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Psychological Warfare
9 years ago
General
So, Cam (my brother) comes home tonight, and reveals that he has run out of weed money. I make it clear that since it is impossible for me to give negative fucks, he'll have to settle for absolutely zero fucks. I take my Chinese food to my room and eat it.
A half hour later, he opens my (not lockable) door and informs me that he "still loves me" even though he "doesn't express it enough"
I reply in the most neutral tone, "Ok" and he leaves.
I will not be following-up on this.
Following up on this means letting him know that I'm okay with his careless wasting of my time, which he does opportunistically, and that it is okay for him to impose his rampant, conspicuous substance abuse on me by burning hashish like incense and filling the entire apartment with a substance that I do not choose to use. So far, I've let him commandeer nearly the entire place, including the kitchen, because his hobbies are so destructive to having normal things like, you know, pictures on the wall, or watching tv, or even having a dinner table, because he simply must spin and juggle everything in sight all the fucking time without regard for how extremely inappropriate that activity is indoors, and how incompatible it is with literally EVERY OTHER ACTIVITY ANYONE ELSE MIGHT WANT TO DO. It's hard to focus on things when you're constantly worried about getting hit by poi balls and fucking clubs. I know... because that's what tends to happen if I do homework anywhere at home outside of my bed.
Nothing about this is okay. And there is no amount of him telling me anything that can make these things acceptable. More importantly, the way he handles his emotions around this time of year is hazardous to my health. I refuse to even be in a car with him anymore because at about this time last year he was "emotional" and it was December, and he spent upwards of an hour informing me that I was a useless waste of space, immature, overweight, and pursuing a basket-weaving degree to the point of exhaustion. My exhaustion.
I don't even have my so-called "basket-weaving degree" yet, and I'm already working a real "basket weaving" job. And by "basket weaving" I actually mean, something that nobody seems to think constitutes "basket weavery" in the derogatory, figurative sense except for my drug-abusing, disrespectful, (insert ad-hominem attack here) brother. But the problem here is that for a long time, I believed him. I had fully internalized the doom and presumed that he must be right because he was the loudest and oooh, ahhh, look how many friends he has, so he must have his shit together. Months go by.
Then some things happened. My internship ended, I didn't want to face him with it because he'd just give me more shit and win arguments through endurance because arguing is literally the only thing he applies himself to. So I ran off for a week, sliced up my forearms a few times, then came back. Gave him $60 of groceries as a peace offering then spent the next few weeks on-call for him, driving him around to his far-flung friends' houses, until Halloween when I had to wait in the car for 45 minutes at 2 in the afternoon while he just partied at a Krispy Kreme with his rich stoner friends even though he clearly saw me (he said so) when I arrived to pick him up at the agreed-upon time.
I got a job to replace the internship, and after a few months with normal, well-adjusted people, it is plainly obvious that my brother uses emotions as a weapon and is virulently anti-intellectualistic. Now, when he asks me for rides, I offer to call him an Uber (and strangely... he seems to find a ride after that and doesn't need it. He seems to see it as a statement that I would rather do something inconvenient on the phone than spend any time with him and his shit music in the car, where I'm captive). Supposedly, he is now moving-out in January (although I think he's going to make the transition take as long as possible.) I've stayed out of family functions and other activities where I relinquish the ability to walk away from him since October. The objective here is to deny him any and all ability to have control over my time and deny him opportunities to butter me up in an attempt to get me to lower my defenses.
So, if he finds himself alone on Christmas Day, because all of his rich, crack-head, stoner friends are busy or too high to operate their bodies and are located 30 miles away from him and are unwilling to take the god damn toll-road to pick him up or whatever (seriously, one of his douchier coke-fiend friends lives in a far-flung McMansion only reasonably accessible by E470 (a toll road)), and I'm in Fort Collins with my phone turned-off, then that's how it's going to be.
And I don't give a flying fuck how he feels about it, because I am fresh out of fucks, of all kinds, to give.
A half hour later, he opens my (not lockable) door and informs me that he "still loves me" even though he "doesn't express it enough"
I reply in the most neutral tone, "Ok" and he leaves.
I will not be following-up on this.
Following up on this means letting him know that I'm okay with his careless wasting of my time, which he does opportunistically, and that it is okay for him to impose his rampant, conspicuous substance abuse on me by burning hashish like incense and filling the entire apartment with a substance that I do not choose to use. So far, I've let him commandeer nearly the entire place, including the kitchen, because his hobbies are so destructive to having normal things like, you know, pictures on the wall, or watching tv, or even having a dinner table, because he simply must spin and juggle everything in sight all the fucking time without regard for how extremely inappropriate that activity is indoors, and how incompatible it is with literally EVERY OTHER ACTIVITY ANYONE ELSE MIGHT WANT TO DO. It's hard to focus on things when you're constantly worried about getting hit by poi balls and fucking clubs. I know... because that's what tends to happen if I do homework anywhere at home outside of my bed.
Nothing about this is okay. And there is no amount of him telling me anything that can make these things acceptable. More importantly, the way he handles his emotions around this time of year is hazardous to my health. I refuse to even be in a car with him anymore because at about this time last year he was "emotional" and it was December, and he spent upwards of an hour informing me that I was a useless waste of space, immature, overweight, and pursuing a basket-weaving degree to the point of exhaustion. My exhaustion.
I don't even have my so-called "basket-weaving degree" yet, and I'm already working a real "basket weaving" job. And by "basket weaving" I actually mean, something that nobody seems to think constitutes "basket weavery" in the derogatory, figurative sense except for my drug-abusing, disrespectful, (insert ad-hominem attack here) brother. But the problem here is that for a long time, I believed him. I had fully internalized the doom and presumed that he must be right because he was the loudest and oooh, ahhh, look how many friends he has, so he must have his shit together. Months go by.
Then some things happened. My internship ended, I didn't want to face him with it because he'd just give me more shit and win arguments through endurance because arguing is literally the only thing he applies himself to. So I ran off for a week, sliced up my forearms a few times, then came back. Gave him $60 of groceries as a peace offering then spent the next few weeks on-call for him, driving him around to his far-flung friends' houses, until Halloween when I had to wait in the car for 45 minutes at 2 in the afternoon while he just partied at a Krispy Kreme with his rich stoner friends even though he clearly saw me (he said so) when I arrived to pick him up at the agreed-upon time.
I got a job to replace the internship, and after a few months with normal, well-adjusted people, it is plainly obvious that my brother uses emotions as a weapon and is virulently anti-intellectualistic. Now, when he asks me for rides, I offer to call him an Uber (and strangely... he seems to find a ride after that and doesn't need it. He seems to see it as a statement that I would rather do something inconvenient on the phone than spend any time with him and his shit music in the car, where I'm captive). Supposedly, he is now moving-out in January (although I think he's going to make the transition take as long as possible.) I've stayed out of family functions and other activities where I relinquish the ability to walk away from him since October. The objective here is to deny him any and all ability to have control over my time and deny him opportunities to butter me up in an attempt to get me to lower my defenses.
So, if he finds himself alone on Christmas Day, because all of his rich, crack-head, stoner friends are busy or too high to operate their bodies and are located 30 miles away from him and are unwilling to take the god damn toll-road to pick him up or whatever (seriously, one of his douchier coke-fiend friends lives in a far-flung McMansion only reasonably accessible by E470 (a toll road)), and I'm in Fort Collins with my phone turned-off, then that's how it's going to be.
And I don't give a flying fuck how he feels about it, because I am fresh out of fucks, of all kinds, to give.
What kind of "baskets" do you weace btw?
Because, you know, that's "fair" to these fucking pinks.