It has been such a long time since I have written here. For awhile, I felt I had to let it go, let my sister go. It is of course, an impossible task. It is also contagious this grief and spiraling anxiety. Mental health is so tenuous for all of us, something we take for granted when it is well, something completely encompassing when it's not.

I have been separated from my husband now for over 10 months. To be sure, the strain from my sister was unbearable at times but with some hindsight behind me, I can see the tenuous nature of my husband's mental health was also at play. I wonder sometimes if I am a magnet for the unwell. In the end, he was so unwell, diabolically unwell. I used to think no one could outdo my sister in that capacity - the desire to wreck me. I was wrong.

I am blogging from a very different perspective now. My sister's addictions have all but over run her mental health - so much so that I have to remind myself she is sick or else I would be swept up in a tide of bitterness, unable to love her. But I do. The sickening difference is how quickly I was able to unlove my husband when he began exhibiting the same symptoms, the same impulsive, self centered, destructive symptoms. I'm still trying to decide if he is mentally ill or just an asshole. Which has made me wonder how many mentally ill people are out there - undiagnosised,unaware of the wire connections breaking down. And it makes me wonder - am I one of them? I feel something akin to insanity these days. I find myself jealous of my sister's behaviors being attributed to her illness over and over again, the way people wave off her impulsiveness and recklessness. I do it too. I have read so much, researched so much to try and understand but I assure you that I still do not understand. As sick as I feel inside, as damaged and wrecked as I am, I still get up everyday and go to work. I raise my children, her child, and many others. I manage. Why? Why doesn't this feeling of insanity over take me? My anxiety is so bad, I have trouble sleeping, then even more trouble waking, always so scared of what the day will bring. I do not see joy anymore - but then I re-read my posts and I wonder if I ever did. They all seem eerily alike, as if I have been trapped in this insanity for a long, long time. People tell me that the family of the mentally ill or addicts are probably sicker than the person. Is that true? Is that what happened to my husband?

The end of my marriage feels like some more collateral damage. I worry I will never be able to love anyone again - it seems so pointless, so risky. I know - it always has been right? Love is risky. But I never considered love to be dangerous. It feels like the love I had for my sister and my husband is sinking me. How much more can I take? Do I even have anything left to give?

The only running I'm doing now is away. I don't think I'll ever get far enough to feel peace again. For the record, I have no compassion for my husband. It feels too scripted, like he watched her long enough to know what to say and what to do to look crazy and then POOF! He was well again. He left me with so much pain that my compassion dims for everyone else now too. I have learned that loving someone and trying to do the right thing by them does not always lead to the path of redemption. Sometimes people don't care what you give up for them - as long as they have what they need, they'll let you rot. My husband and my sister are exactly the same that way.

When it rains...

You get a little complacent when things go well - not perfect, not even close but well. We see the signs, the cracks, the theoretical nightmares but we pray each time that this time will be different. My sister can live in scenarios we could not even ponder but she does. Her friends are addicts, other people struggling with mental illness - they are odd and out of place. My family always feels a little uncomfortable around them because she lacks the ability to be discerning. She always says, "Oh my God, I have never met anyone like them. They are seriously so cool and really nice". It's like a giant gong in my ear when I hear it. A warning gong. Sometimes they are the nicest, coolest people. There have been some. They never last. They see her easily, they want to help her, they usually smother her. We want to warn them but we just smile. We close our eyes and bite our tongues when we get the fresh newcomer who says, "she just needs a little love and care". We nod. Of course she does. We are not morons. We know that the girl needs some love and care. We know she needs money too. She needs someone to talk her down when she is panicked so she won't cut or use or worst case scenario try to kill herself. We know that love and care are easily mis-represented by her as an open door. The boundaries blur. The rules, the code of a family living with an addict start to sway. We know. We know that in an attempt to have some small power in her life she will fight you over the smallest thing and make the biggest deal over nothing. We know it will eat her when you gently remind her that there are some things she just can't do. We know. I'll tell you what else we know - we know when she has met someone just like her. We know that the clock starts to tick right away in how long before the whole thing explodes. It is inevitable because despite her flaws, my sister is strong and she doesn't like to take any crap. It is the only thing we cling to knowing no matter what happens she will fight to the death. So believe me, we are glad when our fighter thats he is took an incredible hit and came back from it - her latest room mate, her addicted friend who wanted to walk through recovery with her - stabbed her.

