My ADLs are shot and I have spent the past month trying to bring them back to some sort of functioning and (mostly) failing. Why are my ADLs shot? I spoke to my sister.
My sister is a diagnosed, by a psychiatrist, narcissist. I do not know what subgenre of narcissism Molly has and it does not matter because her diagnosis was never more clear than in the conversation we had and it was so stressful for me it sent me into a tailspin I am still trying to drag myself out of.
Set piece one: My parents were so abusive and my childhood so bad that I have been diagnosed with PTSD. Originally by a social worker and more recently that was reviewed and agreed to be true by a forensic psychiatrist. Hilariously, my parents think that they were not abusive because they stopped beating me when I turned 7.
Set piece two: I was the family scapegoat. I have been blamed for (and punished) for everything from power outages to mass market things being cheaply made and therefor breaking to things my sister did.
Set piece four: For various reasons (Stockholm syndrome), I remained in limited contact with my parents until my 40s.
Set piece five: My parents voted for Trump and, for some reason, that was what I needed to cut contact. I sent them a text message explaining I was going no contact and why and have not spoken to them since.
Set piece six: My sister moved in with them to care for them because they are in their 80s and in frail health.
Set piece seven: I am still in limited contact with my sister.
So. One day, about a month ago, I am minding my own business. The sun is shining. I get a text from my sister: "Call me. 911." Naturally, I assume (because it's 911 which means emergency) that someone (most likely my father) is either dead or in the hospital. This is concerning, not because I care whether they live or die (I do not), but because of logistics. I live in a suburb of Dallas. They live over a hundred miles south of Houston. It is a 4 to 6 hour drive from where I am to Houston itself, then you tack on another 2+ hours to get to where they are. I do not drive. The last time I drove anything was before Covid. So getting down there for a funeral is already an issue. Once I get there, I would have to get a hotel/motel/what have you because I cannot stay with them as there is no room. Again, I do not drive so getting from the hotel to the parish for the funeral then to the gravesite would also be an issue. All of this sounds very expensive. I'm on disability and barely above the poverty line. I make $200 too much to qualify for food stamps in the state of Texas.
So I call my sister, fully expecting to hear, "Daddy's dead." This is not what I hear. Instead, I am treated to some rambling explanation about how she wants to prank her boss by wallpapering the bathroom in pink. (???) And when she mentioned this to our father, his response was, "You should use pictures of young girls!"
THAT'S IT?! My 81-year-old, Republican father, who has been diagnosed with dementia, was sexist trash and you are (a) surprised by this and (b) acting like it's a fucking emergency? This is not a fucking emergency. This is a situation where you say, "That's a great idea!" and then never fucking do it.
"But he said young girls!" Yes. He did. And I really hate to defend my father's honor but I have seen him interact with women he found attractive while drunk and the parts he was staring at are only available after puberty. Also, if he was having a little dementia episode at this point and reverted to, say, when he was 19 you need to understand the context of when he was 19. At 19, my father was a Marine Corps infantryman. He might have been accepted into Force Recon at that time but, frankly, it doesn't matter because the military at its wokest is not exactly a bastion of feminine respect and it sure as fuck wasn't in 1964.
I genuinely believe that when Da said what he said he was thinking, "Boy, it would be funny if she papered the bathroom in Playboy centerfolds," not, "Put up pictures of children in compromising positions!"
My father is many things. He is absolutely a terrible fucking person. He is abusive, bigoted, racist, sexist, and probably a few other ists I'm missing. He is not a good person. But he's not a pedophile. If I'm going to hate him (and I do), it's going to be for the correct reason not any horrible thing I can try to pin to him.
I tried to explain this to my sister. I was steamrolled. I switched tactics and tried to tell her that this is not an emergency and by texting me 911 I thought someone was either dead or in the hospital.
Her response: "Yeah, I was gonna put him there."
If your response to him choking you is not to put him in the hospital you certainly aren't because he said something misogynistic.
Also? He's killed people. You haven't. Force Recon was, at the time, the Marines special forces. He has described to me, on more than one occasion, what it feels like to break someone's neck and, one memorable time, used me as a mannequin when showing someone where to find the anchor points to do so. "I know more ways to kill you than you know how to die" was a constant refrain growing up.
Yes, he is old and frail and needs a walker but muscle memory does not go away.
Also? If his misogyny is so surprising and disturbing to you fucking leave like I have been begging you to for months.
