The violence.

Agression all the time.

Against vaccuums, cats - me

My father was confused, didn't know what was happening, he was frustrated, he was wore down by my sister constantly throwing dishes, kicking my cats, throwing their food down the stairs, breaking our mother's dishes, stealing my clothes, stealing house towels, tearing up lawnmowers, stealing garage items, w​atching me - or at least - someone was.

I was vacuuming like I always do, when needed, when I realized nothing was getting vacuumed. It happens, sometimes, so I took it apart. My sister vacuums like it's timed and the fastest done wins, slamming into everything, will-nilly "X" pattern, bumping it into doors because fuck opening the door and vacuuming the other room, right? Then dumps the cord on the floor. Meh

So I took it apart taking out mostly her dead-ends out of the brushes, detaching everything, the collector, the hoses, the filters. There before me was the problem. Makeup foundation so thick and compressed into the area around the filter and filter itself. I showed my dad why it wasn't working, beat the shit out of the filters, then soaked them in the bath in shallow water while I was cleaning the fans - blades, cover, etc.

An hour later all the parts were missing and I asked her where they were and she yelled "Just leave the fucking thing alone."

She's embarrassed about the makeup. No big deal, right? This is not how she handles situations, at all. Because I know about it, she now violently vacuums from this point on. She takes every attachment and hides it or, as far as I know, it vanishes. The filters? Gone.

She now has a vacuum-oriented hatred and now the world has to pay. She slams it around whenever she uses it. And the house is already vacuumed. She's slamming it around pretending to clean yelling about the house being filthy when it's not. I have video of this behavior and it's fucking insane.

That is an allegory for some of the abuse that happened starting a month before hospice, if you understand.

Once, before leaving the house, before my soon-to-be diagnosis of cancer, I was standing in the kitchen waiting on a call before I left, and there were dishes soaking in the sink. My sister always bitched about soaking dishes (?!). So I mumbled to myself "I guess someone's allowed to soak the dishes."

I heard stomping coming towards me as she rounded the hallway into the kitchen and punched me in the face. I paused, smiled at her and said "Is that all you got, bitch?!" and she punched me three or four more times. That one comment that should not have been heard enraged her mullet and I saw the same, distorted face that hated men and world, as she had when I caught her in mid-swing trying to hit my 7-year-old nephew in the face. The same face she had when she used to flip out on me because I saw her flipping out over thunder when I was 3-tears old. She hit me then, and her absolute hatred of me will be shown in a video.

She was livid, off-the-top-pissed that I did not die, and that I slowly, became healthier (healthy as in not bed-ridden laying in my own shit, blood clots and piss).

That isn't all. See, my sister is that really closeted racist, where just saying "Nigger" fills her with delight. So my weapon for some time was to call her a nigger, mostly because I came to realize that her and Raebecca's crack-dealer was black and he was heavily invested in fucking with me because I called out that his drugs are shit and his bed-bug house is shit. And his hoe, Raebecca, was shit too. Fuck. Him.

I'm not shy and I'm brutally honest.

My sister threw the cat's dishes downstairs and terrorized the cats so I walked up the stairs and, well, watch the video and you'll see what happens.

Remember, she's really racist and calling her a nigger is the worst thing in the world to her, and, she doesn't want anyone to know she had sex with her black crack-dealer, so what do you think she'll do?

If you said "Treat you like that vacuum," you're my style of person and you get the metaphor.