Yeah, she stabbed her.

When my phone rings at 5:30am, it is never good. I listened to her voice as she hysterically relayed the night's events to me. She said she was scared and alone. She said she was tired of doing this shit. She said she didn't want to do it anymore. For the first time in a long time I told her i would pick her up. She said she wasn't stitched up yet. She would call me when she was done. I waited for her to call. She didn't. She called my husband later that night and said she had gone back to the apartment and then her room mate showed up so she called the police again and they escorted her out because her name was not on the lease. We told her not to put her name on the lease in case anything happened, she wouldn't be responsible. AS it turns out, ti also means the police can escort you without any of your things as the person who stabbed you watches all smug as you leave. She can never win. How can these things keep happening to her unatoned for? But of course, it is an easy answer - she's an addict. She has mental illness. She is barely a human being anymore. And she is so aware of this.

Here's the catch. I didn't try to call her back. I waited all day for her to call me and she didn't. It was like my get out of jail free card. I planned all day what I would do with her son, with my kids so she could stay with me. I didn't - couldn't - let them see her that way. I begged and I pleaded with God to just make it right this one time. Give me some strength to be there for her. I've gotten so cold with her - expect these terrible things to happen to her that I can no longer see the significance of the situations. Someone fucking stabbed my sister. Think about that. What would you do if someone stabbed someone you loved? Would you cry? Would you get in your car? Would you seek justice or make a million phone calls until someone noticed and gave a shit? You would. Everyone would. I stayed home and crawled under my covers and stayed there all day. I didn't cry. I didn't phone. I didn't do anything. I thought to myself that if she called I would spring into action. I would do right by her this time. I kept the phone by my bed. I waited. I was relieved when she called my husband and said she had somewhere to stay and was looking into a residential program to stay in. She is so smart that way, my sister. She can make impossible things happen just when you thought she had burned her last bridge. She was not this amazing when she just had to call us and we came running. And we did. And now we don't. I don't.

But something funny happens when I shirk my duty to my sister to someone else. I can justify it ten ways to Tuesday and everyone supports me. But the funny thing is I start to fall. It is as if I can feel her pain, sweating it out of every pore. I can't get myself out of bed. I can't smile. I see no joy in anything. I cry in between every visit at work. I lose interest in clients and I don't call them back. I can't wait to get home and do nothing. I waste my life - my practically perfect life. I don't want it anymore. All the colors fade, the sun never shines as brightly and if it does, I feel uncomfortable and unworthy. It is like her disease chase me down and pins me to the ground and asks me "How do you like it?". I feel her. I ooze her - bloody, pussy ooze. We are dying together.

Why don't I go to her then? Why don't I embrace her and give her the love and care that even virtual strangers know she needs so desperately? When I have her, why can't I enjoy her? Take delight in her? Why do I feel so venomous around her - so distant and cold? I know that if I let anything in - if I feel one tiny bit, just one little thing - it will overwhelm me. It eats me from the inside out. That voice - that hysterical voice telling me she got stabbed - it got me. I felt the stab of feeling. I felt it just a tiniest bit. It wiggled into me like a hook worm before I even knew it was there. Microscopic. It festered and grew and it started to consume me. The tiniest feeling of regret and guilt and pain - it started to devoured me. I have worked so hard to feel nothing. I simply cannot afford that luxury. And even with that one tiny bit I can feel it suffocating everything that matters. Nothing matters while she is sick and unloved and uncared for. And I hold my breath and I hope that someone, some unsuspecting someone will come along and fill in for me - fill her up just a tiny bit and make her feel worthy. Because I am no longer capable. I am useless to her and now to me.

