Tonight my mother endured a long phone call with my middle brother, Y. Y is both schizophrenic (delusional / delusions of grandeur) and a complete asshole. The former makes him difficult, but it’s the latter that makes him impossible. In any given situation, he makes himself out to be the hero or the victim. And he is never, ever wrong. And when he is, he simply pretends he isn’t, pretends he never said or did whatever it is he is wrong about, or finds some way to move on from the subject by being offensive and hurtful. I’m torn as to which is more offensive to me, personally: being accused of clogging his toilet with needles full of heroin I never touched, ever; or being accused of selling my body for Oxy. It’s a toss-up, I suppose.
To say Y has burned his bridges with me is the understatement of the year. He may very well end up in a shelter or even on the street before the year is out, and I won’t sleep any less soundly at night knowing I’m all that stands between him and a warm place to lay his head.
But you want to know something? I truly grieve for the sweet little boy he once was, and for the decent human being he is clearly incapable of and/or unwilling to be.