I tried explaining to her that this is not an emergency no matter how upset she was and by using 911 it made me think it was an emergency and she really shouldn't do that.
She was fixated on that fact that this upset her so obviously it is an emergency and she's going to put him in the hospital because of what he said so her using 911 is justified.
I got so frustrated that I ended up yelling that she needs to listen to what I'm saying and when she didn't I just... hung up.
The stress of trying to understand that, yes, Molly, you actually did something wrong was too much and I just... broke.
For some reason, I didn't fall into psychosis. I would have actually preferred that. I fall into psychosis often enough that I and my roommates have SOPs for when it happens. Instead, I just... broke.
I lost hours dissociating. Things I am able to do while I am so far into the depths of psychosis that I am having full on conversations with my hallucinations I just... wasn't able to do.
In return for reduced rent, I keep house. My roommates do understand that I am, in fact, disabled, so they don't expect me to keep it showroom levels of clean but they do expect some level of cleanliness. There are three other people and a dog who live here. Every other weekend, one roommate has his son. Every weekend, another roommate has her adult son over for dinner that they cook and quasi clean up after themselves. Every weekend for either one full day or both days, my third roommate's one-year-old niece and her mother come over. I cannot let the house fall into disarray. The adults are understanding but the niece is one and still crawling and deserves to crawl on a clean floor.
The house began to fall into disarray.
Doing the dishes grounds me. No matter how bad it gets, I do the dishes. I may not be able to do a single fucking other thing, but I'm able to do the dishes. It may be the last thing I do before collapsing and I may do them with gritted teeth while I fight off demons only I can see but they Get. Done.
There were several days I just... wasn't able to do the dishes.
Eating? Showering? Sleeping for more than an hour? Ha!
And it wasn't depression. I've been depressed. Oh, how I've been depressed. Depression generally has an underlying emotion and even when they depression leads to numbness it's the kind of numbness you get because you've felt so much you just don't have the energy to feel more.
This wasn't that. This was a complete lack of feeling. Like my ability to feel emotions had been scooped out and there was just emptiness left in its place.
People with Antisocial Personality Disorder (the DSM's umbrella term for psychopathy and sociopathy) generally have difficulty experiencing emotions. "Shallow emotions" was actually a diagnostic criteria back before the term change. The one emotion they can feel with their whole chest is anger. My therapist says that that's because anger is a high level emotion.
I don't have APD. But when I realized I was so dissociated that I was completely divorced from my ability to feel, I began to grow slightly concerned so I sought out things deliberately that I knew would, under normal circumstances, make me furious.
Dealing with my sister put me in such a severe state of dissociation that I couldn't get mad. People who, clinically, have difficulty feeling anything can get mad and I was so divorced from things I couldn't even manage that.
At that point, I realized that this was Very Bad.
I spoke to Josiphine about what was going on and what I was going through and she spoke to the Other Roommates about picking up the slack until I was able to claw my way out of this because, unfortunately, there is fuckall anything anyone can do for me.
I ended up severely regimenting my schedule. Every hour of the day, I did something. Or at least, I was supposed to because I failed a lot. There were some hours I just could not pass my Willpower roll and just could not move. But I went into this knowing I was going to fail. I was rebuilding the muscle of being able to do just basic shit most people do by habit and was basically restarting from square one and any good beginner knows, you're need to fail in order to get better.
Inch by inch I began to improve and then, because my brain fucking hates me, I started having seizures again.
I have PNES, which is nonepileptic seizures. They are triggered by stress. And loud, high pitched noises but right now they're triggered by stress. I have had three (3) tonic clonic seizures in the past. If I am going to have a seizure now, it's going to be atonic and generally localized in my legs. What this means is that the muscles in my legs will go completely slack and I will collapse like an imploding building usually swearing up a blue streak while it happens because I am fully aware the whole time.
So because I realized I could not spend the rest of my life in a dissociative state and started to pull myself out of it my fucking brain decided to react extremely negatively to the stress I was under.
Fun side note, at least for me, after an atonic seizure my muscles overcompensate and tense so I am constantly feeling like I barely survived a triathlon and my back, even after taking a muscle relaxer, like like a solid plank of wood.
And all this is because my fucking narcissist sister acted like a fucking narcissist.
She's texted me a couple of times since. I have not opened them. No acknowledgement, by the way, of how she acted.
I've had the same phone number since 2000. I am honestly considering changing it just to sever that last string because, at this point? If all three of them dropped dead I really don't think I'd care.