I want to know - how can someone stab your sister while you stay home and curl up in your bed? I feel vile and despicable. But I know the consequences of letting her back in my life. I am unable to keep her out. When she is in, there is no one else. I would do this - I have done this, hoping she would get better. But she doesn't. She just devours me and everything in my life. She doesn't even know it. We love her too much. And from hr point of view, it looks like we do not love her at all.

Unravelling

My husband is struggling with depression. This isn't entirely surprising given our circumstances over the last two years and he is just finishing a masters program. You would think he has landed in the exact right relationship if needing support for depression given that I have years of experience in dealing with people I love having depression. You would think by now I would know just what to say and how to say it. You would think I would be the last one to judge. But you would be wrong. It is my personal struggle to support him and he knows it. He has managed our lives through so much trauma and discontent. He has had to watch me go through my own merciful pain with absolutely no background whatsoever in depression and mental illness. His expectation is that I be there to support him and he is right. I am wrong. I know this.

I have personally been a champion of the cause of mental illness - rights, perceptions, discriminations. I have waggled my finger at many others about their narrow views and inability to understand. I feel like someone needs to waggle their finger at me. I want nothing to do with this. I feel bitter that my husband is going through depression. I feel angry and am resorting back to "you could stop this if you would just try" attitude. I feel cheated and I am pissed off. It's not the right response. I know he is very confused and I feel helpless to remedy this. I don't want to hold anyone else up with this despicable disease. I want it to stop infecting my life. I feel like even when I am depressed and low that I am incapable of caring for even myself - in fact, it is the times when I come to despise myself. It pushes me to get up and get out of that place even though it is clear to me that I have never quite eased myself out of the hole since my sister got sick again. I am not a well person. I am not making well decisions. I am putting my marriage at risk because I am screaming to the powers that be that I refuse to take anymore mental illness in my life. I have drawn my line in the sand. It makes me hate myself and yet I wonder if I could manage without doing so.

I miss my husband. I wonder if he and my former sister that I miss so much are somewhere frolicking in the flowers. I picture them with rosy cheeks and silliness that doesn't cover perceived inadequacies. I picture them laughing and crying at all the right times and being happy to be here. I picture the life we all used to share before this happened to us. We are so cold now, unable to see each other's perspectives, unwilling even. We want redemption. We want exactly what we cannot give anymore - compassion and peace. I want to smack myself when I tell my husband that I simply cannot help him. I tell him I have done this all my life and I don't want to do it anymore. Indeed there are days I am repulsed by his helplessness and then I am equally disgusted by my selfishness.

I see my Father in my husband so clearly and it makes me mad that Freud always seemed to be on to something with his theories. We repeat our comfort with family of origin. I tried to trick Freud's theory and find someone utterly opposite of my family. I used to joke that my husband had rainbows shoved up his ass because he was always so cheerful. He used to wake me up everyday with a silly voice and a kiss. It used to make me so mad because I couldn't get back to sleep. I used to tell him I needed an hour in the morning to work up to happy and I enjoyed my miserable musings in the morning - thank you very much. But he was persistent and unwaivering. I was so convinced of his infallibility to mental illness that I married him within a year of our meeting. He was gentle and kind with my sister and he loved my mom - genuinely, not just for me. And we joked about how my mom loved him more than her own kids. She was so proud that he wanted to be in our family and it was probably the first time my mom ever felt safe with one of our boyfriends. She said she could curl up in his capable hands and just fall asleep, even when her worry threatened to destroy her. He was something of a Saviour in my family. Not too much pressure right?

I feel like we have ruined him. It was only a matter of time. He is dark and brooding now. He has seen the worst of mental illness, he has been undone by it. Now he is plagued by it and the light that used to seep out of him is gone. It seemed impossible to me to topple this giant of a man - indeed it was the only reason I married him. I tried many times to convince him to walk away from me and my family - I told him directly that I was worried he wouldn't be able to handle it. I told him to go and ruin his own life - that I did not want to be responsible. But he was so persistent. He wanted it all he said - the good, the bad, the ugly. My goodness, he got exactly what he asked for.

