Disaster areas

I’ve just been listening to my sister on the phone, talking about the aftermath of having her bag stolen yesterday. As she retold yet another catalogue of disasters about changing locks and SIM cards and why she had been wandering about with her birth certificate in her bag.  She shouldn’t even have been in the dodgy neighbourhood she was in, it was only because she is a compulsive shopper with no concept that she is a xxl rather than a small and keeps buying the wrong things that need to go back. She has learning difficulties so I have to give her a lot of leeway but, even still, my sympathy turns to annoyance and my annoyance turns to anger and I just don’t want to hear any more of it.

A good friend of mine suggested recently that I may have made poor relationship choices because I am subconsciously trying to  veer back to the benchmark set by my family of a seemingly unending catalogue of disasters that stretches back for decades. Last time I was in my sisters home was maybe five years ago, the furniture sat many feet from the wall because of all the crap stacked behind it and nothing could be used because of the piles of stuff on top of everything. Her oven, washing machine and fridge freezer need replacing every two years as they  constantly break down through misuse and everything gets smashes, dropped, trod upon all the time, it’s no surprise that I am reluctant to go back. I have in the past been attracted to other people with similar issues. Whilst their modus operandi may include clutter in the form of collecting human or situations rather than stuff, I have been drawn to that chaos as if there is some equation of messiness that needs to be balanced but I just can’t be consumed by it again, it’s such a backwards step.

The whims of idiotic neighbours aside, my life and home is an oasis of calm and quiet and I wish to keep it way. There is never a day where I go out and seek toxic people or situations, there is never a day where I sign up to do something thats motivations are any less than a hundred percent pure. I certainly wouldn’t do anything that aids shitty people in their endeavours  or encourages them in any way. Even with a family full of people like that, I’ve never understood the motivations of actually creating bad situations. Maybe it’s lack of focus or purpose, someone who has no real goals and so that void is filled by other things that are less than helpful or maybe it’s because someone’s goals are so distorted that they doesn’t  realise that they are doing more harm than good both to themselves and others. Whatever the  reason is that people choose to do the messy things they do, the main thing is that they do it well away from other people who don’t want to get involved. In a way, toxic people and their activities are more infectious than Ebola. For a start you can legally seal off people infected with disease to halt the spread of infection. Sadly, people who cause havoc and wreck the lives of others aren’t subject to quarantine, however much we may wish it, and the mess they make is liable to come right back in ŵith them. 

Problems come because we cannot separate a state of chaos from the person who creates it and whilst we may dearly miss a person, the baggage they drag through with them is rarely worth the price. The truly sad thing is that, whatever we feel about people, however much we may love them, we cannot change them, nor should we try. Whether they want to change or are even aware of the damage they do, it is not our business to make them try, that is for them and if someone feels the need to hurl their life I’ve the edge of a cliff the only thing we can do is to not be tied to them whilst they do it.


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