We had such a good visit, things really went well. Until Andy arrived from New Orleans, at which point the world had to revolve around him and he utterly drove everybody in the house bugshit crazy.
How bad was it?
Evan informed Amy and I that Andy is incredibly annoying and immature. This is a ten year old talking about his 18 year old big brother.
Ian and Sean left for Bible Camp yesterday for a week, and when I hugged them goodbye at the church, they BOTH told me, independently of each other, that they were glad to be getting away from having to deal with Andy.
Everything has to be about Andy. If you ask him to stop ranting for two minutes, he starts literally sobbing and shrieking that everybody hates him and all he wants to do is talk. This is when you ask him POLITELY. When you get pissed off and yell at him to shut his fucking trap, he literally throws his hands up in the air, falls to the floor, and begins a temper tantrum worse than any I ever witnessed a fucking TWO YEAR OLD doing.
How much is it about Andy?
Last night was Amy's last night here. Sam and I wanted to spend some time with her, and Andy just couldn't fucking allow that. He went into a tantrum that lasted for well over four hours. Yes, really. Monopolized every last minute of Amy's last night here. We tried sending him to his room, he refused to stay in, kept coming out and sobbing about how everybody was against him and he was bored in his room. So first Sam went in there to try and talk some damn sense into him. Would that work?
Come on, folks. This is Andy we are talking about here.
Ultimately? I wound up in there too, to keep Sam from beating the shit out of this "adult" son of ours and maybe ending up in jail for assault. Yes, that bad. Guys, Sam NEVER gets violent, and he was in a killing rage.
And Amy wound up in there too, punching and screaming at Andy for ruining her last night. Amy who has done SO GOD DAMN WELL in controlling her emotions and not letting them run away with her any more, she cracked under the God awful stress TOO.
By 2 AM Sam and I were done. Andy is 18 years old. He drove up here from New Orleans on his own. He has a debit card and money in the bank.
We gave him 15 minutes to pack his shit and get out, told him if he left anything behind, he could damn well kiss it goodbye until such time as we had the energy to deal with sending it to him - and he sent us the money to do so. And informed him that until he gets some cognitive behavioral therapy of some kind, and passes the CBT program WITH A NOTE FROM THE THERAPIST AFFIRMING THIS, that he will not be welcome to enter this house, or to call here (unless there is a family emergency such as a hospitalization or death).
That he has no damn right to destroy the peace of this household, or the peace of mind of the people who live here, that he has no right to order his brothers around like they're he's pre-US Civil War field hands pickin' cotton just to make Massa Andy happy, that he has no right to totally ruin the last few hours Sam and Evan and I would get to spend with Amy for who knows how long, and that his behavior is utterly unacceptable in a toddler, never mind somebody who claims to be an adult.
After Andy left, Sam sobbed and sobbed for well over an hour. Took Klonopin to finally get him soothed down. He's still upset now, nearly 24 hours later.
And maybe 15 minutes after Sam stopped crying, Andy called. He had left his Nintendo Gameboy SP, and he was coming back to get it. No, Andy, you are not.
Then he actually ordered us to bring it to him in Dallas today. No.
But, and this part rankles. Sam agreed to let him meet us at the airport after we dropped off Amy to pick it up from us. Told him: We will call you at 930 and tell you where we are. Don't get there before 930, Amy doesn't want to see you.
And then, we spent time at the airport doing what?
Dodging Andy, because yep, he was there at least an hour early, and yep, looking for us. And when we caught up with him? Bitched us out for being so hard to find.
I threw his fucking GameBoy in the garbage can and we left him screaming and sobbing about the unfairness of it all while he dug through the trash for it.
I should have opened it up and stomped the screen into powder.
I will not have that infantile little fucktard turning this family upside down ever again. The little bastard has lived a major life of privilege down in New Orleans with his dead mother's parents for the last six years, wearing designer sneakers, getting every single gaming console and handheld, all the latest laptops, palmtops, and cell phones, not having to work for any of it. Meanwhile, his brothers are dressed out of Goodwill when we can afford to buy them clothing at all. But he's so deprived.
Honestly, I hate him. And part of me is hoping he does not go for cognitive therapy, so that I never have to deal with him again - except that that would break Sam's heart.