my interesting family

The adjective 'interesting' can be used to cover a spectrum of meanings and to varying degrees depending on tone and emphasis. I choose to use this as sardonically as possible. Now, I love my family. The reason I label myself as sister on this site is because that is the role I love dearest in life. I love no one as much as my siblings. I even like my siblings. How many adolescents can claim that. But it is the parents that cause the problems in the family. They are interesting. Rephrase: they are crazy. Most of the time I love, even like, them. I may be the only one of their five kids who does on occasion. However, this weekend I crashed to my lowest and it is all reaction to them.
Dad found out about Bob. Who's Bob? I have a sneaking suspicion that he is Satan in human form, come to rip our family to shreds. The only thing I can prove, however, is that he is my mom's boyfriend, and that they were together before my parents' divorce. Bob, nicknamed Boob by Heather, was kept secret from my father. Of course it is possible that Dad knew and made himself forget about Bob. His ability to do that is amazing if also scary. Saturday Dad decides to interrogate me when I take him to a movie. Who's Bob? Why's Mom on a trip with him? Now the reason that Bob is a secret is not out of respect for my mother. We kids have very little of that at times. Rather the situation of telling dad would be so heinously uncomfortable that we all passed. Even under pressure I opted out. This is not my place or my responsibility. I AM NOT THE GROWN UP IN THIS SITUATION! I listened to my dad complain about his lot in life, which I admit is pretty crappy. I listened to him talk of his depression. I started crying.
When I got home from the movie I go for my cell phone. Mom is supposed to be backpacking through the Sierras with Bob, but she answers her phone. I am sobbing. Mom I have questions, but it's not a good time. But WHY? Why did you cheat on dad? Why did you just walk away from the marriage. WHY? I'm right. Not a good time. She promises to call me when she gets home. Is it just me, or is two and a half years after she starts dating a man a bit late to finally talk to her kids about it? Isn't it a law that parents have to sit their children down awkwardly and explain things like this, like divorce and change. On TV even the bad parents do that.
I wish the weekend had ceased there. Monday I was cheery, until Nora called. Dad emailed her with a threat to kill himself or someone else. This was followed by a list of ways he knew how to kill a man, courtesy of Vietnam. That's sick, but so is my dad. The poor bastard is skitzophrenic, a fact he managed to hide for twenty-seven years of marriage. And he went off his meds on Friday. I hope he checks himself into the crazy bin again for a few days. I am worried about him, but then again he has threatened suicide since I was little. Never to me; he left pleasing notes for mom. That combined with her terrible communication habits: no wonder their marriage failed.