My Sister, Narcissist in training?

I think I've always been some what fearful of my sister.  When we were little she would fly into rages.  She would beat the hell out of me, gouging chunks of skin out of my arms, slapping me, hitting me, tackling me to the ground.  It generally was for the smallest offenses.  She didn't like they way I played with something.  I angered her in my choices.  I didn't do what she wanted me to.  It was miserable and my parents rarely protected me.  They treated it as "typical sibling" fighting and that we needed to work it out.   There was no typical about it.  I was at a distinct disadvantage.  I had not the heart to hit her back.  I never wanted to hurt her.  So, I would just protect myself.  I thought all siblings fought like that.  But as I got older, I realized it really was abuse.  Her rage was far beyond what a typical little girl would do.  Her anger and temper were intense and volatile and frequent and my parents should have stepped in.  They should have at least tried to work through it with us.  There should have been some accountability for her actions.  However, most often, I was told to hit her back. And then I would get punished.  I would get into trouble for fighting. As my husband recently said, I got in trouble for getting beat up.  The other outcome was that my mother would tell me to deal with it.  I was charged with watching my sister for two hours after school.  We were only two years apart in age and we were both pretty young.  I was expected to keep her in line, make her do her chores and homework, and generally be babysitter.  This was no short order.  She was rebellious.  She was often difficult for my own parents to control.  She did whatever the hell she wanted to do.  We were assigned chores that required that one person do a chore, so that the other could do their's.  She would have to sweep, so that I could mop.  She had to unload the dishwasher so that I could load it.  I was a hopelessly responsible kid.  I would always want to come home and get my chores done.  At the very least, I knew that if I didn't get the chores done, I would be in trouble.  Erica would wait until 4:45 to do her chores.  My parents got home at 5.  The obvious result would be that I didn't get my chores done and I would be punished.  No matter that she didn't do her's first.  It was my responsibility to get her to do her's.  No matter that there was no pushing her into doing her chores, that I had no leverage for that.  Often, in trying to get her to do her chores, she would fly into a rage at me.  Attacking me and beating me.  I would call my mom in terror.  She would get angry with me for bothering her at work.  Bothering her with my menial problems.  I spent so much time confining my sister until she calmed down, holding her so that she would not hurt herself or me.  These afternoons were horrible.

If you hear tales from my sister, I was horrible.  I "threw her down the stairs once".  No, I dragged her down the stairs in attempt to get the flailing, angry child out the door until she calmed down.  She throws this one  incident, that is not even true, in my face often to "prove" what a horrible sister I was.  She says I always got my own way.  That I bossed her around and she never got a choice.  She claims that I was the "perfect" one.  And in that one regard, she may be correct.  I wasn't allowed to be anything but "perfect".

She was spoiled.  My mother coddled her.  I was often told to go along with what she wanted so that she wouldn't get angry.  I was mom's accomplice in appeasing Erica so that she wouldn't rage.  I was expected to make my mother's life easier by sacrificing my own desires and wants.  Erica always sat beside my mom.  Restaurants, behind her in the car, walking down the street.  I was not allowed to sit by my mom or Erica would throw a fit.  I was recruited to help with Erica's school projects.  I was expected to assume responsiblity for her.

This responsibility continued into our teenage years and beyond.  While my mom was out having an affair, she left me in charge of my, now, very rebellious sister  (overnight and weekends).  We were "co-parents".  As she and my dad split, I assumed his role as parent for her.  Erica spiraled out of control.  Drugs, sex, running away.  It wore my mother down.  She called me daily at college to get my advice, plead for me to help her, to dump all of her worry, stress, and anxiety about my sister on me.  There was no detail spared.

Ironically, my sister and I had actually been pretty close as kids.  We played together a lot and I believed generally enjoyed each other.  As she became so difficult and stressful for my mom, I resented her and became so angry with her.   We hardly spoke.  I hated what she was doing to my mom and thought she was a miserable human being.  As I see it now, I realize that most of my sister's actions can be attributed to my mother's parenting (or lack there of.  See "The Divorce" post).  But I despised her at the time.  She was extremely violent, often attacking me and my mom.  Mom never tried to protect me in these instances, but rather expected me to help protect her.  We were a team, trying to get Erica under control.  My mother ranted about my father not helping and I was expected to relay her messages.  Mom played the role of poor victim and expected me to console her and her unfortunate position.  My sister stole from me, beat me, abused me and my mother only used it as validation of how awful my sister was to her.   See how horrible she is, see what I have to put up with?  Sob, cry, boo-hoo.

