It sounds like you have exactly the same dynamic with your family. Your sister that you are not speaking to I mean— that sounds so much like me and Time. She wants me to be there for her. I feel I should be. She’s hurting right now. I’m sure you wanted to be at the hospital with your sister. But you have to set a boundary at some point. You have to say, “I’m putting the oxygen mask on my face before I can help you.”
You’re right. I have to let go of the bitterness, but it isn’t coming from exactly where you’re thinking. I probably should have explained what causes this. She goes on and on and on “educating” me about mental health now. Mind you, I have a freaking degree in it. She calls me when she is drunk, you can’t interrupt her, and she goes on an endless stream of consciousness about how much she’s learned about complex-PTSD or attachment or whatnot. I just set the phone down and pick it back up when I hear she’s taken a breath, so I can say, “Hmm mmm.” Oh my God, you can’t not imagine how annoying this is, because she takes this tone. Ugh, the tone. Like, “Listen up, sister, I’m going to bring you up to speed.” So, it’s not that she won’t listen to me that bothers me anymore. I let go of that. It’s that she won’t stop making me into her captive pupil.
Your suggestion to go through written word is such a good one. While I used to be a decent communicator, I have to be realistic that my own mental health has made those skills deteriorate. People always say, “Don’t write. Your context can’t be interpreted. It leaves too much up to misunderstanding.” But I write. My sister writes. This is actually a pretty good form of communication for us, and I was avoiding it because of that staid advice.