OK, it didn’t work the first time, but I think I got it fixed.
The story is too long and too complex. How to begin? He’s mentally ill but won’t be treated. He’s homeless by choice. He refuses to work. He owns three vehicles, including an Audi, and lives off money which he has manipulated my mother into giving him monthly. He eats at soup kitchens and showers at a university gym. In his youth, he molested a girl and a dozen years ago, stalked a woman for a while. He had delusions that he knows how to design a new airplane which will make him millions and millions. Completely socially inept. Manipulative. He destroys his and others’ properties. He’s burned his own money to prove a point. He’s slowly killing my mother with stress and, in the words of my BIL, “sucking the life force out of her.” He latches onto people like a pit bull, and refuses to let go of conversations or let others talk.
This is the email which started this. Please note that he can’t spell, so guess as well as you can. I’ll just call him my fucking younger brother (FYB).
As FYB notes, I was not divorced when TW and I started living together. However, I had been legally separated from my previous wife for more than four year. In Japan, it’s almost impossible for people to get divorces if both parties don’t agree. I know people who have been through the courts for years and years before finally getting a divorce. In my case, my attorney had advised waiting a while before filing, since the courts will sometimes grant divorces after a number of years of separation. It wasn’t an issue before I had met TW and we decided we wanted to get married. I immediately started the legal process in place, which was hastened with the news of our unplanned but not unwanted pregnancy. There were a few tense moments before my ex-wife finally agreed to a settlement. TW and I were living together, so she wasn’t going to be a “single mother” in anything but the narrowest legal terms.
FYB has bipolar, for which he refuses treatment, including medication and counseling.
Gosh, that must have been tough on you. The pain a parent feels must pale in comparison.
Saying that Mom is stressing is an understatement. Her heath is getting worse, and she says she’s getting a relapse of chronic fatigue syndrome, which she says comes from dealing with FYB. Several of our aunts have voiced their concerns about her stress level and her health, and have noticed it comes from him.
Not that we are going to try to manipulate people or anything, now are we?
The “butting heads” remark above concerned his attempts to have me give him money, in addition to the money Mom gives him. I offered to pay him to do yard work or volunteer work but he refused.
This email came on same day we lost the pregnancy. I was really, really worn out, and really concerned about my Mom. It seemed like she was on the edge of a breakdown and I was going to try to get her to fly out and stay with my sister for a couple of weeks, just to run away from FYB, and to recover somewhat.
My response
He came back with this gem:
I told him the conversation just ended. His response:
I’ve blocked further emails from him. Even though he doesn’t read this, I’ll write an open letter to him.
You fucking miserable piece of shit. How dare you tell me that I’m responsible for Ian’s death. First, your “reasoning” sucks and second, even if it were true, which it is not, how the fuck do you think it would do anyone any good to tell them they killed their child?
But more than that, it’s time to leave Mom alone. If anyone is killing anyone else, it’s you that is killing Mom.
Yup, we know that you are bipolar. Yup, we know that you have very, very serious problems. But, my younger brother, you choose to not treat your illness and you intentionally shit all over our mother, because she feels too guilty and too weak to [del]tell you to fuck off[/del]set limits with you.
So, god knows I’ve tried to help. I won’t just give you money, because that’s the same as pouring a beer for an alcoholic. Mom may be an enabler but I won’t. Lighting a bonfire with the cash would be as meaningful, a lot more fun and would be cheaper, since I wouldn’t have to pay international transfer fees.
Mom may give you a monthly allowance so you can keep your three vehicles, including your Audi, but I won’t, especially since you refuse to do even the tinniest bit to help yourself. As you’ve made it perfectly clear, you won’t work, and you want someone to support you. That someone is not me. I’ve offered to pay you to work, $10 an hour to help relatives around their houses. I’ve also offered to pay for counseling and an attorney to file for bankruptcy or to apply for disability. But nope, you only want cash and I won’t do that.
OK, having a terrible sickness isn’t fun. Since your first psychotic episode in your teens, it’s not been easy. Life isn’t fair, and countless others who have similar or worse disabilities would agree with you. However, that doesn’t give you the right to shit all over everyone else or provide you with an endless supply of *Get Out of Jail For Free *cards. Mom carves in to you, and this is why I pit you. You’re killing her.
Older Sister (OS) and I have tried again and again and again to get Mom to set limits with you. OS flew into town to kick you out of the house when Mom left on her mission – when the city was fining her $25 a day before your junk cars where in the driveway and you refused to do anything about it.
Mom won’t even discuss cutting your funding let alone try it. She feels a prisoner in her own home because you show up and talk at her for hours. She says the stress of listening to you is causing physical pain…
How many of Mom’s phones have you smashed over the years? Twenty? Thirty? How much other damage have you caused?
I’m sorry that you are sick. I really wish that you weren’t. But if you won’t get treatment, then all I can do is limit how much pain you can cause me. Thus, I will not allow you to contact me.
While I call you a stupid piece of shit, it’s really not you, it’s your sickness that I hate. I care more about you than you can image. I’ve tried so hard to help, but there’s a limit to what’s possible, and I’m out of energy. I’ll work on helping Mom.
When you run out of money or run into other problem, you threaten to kill yourself. As Older Sister told you when you tried that line on her, “if you kill yourself, I’ll see you in the next life.”
