Wouldn’t you be frustrated?

It’s the little things that wear at you. Like my sister’s screaming. Which she spent close to 45 minutes doing tonight, while I was on the phone with my parents, trying to get the news on a project they’re doing, and to see how things are in general, and to talk about a possible time for one or both of them to visit me.

She’s 28 years old, and she is acting like a three-year-old who needs a nap, combined with the cunning ability to hit every parental nerve in a five-mile radius of a 16-year-old. I suspect it’s worse when we’re on the phone; if the speakerphone is active and she’s not the center of the conversation, she’ll ratchet up this kind of behavior. My parents attribute this to sibling rivalry. It might be, at least to some degree. The trick with Lily is that she’s incredibly smart, much smarter than anyone would have predicted, given the physical differences between her brain and more typical brains, and part of that smartness means it’s hard to measure how smart she is. (She, like many of us, has little patience for being poked, prodded, and analyzed.)

All I know is that on nights like tonight, when I’m tired and struggling with my mental and possibly physical health, it hurts incredibly to try to check in with my family and to hear my parents struggling to convince Lily to modify her behavior. It’s just a really strong reminder that this is a situation that none of us chose, all of us have problems with, and none of us can magically fix.


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