My sister has a few close friends that she met as an adult (no one from childhood). I’ve got more of a mix of childhood friends and adult friends. Consequently she knows a few of my friends, but I know none of hers.
She’ll tell me about her friends’ lives, so and so got divorced, other friend tripped and broke her arm. On and on. And if I don’t show visible concern and ask about them (for weeks following whatever incident) I can tell she thinks I’m unfeeling, she’ll repeat the story and tell stronger details till I feign massive concern. Our mum did this too, expected me to get upset that old Tommy lost his favourite pipe, or Barbara got dropped from the knitting club.
Am I a monster? In all honesty, I don’t care about these people any more than I’d care for strangers in the next town, or Nepal, or on Jupiter. Sad about the pipe, but sort of theoretically, not emotionally engaged with it. Is this normal? My sister doesn’t think so.
I am a bit depressed (for years), but also am
a different temperament than my mum and sister. Neither is right or wrong … or maybe I am? It seems kind of exhausting to be invested in strangers, but perhaps others don’t find it so?