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It seems that every person in your family is a candidate for the topic "dealing with difficult people," - the difference only in degree of difficulty. Take my family for example. There are three of us - Mom, big sister, and myself. I always thought that I was the "normal" one - kind, open, easy going, etc., etc. Mom, we thought, didn't love us. She was not affectionate and didn't do the little things my sister and I expected a traditional mother to do. This was troublesome for us because sis and I often found ourselves in a crisis and needed a shoulder to lean on or a nice warm hug. But Mom always had the cash to save us from those "financial" crises. Although she would refuse help at first, she eventually gives us the money we needed after we've cajoled her into doing so. So every time we accuse her of not being a good mother, she would always tell us about the time she bailed us out. And it was true, so why did we feel like she didn't love us? Perhaps it was her coldness and her seemingly lack of interest in our well-being and success. That was part of her personality. There seemed to be no distinction between how she treated her children and how she treated anyone else. Children, we realized, wanted to feel special to their Mom. I would burst with anger, I remember, and would scream at her, "I hate you, I hate you" over the telephone not more than once. Over and over I would run through my mind how awful she was and how unloved I was.

Sis on the other hand was worse, in my opinion. At least Mom would let me talk. She, as well, didn't seem to care about Mom or me, though at the same time complaining about Mom's lack of love and attention. Further, she seemed to be abusive. I say "seemed" because I really, for some reason, have difficulty defining her behavior. My resentment toward her started when I realized that she was just using me. She sat me down one day and said that it was, she thought, not good for me to keep living at home and being dependent on my parents. She said I ought to be independent and should live on my own - find my own apartment. She pretended to be concerned about my future. Because I was still innocent and naive at the tender age of twenty-four (oddly enough), and because I always respected her and was raised to look up to her as an elder sister, I just did what she suggested. So she even went to the extent of finding the apartment for me. Great I thought. She never meant what she said about me being independent.

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