I never want to talk to my siblings about our childhood again. They were also abused, so I understand why they want to talk. But I really can't handle it.
They have, like, an intellectual curiosity about it. I don't have that at all. It just sucks. It's all incredibly painful. I don't want or need to know any more about what happened. Every frigging time we talk about it, I learn some new twisted, hurtful, or worrying detail. A few things they've told me have so profoundly rocked me that it took months of crying and moping to get to the point where, I don't know, I guess I came to terms with the new, more evil and detailed, story.
But I am so, so bad at boundaries. I want to tell them to shut the heck up and not ever talk to me about our abuse again. But I can't. I don't know why. What's wrong with me?
So they called again tonight. After dropping more, like, abuse related stuff on me a few weeks ago, and the whole time -- instead of me just saying "Yeah, no, I love you, I love talking to you, but umm, can you promise me to never, ever, mention the abuse again?" -- no, I was just worried the whole conversation that it would turn in that direction. I wouldn't have even hung up if they did, because that's, like, dramatic or something.
I don't know why I am such a wimp with this.