As we entered adult hood, my sister and I had a mutual disrespect and dislike for each other.  My mother dragged us on two "mother-daughter" weekends when we were in our early twenties.  These were two of the worse weekends of my life.  I was trapped.  Mom was (what I know know as ) triangulating us, pitting us against each other.  Whispering negative things about the other in our ears.  Playing the poor me role, blaming everything on the other sister.  The fighting was full on war and mom got to play the martyr in the middle.  I swore I NEVER would vacation alone with the two of them again.

After these incidents, the anger and hurt hung between us all.  Somewhere, somehow, my sister and I began to speak again.  We began to compare notes.  We began to see the lies and the manipulations behind our backs.  While I hated her, blamed her, felt so sorry for my mother, my mother was busy blaming me behind MY back, calling me neurotic, saying how difficult I was.   Our position of not talking to each other had created fertile ground for my mother's mythologies to grow.

This realization did not necessarily fix things between me and my sister, but at least it got us talking. She is still very selfish and intense.  She still flies into rages over the smallest things.  She takes things personally, when they have nothing to do with her.  She demands that all attention be on her.  Everyone is expected to follow her schedule, read her mind, do what she wants.  She rarely does anything if it's not something she enjoys.  Everything has to be tailored to her.  Everyone waits on her.  She struggles to get her act together and we are always waiting on her.   She has the biggest problems, the most stress, the most to deal with.  Everything in her life is of the utmost importance.  I often take a back seat in her life.  We are not life long best friends.  Up until a few years ago, the last part of the decade was spent worrying about her.  She's been in and out of the hospital, abusive relationships, and the courts.  She's spent a little time in jail.  Her life is always in turmoil.  She often would call sobbing, drunk, at three in the morning to detail her latest fights with her boyfriend, never caring that I had to work in the morning.  She has had more bad things happen to her than I can count and it all can't be because of bad luck.   She has a sense of entitlement that is unparalleled.  She is naive and idealistic.  If something doesn't happen as she believes it should, she rants about how unjust it all is.

She has rarely been there for me in my times of need.  She offers little support.  In fact, I often get the distinct impression that I'm not allowed to have problems or bad days because they are trivial to her in comparison to the drama that is her life.  She has missed the birth of both my kids and has little investment in them.  She doesn't ask about them.  When we saw her last, she complained of how exhausting it was to spend the day with them.  Mom claims they are "the light of her life and mean the world to her" but that is hard to see.   She often misses their birthdays and sends gifts late (not that I expect gifts, but it would be nice just for them to get some sort of acknowledgement from her).  And then when we do get gifts I spend HOURS literally listening to her on the phone as she shops, complaining she doesn't know what to get them.  The gifts arrive and they are lavish.  After they arrive she complains about how broke she is because she spent all her money on gifts.  I teased her one year when she said the gifts would be late.  "Shocking," I teased.  "What is that supposed to mean?" She snapped.  But they are always late.  She is annoyed by my husband and doesn't tolerate him well.  She doesn't appreciate that he has a place in my life that somewhat displaces her.  Not that she is here that often to displace.  She has railed against me so often for not being "there" for my family.  She calls me selfish, stuck-up, and cold.  She has left me voice mails telling me she is sick of listening to the crap between me and mom and that I need to work it out.  Usually because she is sick of listening to my MOM complain, not me.  But if my mom annoys her, I'm the first person she calls.  She rarely sees our mom and complains when she does.  She doesn't have time for her, she says.  But then she'll make broad statements about how much she loves mom, appreciates mom, and she is the best mom ever.  She forgets mother's day and mom's birthday but if she does remember, she is a hero.  Mom has the best time with her.  Erica is so much fun.  She plasters pictures of her and Erica on Facebook.  Mom has not one picture of me and her.  Mom's always so proud of every little accomplishment Erica has, no matter how menial.  Mom worries about Erica, stresses about her, and makes Erica's issues everyone's issues.  She and Erica are best friends forever.  Best friends who snipe and complain and hurt each other every chance they get.  They both lie to me, complain about me behind my back, and generally place little value in me unless there is something in it for them.