How can I be so merciless to a man who gave it all up to see us through this tragedy? Why am I so angry? It is so unfair. I know this. But a wall literally springs up between us when I see his slow shuffle or hear the sadness in his voice. I don't want this again. I don't want to love someone who will never come back and I would rather walk away from it then watch it happen again. I see my Father in those eyes - the big man who fell to his death in such a horrible way. I think to myself that I could not make it through another. I could not ever bear that kind of pain. So I do not feel. At all. I will not share my husband's burden. What will he think of me when he pulls through this? How will he look at me in good times knowing I hid in the bad times? That was not what we agreed in our vows. Help me. I scream this to no one. Help these feelings to just go away. The one person who can help me through this is sinking. Ironic. Tragically ironic.

Xmas mornings

I want to say I hate the ever creeping approach of Christmas but I don't. I love Christmas and the trimmings and tidings and the grandiose, over the top expense of it all. I love shopping for my kids. I love wrapping presents. I love planning dinner and tripping all over town from party to party. I love it.

I love it because I used to hate it.

That's right, I used to despise it and a know used to form in a my stomach as soon as the first Christmas decorations showed up in the mall. I would worry and wonder what could happen with my family this year? In fact, I banned them all from Christmas morning so my kids could open presents in peace. SO I could enjoy just a half a day of the holidays. It was one of the first times I put boundaries in with my family and I did it for my kids. And Christmas mornings were magical. It still never gets old for me and even when my first husband and I separated, he still came over every Christmas morning and opened presents with our kids. We still have brunch on Christmas morning, all of us. Those boundaries are the best thing I ever did. It paved the way for me to love Christmas again. LOVE it.

Boundaries are a funny thing though because as necessary as they are, they are a painful process to put in place. The first time you put it out there, everyone revolts. People absolutely refuse to believe you would be so unkind or so selfish. The backlash is momentous. So you falter. And you waver. And you second guess what you are doing. But if you stay the course, things even out, people start to accept the boundaries and either they fall away from your life altogether or you fall into some comfortable rhythm. Christmas became my love song. People got over it and indeed even admired it.

But boundaries get skewed with mental illness. Two years ago, my sister got kicked out of where she was living on Christmas Eve and she had planned to have both of her kids. So we took her in. I mean - what choice did I have right? We started a new tradition of Christmas Eve Fondue and it was fun. I ran out and filled three extra stockings and we just muddled through. Christmas morning, my sister was there. It was the first time in 14 years I had anyone else at our Christmas morning. But extraordinary circumstances right?

Last year, my sister did not have anywhere to go for Christmas again. We supervise her time with her daughter so if she wanted to see her, we would have to take them all. So we did. And she slept over and was here for Christmas morning. My husband bought me an anniversary band. It was very special because really we had only been married one year and anniversary bands are for year 10 but he said it felt like we had lived through 10 years already. It was very awkward to get that gift in front of my sister and she kept making jokes about how she would probably never get that kind of gift and how she could be my husband's other "wife". It was the reason we banned everyone from Christmas morning because it was private and intimate and just something we shared that didn't get polluted by family politics. It felt awful because it was not a joke really, because my sister's life has been irrevocably changed and here I am living this very normal and lovely life. The guilt bleeds off of me. It is hard to feel joyful in front of her because it highlights what she does not have. And she is quick to point it out and make loud jokes and bring it up over and over. She would say she doesn't want us to act differently or be someone we are not but in reality it is a showing off of a life she covets in many ways and it cannot be hidden but we do our best to downplay it.

