Give me all your stuff, or else ...

Don't have much, but do have a piece of property, a comfortably plain little home, a six year old car, and enough casual country clothes to fill a couple of average suitcases. My stuff isn't high end. Wouldn't buy up there even if I could afford it. My stuff isn't bargain basement. Spent too many years living there, and don't want to do that again. I was in a horrific accident, where my older sister was driving, a few weeks after my fifteenth birthday (a long time ago). My sister was almost seventeen, lacking experience as a driver to make a good split second decision when faced with a crisis on the highway. She drove us into a ditch. A gravel truck hit our car a few seconds later. She sustained a TBI (traumatic brain injury) and my legs were crushed. I did get back up again, and have navigated life with a limp (which gets worse when I'm tired). My sister never outgrew her need to forget the accident. Amnesia can be psychologically set in place when it serves a purpose. For some reason, it served her. She never accepted me as her real sister after our accident. She has continued this thinking all these years since. When my parents both died within the same year, she went on a campaign that I was responsible for their deaths. Dad had widely metastasized cancer. Mom had end stage cardiac failure. I bought a home for them to live in, nearby, close enough they could feel independent, but I could check in on them often. They were both sent into a hospice hospital by their doctors, where I sat beside their beds and talked to them every day until they passed away. She contacted family and friends and told them Dad never had cancer, and Mom did not have a failing heart. She told every one who would listen that they died because I talked their doctors into putting them into comas. Dad was never in a coma. Mom was never in a coma. They died peacefully in their sleep in hospice, visited by their doctors several times every day. My sister never came to say goodbye to Dad. She did arrive the day before Mom died, demanding Mom's rings. The hospice staff informed her that they'd been instructed by my mother to leave her rings alone until she passed away. The rings were Mom's connection to Dad. My sister and her husband had a fit. They yelled and screamed in the hospice hallway until the staff called security. I sat with a social worker and observed the entire scene. It was like something out of a movie about the most dysfunctional people you could ever meet. Blood is not thicker than water. Water sustains you. Blood can cripple your mind and your self esteem when that blood is crazy. She has lived in her delusions, and her husband supports her delusions. They live near Santa Fe in a mulitmillion dollar home on a large race horse ranch, complete with race horses, race track, and all the best of everything they want. The morning my father passed away, my sister tried to seize my mother's assets, demanded to know how much Mom had in the bank. My mother listened to the rants, then told my sister she required what little she had to live on. As soon as both my parents passed away, my sister and her husband demanded that I turn over all my possessions to them. I'm still trying to figure out how that makes sense. With that kind of logic, when they want a new car, they walk on the lot, pick the one they want, and demand title without paying for it? Life is too short to be held hostage by someone else's delusions.