She stole my dress, so of course she is the victim. The video she posted on Instagram, according to big sister, was removed from her account; her profile picture on Facebook was apparently taken down as well, replaced with some self-deprecating texts like "worthless" and "useless"—to elicit sympathy, no doubt—and the family group chat was abandoned to further emphasise the weight of her "oppression."
My "cheap whore" remark, as I had predicted, was easily weaponised to overshadow everything else she did wrong. Big sis related to me how the little thief approached her and showed her the screenshot of my cruelty.
Big Sis: "She said she's already going through so much, and on top of all that, you called her a cheap whore."
Aww. Wounded, isn't she? Just for that remark?
But oh dear, my guilt was completely thrown out the window. So, with a stoic face, I replied, "You've seen her video. She did look like a cheap whore."
An extra-extra-small dress squeezed onto her medium physique? Puh-lease. It was laughable. And if she's already going through so much, then why the fuck did she still feel the need to steal my dress? Is her hardship the scarcity of clothes? Because that's bullshit. With the surplus of garments she has, she uses the rejects as rugs.
She then also proceeded to lament her sufferings: how everyone seems to abandon her, how at such a young age this is what she's already gone through, and that it seemed to her God was punishing her.
The fuck? What does God have to do with it? Did He say to go out into the world and ruin your lives? Or consciously make bad decisions and blame it on Him?
Or perhaps: Thou shall commit theft and play the victim?
She launched a hundred daggers into my back, and when I prick her with a needle, her life suddenly crumbles into a full-blown tragedy. But go ahead. I was the one who got robbed, but please—continue to step all over me!
And what was she on about this "everyone seems to abandon her" garbage?
Bruvvvvv, who's been helping you the entire time??? The wind?!
It's true, everybody is tired of her, but she never, and I mean NEVER, bloody runs out of support.
"You've been asking for money weekly, and I comply despite my exhaustion and exasperation. What do you call my help then, if you think everyone's abandoned you? What more could you want from me???" my older sister, in her recounting of their exchange, demanded of our youngest, her voice steeped in frustration. And then she struck a line—so strong, it cut deep and stayed with me:
"I could give you my life and my flesh, and it still wouldn't be enough because I haven't given you my bones."
I blinked, and remained quiet, caught by the weight of her words..
But the "victim," so convicted that no one’s sufferings could match her own, would further amplify her agony.
"I wanna kill myself."
Classic. Make everyone feel guilty for your own choices.
Being depressed and suicidal is one thing, but threatening self-harm to guilt-trip people into compliance is just downright emotional terrorism.
Because the ending of their conversation?
Money. Again.
For the umpteenth time.
She is so down and oppressed she feels entitled to ask for money, and the listener must grant it—otherwise, she’s going to kill herself.
Long live the thief.