And so we have - downplayed out joy for over 2 years. And now none of us can seem to re-claim it. Christmas is coming. My sister is broke and has already moved out of her housing into somewhere else. Problems occurred right away. We will be responsible to supervise her daughter. She will stay for Christmas but an incident a few weeks ago means she cannot stay here by herself and she is not welcome at other places we might go and so Christmas will be all about my sister and getting her at least the bare minimum of what we can offer her as "normal". And I wonder when will I stop being so resentful and angry? When will I feel blessed to have this time left with her when we thought she would die so many times over the last 2 years? When will it stop being so watered down and dismal?

I want to give her all the joy I can in the time she has left. I want her kids to have memories of her that they will cherish forever. I would have wanted someone to orchestrate that for me and my siblings years ago when my parents were at odds - I wanted them to suck it up and just pretend that Christmas could be lovely again. They didn't and we are all haunted by the ghost of Christmas Past every damn year. Why can't I just make it beautiful and joyful - a single day where we forget what has happened and be present. I just can't do it. And I weep daily wondering how I will feel about Christmas when she is gone, when there is no chance to redeem the situation. I lived such huge regrets after my dad died - I should have called, I should have tried, I should have made the first step. How can I re-live this over and over?

Simply because it is not as easy a lovely Christmas day. Do you know how many times I answered my phone when my sister first got sick? How many days of work I missed and then missed some more of without reporting it? Do you know how many pep talks and words of encouragement I dispensed on a daily basis. Sometimes for hours - then to have her attempt suicide the next day after all that time and energy and sacrifice.And then to have her joke about that too. She took advantage of me and I let her. She did not think of my children and the weeks that would go by without seeing them because I was with her. The hours we drove to pick up her daughter and the embarrassment and the humiliation at the hands of her ex's family. Though she knows how hard I have struggled to maintain my Christmas mornings with my kids - she would never suggest she come over after or even ask. She will say, "I'm sorry I don't have anywhere else to go". It will guilt laden and resistant. And I am her sister and why can't I make this lovely for her? Why can't I just give it up and be there for her and lose the regrets and bitterness? Because the more I give, the more she takes. If I fall back at all, if I lose my boundaries anymore, she will pounce. If I believe her, she will lie. If I stop looking, she will fall. It is not a guess. It never ceases to amaze me how accurate my gut is in telling me something is wrong even when she denies it and chastises me for my lack of faith. It is almost never wrong and I can tell by the sound of her voice most days that she has done something that is going to get her into trouble. I miss the naivety we had before we figured it all out. I miss my Christmas mornings with my family before we had to let the rest of the world in.

RIP

I am praying for my Dad, for all the Dads lost - Rest in Peace.

2 steps forward...10 steps back

I have been waking up every morning again with my crazy anxiety. The kind that keeps you up at night and won't let you sleep in. I realize more and more that I am a changed person and I see it more clearly, how much I am struggling to keep up with regular people. I just cannot get back to me, not since my sister became lost. I truly don't trust anyone anymore - not even my best friends. My life used to be so different. I remember when people used to line up at the door for my birthday parties and I went out every weekend. It seemed like there was no lack of places to be and people to be with. When I look at myself in the mirror, my face has changed, literally changed. I have aged in two years beyond what I thought possible. I feel so excited to go out and have fun and then just before I go out I think, "I don't want to do this". My stomach starts to hurt and I feel suddenly very aware of how different I look and how different I feel and I think people will notice and they won't like it. In truth I know that it is me who is turning people away. I don't want to explain my life anymore, I don't want people to judge me or talk about me like I am the winner of the Most Dysfunctional Family Award. I get it - we're a fucked up bunch. I think the difference is I never used to care what people thought. I was confident and I used to be able to say, "so what?" if someone didn't like me then. It changed how people saw me, even if they didn't like me, they were drawn in by my confidence and my fun - I never seemed to be anywhere I wasn't having fun. Now I am fucking paranoid and sketchy, everywhere I go. I feel like I can't go anywhere without someone else I know, who will rescue me if God forbid anyone tries to talk to me. I say weird things because I feel so nervous all the time. I wish I had the same confidence I do at work - for some reason, being around other people who are just as messed up makes me stand straighter and talk prouder.

