That’s what my husband said to me today. He called me the Sheldon Cooper of the Barrett world.
How on earth did you end up normal in a family full of bat-shit crazies?
My answer? Grace? Luck? The vagaries of fate?
I was born tough. Don’t know why, just was.
It does happen. A really normal functional individual arises from a really abnormal dysfunctional family.
I remember sitting on my bed, tears streaming down my face– I was eight years old. I swore, on that hellacious day, that when I had children, and I knew I’d have children, I would never do to my children what was being done to me.
I have raised three normal, not perfect, but normal functional children. I decided way back when that the buck would stop with me. I would not pass on the dysfunction.
Do I love my parents despite everything? Yes.
Do we have a decent relationship these days? Yes. They’ve more or less turned their lives around via the intensive use of pharmaceuticals.
But here we go again. One of the hallmarks of mental illness? Denial that one is mentally ill and a refusal to seek help compounded by an inability on the part of my parents to set limits.
Well… My resolution for 2015? I don’t make resolutions, but damn, I’m making one: I shall set limits. I will not allow this person to further disrupt my life and the lives of my immediate family.
Yeah. Grace. Karma.
Sometimes the gene pool eats you, sometimes you eat the gene pool.