But We Love Each Other...
I suppose this is one of those hard experiences that I tend to never try and think about but is a constant thought in my mind.
We love each other, worry about one another and care for one another. It was her that first used the phrase that has come to epitomise our relationship- 'I love you but that does not mean I like you' and the first time she said this, presented a whole dilemma to me as to differences between love and like, at 9 i didn't know you could not like someone but love them, as i thought liking was intrinsic to loving. Yet when i asked her what she meant, she spent the rest of my life showing me.
She tends to like to be the centre of drama. I admitted my abuse to her at an early age, she kept it from the rest of my family until a time i had come to deal with it and then spilled it out on my behalf bringing up a whole sense of emotions, as it was around the time I was sitting my A-Levels.
She would delight in telling me that her life would have been a lot easier if she had of had boys only. I fully agree with this which she did not like as was not the response she hoped for. She would tell me that i was overweight and was putting my looks to waste, even though she always has been five to seven stone overweight herself. She also then would create arguments between me and my brothers, frustrated that they were not successful when she tried them between me and my father or my brothers and my father, as I clearly remember him saying when i was in my late teens, and in front of her- your mother would start an argument in an empty room if she could, do not argue back.
The thing that got me most was something I discovered when i met my partner. She always made me come to her about things first, saying that my father would throw me out of the house or that he would disown me, and me trusting her word in terms of this for some unknown reason that still baffles me, would tell her and then she would go mad at me. My partner made me start telling my father things directly first and my life was made a lot easier- my father understood me, consented to me living my own life - an attitude that I could have done with a lot earlier in my life.
She also has a habit of telling people things that you said, that you did not actually say, to get you into trouble- start what she would term as 'fun'
I would love to get on with her and in fact, after her final act of trying to hospitalise me, i had to get out and get away from her for a while and then was able to 'make civil friends' with her for a while. Almost like constant chaperoned visits though as my father is retired and she does not drive- so the discussions have become more civil. She tried to take since the role of best mate at one stage- which is not comfortable at all as it involved one question- 'how is your sex life?'