I used to have a charmed life - despite the circumstances of my family. My best friend used to live here and she would drag me out no matter what was going on. She lives in another country now and on her last trip here it was clear we were not on each other's level anymore. I was older, less willing to take risks, more wrapped up in my pain and suffering. She told me she doesn't email me as much or check in because I bring her down. I was of course offended and then devastated. I never thought I would be that person for her. I never thought I would be this person for me.

It started with my sister's boyfriend and his family. I loved him and he was definitely a part of our family. They came over and played games and drank with my husband and I while we were just dating. He came to me when he was worried about my sister or they were fighting. We were close. It was clear that his family didn't really like me - they thought I was showy and loud and probably over the top. It is hard to imagine me like that anymore but they were probably right. The thing is, his family didn't seem to like him that much either. He was kind of the outcast so we just took him under our wing and made him our own. I never gave it much thought - this family that didn't seem to like me. I felt beautiful and outgoing and fun and they were probably just jealous. This is how I used to feel - infallible. When things went wrong with my sister, I could not believe how quickly that family turned on me. They blamed me - outright. Said I was the one who put all the ideas in her head. They told people they SAW me in the bathroom doing drugs. They called the police and said I had my sister on my caseload at work and the police came to my work, talked to my boss. I had to go under oath time after time in court and prove my worth. They laughed and waved mockingly when I dropped my niece off after visitations. They wrote "anonymous" emails saying how I was responsible for what my sister had done and I should be ashamed and that my children would probably grow up to be losers just like me. They called Child Welfare and make accusations about neglect. It went on and on and on. I had never in my life been so disliked - hated even.

When my husband and I started dating, this was not happening yet. It would happen very soon after we met but at first I was definitely the party girl. I didn't get to go out often so I always made sure to make the most of it. Before my husband and I started dating I met all of his friends at BBQs and parties and they seemed to love me. Or maybe I just didn't see it or care if they didn't back then. I knew who I was, I was confident. I never felt worried then that people didn't like me and for all intense purposes, they seemed to love when I showed up. After we started dating, things got weird. A girl I knew for a long time and who was a friend of a friend but someone I thought I knew fairly well "cautioned" my husband about dating me. She said I was a party girl, and she was worried I would hurt him. She was worried I would embarrass her actually. When I confronted her, she totally denied it but things started to get worse after all the stuff with my sister started to happen. I was distraught. I can't honestly imagine what I must have looked like or sounded like. I know I told stories everywhere I went - I was not embarrassed, I was devastated. It consumed me and I could see people were starting to pull away from me. It felt like all of my husband's friends were suddenly very worried about him, about him being with me. His family was equally worried. They questioned if he wanted to be in the middle of this. They questioned if he wanted to be with me. The more he stuck to his guns and stood by me, the more people seemed to dislike me. I have never fit into his family and the gap just got wider and wider. I feel like they tolerate me now and they definitely barely tolerate my family. They do not have open arms for them at all. We will never share Christmas together, they will never ask. I get it. We're a fucked up bunch.

So in a year, I was completely ousted by three different groups of people. I started to change. I started to notice people standing further from me. I heard whispers and saw stares. I realized that I was now the freak. Maybe I always was - I just honestly never noticed. Or maybe I never cared. But I see it now, the uncomfortable feeling people have around me - even new people I have never met because I am different. I am nervous and always looking for clues that people know I am not the same as them. I can't tell stories anymore. I am envious of other people's lives. For some reason, this had never happened to me before. I was always so glad for people's lives and successes. I was always the first person people would call to tell me their good news because I was genuinely happy for them. I am struck by so much envy and pain now it is hard to function. It is hard to be around people in love, people with new babies, new jobs, family functions. I went through a whole summer of weddings and spent most of them in the bathroom crying after the Father/Daughter dance or the speeches of how wonderful the couple was, all they had done. My life would never be that way again. And I was envious. I was sick with jealousy. It has made me bitter and unapproachable. I am changed by my family's shortcomings in a way I never was before. I used to be the rock. I used to be the forgiveness in my family. I used to make the lemonade out of those lemons and now I just let them rot.

