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 tell you to fuck offset 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.”