had taken her to the hospital was that they were trying to get rid of her.
My sister's level of intelligence was extremely high. I don't know in terms of expressing it as an IQ, but she was brilliant, really, in many ways. And articulate. It made living with her impossible. She had ideas that made no sense whatsoever, and yet could explain and express herself so eloquently that she sounded rational and sane. One of the last things I remember before moving out was that she told me she had purchased ten packages of bacon and put them in the freezer the week before, and now they were no longer there. At first I thought this was the lead in to a joke. But it wasn't. Her point in telling me this was that she believed I had stolen ten packages of bacon from her. And while we were on the subject, she said, she also wanted to point out that she would like me to return all the missing cutlery. She wasn't kidding. She really sincerely believed I had stolen ten packages of bacon and several pieces of cutlery from her kitchen.
The thing about this event was that it was a turning point in my mind where I really realised how ill she was. How paranoid and how deluded. Because up until that point she'd managed to almost convince me at times that I was the one who was mad. She would demand to know why her shampoo bottle was emptying too rapidly... and I would become convinced I had been using the wrong one, hers. She would notice the coffee was low and I wouldn't clearly remember how many times I'd made coffee that week, and think that perhaps she was right. She would promise she'd be home at noon and arrive home at six, forcing me to miss commitments while I was looking after my niece, and she would swear she'd said six, and I would wonder if it was me who was confused. She was so convincing that I was never truly sure which of us was messed up. But the bacon incident was a final straw. A stopping point where I could know with certainty that I wasn't confused. I knew I had never fried up ten packages of bacon and eaten them covertly in my bedroom with stolen cutlery. It was when I accepted the truth that my sister was more ill than I'd realised and that there was nothing I could do to stop it.
***
Uncovering the Truth has been like that, a revelation that is painful but also a relief. While I learn things that are both hurtful and bewildering, I also recover my sense of balance in learning that I was never the one who was confused or paranoid or overreacting. I learn that my senses were right all along and my biggest mistake, truly, was just in not trusting myself more completely. My frustrations were actually valid, my suspicious were not delusions. It was even more twisted than I'd ever suspected. And that, as sad as it is, is a relief. It brings me back to knowing that I'm okay. It provides further evidence of what I've known for a long time - that when I attach myself to people who are are ill, I am weak and I become infected. When I attach myself to people who are healthy, I absorb and reflect their light.
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