Jeanne Safer has written a book called The Normal One about the effects of a troubled sibling on other siblings in the family. I read about it in this review in the New York Times.
Her analysis of the ''Caliban syndrome,'' as she calls the psychological condition affecting normal siblings in families with damaged children, is supported with some 60 interviews with siblings of impaired family members. The syndrome, named for the Miranda-Caliban relationship in ''The Tempest,'' has four distinct elements: ''premature maturity,'' ''survivor guilt,'' ''compulsion to achieve'' and ''fear of contagion.'' Normal siblings are characterized this way:
''Cheerful caretakers, mature before their time, they are supposed to consider themselves lucky to be normal. They feel tormented by the compulsion to compensate for their parents' disappointments by having no problems and making no demands, and they are often unaware of the massive external and internal pressure to pretend that nothing is amiss.''
Several months ago, when my relationship with B- had yet to become truly complicated, I tagged along with him to a mutual friend's party.
Sitting in a posh living room, I was aggressively bantered (if I may render the verb transitive) by a guy probably about my age. He was somewhat in his cups, but moderately amusing. I left about 15 minutes later with B-, who gave me a ride home. I had, however, inadvertently left something behind: my name.
The next morning an email awaited me from the banterer, G-, seeking to have coffee with me. I was startled, as I hadn't said anything that would lead a person to think I was inviting further social contact. Clearly, I had been googled. It seemed a bit aggressive to me, which made me a little uncomfortable, but it also seemed to be a clear indication of enthusiasm, which wasn't utterly unfortunate.
I responded to the email in a friendly, but not particularly encouraging fashion. I was, after all, very interested in B- and there wasn't really room for anything else on my emotional radar screen (I'm a one-man kind of woman). On the other hand, it wouldn't hurt me to expand my circle of acquaintances. I haven't made many new friends in the last couple of years.
Some email back and forth ensued, but eventually petered out with no coffee date. Which was fine.
About three weeks ago, B- having long since receeded in the rear-view mirror, I thought to myself, why not check in on G-? So, I fired off an email. And got an immediate enthusiastic response. Again, the back and forth. Last Friday, there was specific talk about getting together after work. He phoned and said he was finishing up some production work, and would call again in half an hour when he had a better idea when he'd be done.
I had three small concerns at this point: G- referred to himself in the third person as "G-G-"; he called me "dear" after 30 seconds of conversation; and I had the impression that not only did he think I was substantially younger than he, but that seemed to incline him towards a certain condescension. However, I don't want to start out holding stuff against someone, so I had set these things aside.
That Friday, he never did call back. I didn't have his number. I waited around at the office for quite awhile. When I left, I was pissed off. I alternated between: Was it something I said? and What is up with that crap, he couldn't take 10 seconds to phone and say it's not going to work out tonight?
Yesterday I received an email from G- (I paraphrase): "Sorry I haven't been in touch, I've been busy, winning awards, 9-11 stuff, etc. etc. Oh and there's an interesting show opening up."
So now I'm pissed off again. I decided to sleep on it.
In the past, I probably would have swallowed my resentment, given "G-G-" the benefit of the doubt, and responded in a cheerful manner, suggesting perhaps that we meet up at the opening.
Instead, I wrote back today saying: "You blew me off the other day. Life is too short... have a good one." I wrapped some civility around it, and sent it off. To my surprise, I found my hands were shaking.
I don't know why, but this single little act of rejection was incredibly difficult for me ~ even though at this point I have no interest whatsoever in getting to know G~. This is probably the first time in my life I've ever deliberately not been nice.
Not nice. I wasn't nice. My immediate reflex is to feel bad about it. Even now I'm wondering whether I was wrong to respond this way.
Anyway, it's done. Perhaps I am now officially a bitch.
I wonder if it's a coincidence that yesterday I painted my toenails red for the first time in my life.
Write to me!