13 years ago tomorrow, my Dad hung himself. I guess looking back at his funeral, I did have experiences where people left me out, where people started to stay very far from me for a time. No one knows what to say when your Dad hangs himself. My Dad's whole family shunned us kids. We were to blame and in truth, I stood out as the biggest target of blame. I shouldered that for years to protect them and to protect my Dad. I couldn't blame him for his own actions and I couldn't allow others to either. Blame the golden girl gone wrong - the one who broke his heart with a child out of wedlock at 19. Blame me. I blamed me for so many years and I am sure I could still dig up a morsel of blame today if you try hard enough. Tomorrow it will be 13 years. 13 years from that first degradation. My first public humiliation. The first tear in my heart that could not be repaired. But I did move on. I got stronger, I got rid of people in my life who did not understand or who did not support me. I found strength in the people who stood by me. I blossomed in many respects. I stood up for myself and for my children. I stopped caring what people said and I only privately lamented every year on Remembrance Day - when I took a whole week to cry and carry on and be ridiculous. But people in my life allowed it and I wiped my tears and I carried on every year. And in truth, I was so genuinely loved and cared for in that time that it started to melt away - the regret and the pain. I looked and seemed normal again. I laughed and partied and loved recklessly. My boyfriend for 8 years - not the most stable guy - but his family embraced me, his friends adored me, he worshiped me even though he could not get up on his own two feet. There was comfort with him and everyone in his life. I can tell you, birthdays and Christmas were amazing. Life was not easy and he was not easy - but people admired me then. I miss that. It's like never seeing the sun again.

I have become a tired, paranoid, cynical and ever on guard girl. If you knew me two years ago, you wouldn't recognize me today. I feel beaten. I went to a party the other day and I left by 10:30 because my anxiety was so bad. I knew there were people who didn't like me or maybe just didn't get me. I could not figure out a way to explain it - I could not see a way to fit in. Two years ago I was the last girl at the party. I loved going out and meeting new people and hanging with whoever. My friend said I was the girl you could take anywhere - you could dress me up or dress me down and I could talk to anyone. She said I was an excellent wing man. I cannot even imagine that now. My nerves are shot. I don't feel pretty anymore. No matter how hard I try it is etched on my face, I am lost. I am hardened and angry. I don't have patience anymore for small talk and gossip. I am guarded. I wonder why people are asking me questions - as if that isn't what people who don't know you have always done. I feel compelled to tell them nothing and then vomit up my life all in the same moment. I simply don't know what to say anymore. I don't know what's appropriate. I used to be an open book but now the story is so sad. It haunts me and you can see it. I just don't know where to start and I don't know where to end when I get started so I simply don't go out anymore. I am withdrawing more and more every day. I am tired of being judged. I am tired of being the outcast. I am just tired.

I am claimed by my family.

And it feels like not one soul could ever love me again for what I am now. She will never know, my sister, she will never know how this has ruined me. My carefree butterfly sister, we used to be so glamorous and so adored. What happened to us? I am simply not sure how to turn this story around. When we were young we just drank the woes away, we partied and laughed and we dressed up the hurts and we drew people to us with our charm and good looks. We never seemed empty like we do now. People were more forgiving, more accepting then. I guess after years people stop caring. Indeed, people can actually stop loving you. I had no idea that was possible. I know it now.

