I worry about my brothers a lot. Especially the one who is sick. He has convinced himself that I am the devil and the cause of everything wrong in his life. His mental illness has him so confused about what is right and wrong. What has happened or did not happen. I spend so much time defending myself against his lies and slander that I forget that he is like this because he is sick. That makes me sad. I can’t help him anymore, like I did in the past, when I was the only one willing to take him to the hospital so that he can get back on his meds. He made sure this time to push me so far away that there would be no hope of me getting him back on his medication again.
In his mind, we have lived something of a crazy movie plot the last 15 years. He literally blames me for his illness and no amount of reasoning or rationality can sway him from feeling this way. I will never claim I was the perfect sister or I did everything right… I am far from it. I did not do half of what I needed to do right. But I always wanted to take care of my brothers and took that responsibility on myself. I gave up my life to try to make sure that they were okay… and that we would always have a roof over our heads. But, it just got to be too much. We became too codependent… and it was not and is not healthy.
I have not heard from my brother in a week and, although when I hear from him, it is usually to curse me out and tell me I am not shit, at least I know he is still alive. I feel like I am letting our parents down by finally putting myself first and trying to get my life in order… But I know that I cannot help anyone else until I help myself. I just hope my brother manages to somehow survive while I do it.