My Life with a Narcissistic

An update, close to breaking.

She keeps telling me that I will never be "As successful as" her. Ableism.

She normalizes using the word retardation and believes the slur isn't insensitive or tasteless.

She keeps inciting me, pushing me to respond by emasculating me, insisting I will not get "A bitch in" my life.

I realized the laptop microphone doesn't exist, there is no built-in microphone, so recording software doesn't work.

She makes everything about her. Fucking her, her, her. If it's about anyone else, it's wrong unless to bolster her divinity.

"What about dad, do you forgive him for HIS abuse?" so as to diminish her own.

"You don't forgive my abuse, do you forgive his?" to deflect accountability.

I'm so tired of this shit. I am on the autistic spectrum and can't handle her ableism, as if her "Depression" takes away from mine, or takes away from the fact she's got delusions of her invulnerability. Nothing fucking happened to her.

What appalls me is that she decided not to make an attempt at laundry, to keep internet on.

Because I existed-- The submissive fucking brother, there to save the fucking day.

Invincibility complex; a trait of narcissistic personality disorder.

She believes no matter what happens, good things come to her, realistically. This fantasy damages my emotional and psychological health, as I can't compete within having to suck her proverbial dick.

The worst part about this? She pretends she's so perfect, while casually hoarding bowls of food over my side of a dresser, where my clothes are. There's a reason I had a system of coping mechanisms-- this was it.

The fact I have to live with her, scared to speak out and ask for help, as well as the fact my post-trauma prevents me from comfortably asking mom for help, only heightens my sense of vulnerability when she's not home, as well as when she is.

I can't speak out because, after the laundry-internet drama, my trust has faltered, knowing anything I say will be sound in the fucking wind, resulting in my disappointment, ever raising my need to jam those pair of scissors into my jugular, ending the play.

I tried to call out to mom, but I doubt anything will come of it. She's just going to over-privilege my sister again and I'll be back at square zero, having to take her ableist remarks about "How I wrote a comic and you didn't.", "How I have friends and you don't.", "How I am a writer and published and you're not.", "How I have mental disorders, autists shouldn't have any issues."

Like her abuse helps. Like her abuse promoted trust in the human race. As if her constant reminder that I am autistic and also suffering from a real condition could encourage me to be functional. She isn't. She's just an asshole.

"Other autistic people are smarter than you." as if the spectrum doesn't exist.

And she threatens to leave the house, with the silver lining that "You'll have 100% of my extra chores, hope you like labor." as if her side of the house was going to be needlessly difficult.

No, my sister uses extra chores as an excuse to be a fuckass about the IDEA that she's so fucking holy that she's my fucking hero. Her existing to lighten any load JUSTIFIES her abuse, because she's a fucking hero and should be worshipped. 'Slay queen, slay.'

My sister isn't even remotely close to being a hero. I take out the fucking trash, which is only 20 seconds, if that. Literally. I don't hate it, but it's literally because of my condition that I struggle to maintain a schedule.