The Finish Line

So I finished my first 10km race and it was such a metaphor for my life with my sister that it was almost ironic and ridiculous. My race was very difficult because it had hills - BIG fucking hills. I have tried to train for hills but the concept still entirely eludes me. My heart started racing 10 steps up the first hill, it loomed over me and it seemed so far up. I wanted to run it but I couldn't. I walked then ran, walked some more, ran a little bit, walked a lot more and finally got to the top of that monster hill. I thought it would be 1km but it was 3km. I wasn't prepared and I knew my time would be terrible and despite knowing I was at least going to finish this race, I felt devastated. I thought about my sister the whole time and I realized that this is how she must feel - trying so hard and knowing it's just not going to be exactly what you hoped for at the end. I totally felt like giving up sometimes. I said "Fuck" a lot when I had to slow down. I was so frustrated and angry but I could not make my body do what I wanted my body to do. It just wasn't ready, it did not have enough familiarity with the pain to push through it with any kind of force. I truly truly just wanted to be proud that I finished but I kept having these odd twinges of regret and embarrassment when people asked me my time. I was not on par with these runners and I realized that despite their very best efforts not to, they were judging me. Not judging me to be unkind or cruel, but they had their own perceptions of the race, the pace and the way they handled the hills - they could not begin to understand mine and the great effort it took for me. They could not understand why it was so difficult because they had the ability to do it and many of them had done it before. This is the world my sister lives in - never quite measuring up and always having people measure her by their own measuring stick. It's not always meant to be unkind or cruel but I can see that it sure must feel that way. It doesn't matter how many times you tell me I tried my best or what a great job I did, I will feel the sting of failure. I will rebuke myself for not pushing harder, for not training more for not just being better despite how unrealistic it is having just put in some real training for a month. I just want to be really good and it's that simple. I know I have to work twice as hard now because of my age and my serious lack of exercise for 2 years - I know I have built in handi-caps. But it doesn't matter at the finish line, I am still undone because me and them - we are just not the same and I know it. My sister and I know this, my sister knows this everyday. It makes me want to train harder and it makes me want to lie down and cry until I can't possibly cry any more. Because my sister doesn't fit in, neither do I anymore.

I realized this weekend that my walls are WAY up. I had thought I was mellowing and settling but I saw how much work I have to do. It was a girl's weekend, all piled into a condo laughing and sharing our lives. I did not want to share my life. I felt compelled to stay upstairs in my bed and pull the blankets over my head. Obviously I have stories to share that are appropriate and lovely but they are so deeply intertwined with my stories of discord and heartbreak it is hard to separate them out and tell them in a charming manner that screams "Look at me, I'm normal just like you". I can't tell the story of my children without telling about my nephew which means I have to explain why I have him. And even as vague as I have learned to be, I hate the unsure glances and the sickening smell of curiosity and judgement milling around the room. People want to feel bad for me but they must at the exact same time wonder who my sister is and what mother would leave her child behind. They get a little more protective of their stories and their lives, they get a little self righteous. The line gets thicker between us. I'm not welcome on the other side of the line anymore even if I have done nothing wrong. I want to be separate from my sister as much as I want to be completely entombed with her to protect her and give her some credibility. Having a sister who still loves you after everything you've done gives her some credibility, it makes people give her a second chance because it means there must be something worthwhile about her even if they can't see it. So it is still my responsibility to keep her in this race and shuffle her through to the finish line and bear the judgments that rain down on her. It is still my cross even though I have tried to shed it and allow her the responsibility of her own life. We are both irrevocably changed by this disease, we are colored by it even when you don't know it. You just know there is something different about us. My social skills are lacking, my ability to be just me is nearly impossible. I don't trust people with my story anymore. I don't want to get close to anyone new because I do not want to explain it and risk you walking away because of the complication. I am closed for business. My self confidence is shallow and easy to see through these days. I am so good at tricking you from far away but close up you can see it - the nervousness and the anxiety of trying to be normal just like you. I think of my sister's nervous laughter that drives me crazy, how she smokes and makes fun of everything in her attempts to find your normal. But you are not fooled. She is ousted immediately. I felt that this weekend in a tiny fraction of what she must feel everyday. And I cried for myself when I got home and then I cried for her and I realized that running is not the only thing I need to train for. I'm training for normal.