The things we do for love

Today I am driving, in the rain, in the traffic, on the 405 at rush hour, to see the therapist my mother-in-law found so that we could have a family intervention with my asinine brother-in-law. You may remember that said intervention never happened since asinine brother-in-law (assboy?Yes, I like it!) refused to see this particular therapist, insisting that his parents pay for him to see someone else. Which they, of course, agreed to.

Anyway, I am going alone to see the therapist because I have too much rage and anger towards assboy to be able to effectively vent while Lance is in the room. He is Lance's brother, after all. As much as he frustrates Lance, there is still blood between them, there is still a familial tie. To me, he's just a giant asshole with no redeeming characteristics. Actually, to anyone except family, he is a giant asshole with no redeeming characteristics.

This therapist--he's actually a psychiatrist, which is different, no?--costs $225 per 45 minute session. If math is difficult for you, that works out to FIVE DOLLARS PER MINUTE. He does not accept insurance. My in-laws, when they first suggested the whole therapy thing, offered to pay for our sessions, but that feels a little funny to Lance and I, so we paid for the first session ourselves. I'm trying to get our insurance to re-imburse us for at least some of it, but so far, no dice. Suffice to say, this will likely be the last visit.

There is NO WAY I can vent all I need to vent about assboy in one 45 minute session. There is no way the good psychiatrist can give me the tools I need (handgun? muzzle?) to be able to reconcile the fact that assboy is part of my family for the rest of my life. Worse than that, assboy will continue to act like an asshole for the rest of my life, and my in-laws and my husband will make excuses for him for the rest of my life and nothing I do will change that.

First, they made excuses because he's ill. He has Crohn's disease, poor boy. I wonder, how many people in the world--no, the country, or L.A. even--have Crohn's disease and are NOT assholes?Next, they made excuses because he married a controlling, insecure, emotionally stunted bitch. Hmmm, so I guess assboy has no free will of his own? At 30 years old, we shouldn't expect him to take care of himself and be responsible for his own actions? Now they are making excuses because he is mentally unstable and he just can't help himself. I am sure that on the day he finally snaps and brandishes a gun at the local post office, they will say that the twinkie he just ate made him hallucinate. Or worse, that I drove him to it.

The other day my mother-in-law told me that assboy had offered to help Lance and I out with Isaac's health situation. That Lance and I didn't know what it was like to be different, health-wise, but assboy did, and so he would be better to lead Isaac through it. Since I couldn't scratch her eyes out, I said something to the effect of: "Assboy is the last person I would ever ask for advice on anything, especially my son's health. Assboy has made his whole life be about his "disability" and what he can manipulate out of people because of it, and that is absolutely not what I want for Isaac."

Ever since that conversation, my mother-in-law has been distant and a bit snide with me, and I'm guessing the good psychiatrist is going to tell me I should have kept my mouth shut. Assboy is her son, after all.

Internet, after today's session, you are my therapist. How the hell do I live with this fucktard and still maintain peace in my family? For the record, family events without assboy are generally wonderful affairs. I actually like my in-laws, and even love them on some occasions. But I refuse to allow my children around assboy, and this is causing major problems.

(P.S. I didn't want to link all the previous posts on this subject because it's SO. FUCKING. BORING. but in case you are new to me, here they are.)