The damn play.....

God, I miss my sister today. 

I miss her, I miss her, I miss her.

And I am going to break her heart again. I simply don't know a way around it. Frankly, I want to get under the covers and never come out. 

Her son is in his first play at his new Fine Arts School. It is a big event there, the whole school participates in the play - The Wizard of Oz this year. He is a poppy who puts Dorothy and her friends to sleep. My sister goes into Rehab on March 6 and his play is March 5 - we have tried our best to make it happen that she will be there. We have a ticket for her. She could go and watch him and head into rehab the next day. In my head I envisioned her filling up with joy and pride and floating to rehab ready to fight her addictions with a renewed sense of hope and motivation.

That's my agenda.

My sister refuses to speak to me. She had called one night soon after we had to ask her to leave our house for drinking. She was extremely angry with my husband and she had been ranting to my mom about how much she hated us. She wanted to talk to her son and my husband said he didn't think it was a good idea right now. Hear the sound of our covenant to never keep her from her son cracking.

My husband is a very smart and kind man. He is not evil or vindictive but he made a mistake. He came to me and told me what happened, we discussed it and he decided to call her back and apologize and let her speak to her son. She has not gotten over this. My mother says she talks about this every day - that we broke our promise, that she cannot believe how awful we are (I am saying this in a much nicer way than she does) and that she will never forgive us.

Back to the play. My mom and sister do not live in the same city as we do. They need a place to stay overnight to go to the play. My husband and I told my sister that we would no longer have her here overnight because the last three times she drank. It is not just the drinking - it is the over exposure to her son. He loves her so much and he is devastated to see her in so much pain. He feels he is the reason she is in pain. I promised her I would protect him no matter how hard it got - when she was well enough to understand what that might mean. Now that she is so fiercely ill and cannot remember our deal, she viciously tries to rip me apart when I gently remind her how fragile he is. 

Of course, she will not speak to me. We cannot discuss this, I cannot quell her pain and her feelings of abandonment. I cannot tell her that I would lie under a train if I could get her here to watch her son and sit together as a family and smile and laugh at him as he dances around on stage. In my mind, I can see her smiling at me slyly and covering her mouth as she stifles back tears because she is so proud. I can see her scooping him up and squeezing him until he squeals. In my mind I see how amazing this night should be. 

But she will not talk to me. I have asked my mother to have her call me so we can make a plan in case she gets overwhelmed. I suspect she is plotting revenge on me and my husband as she has before. She wants to lash out and she wants to hurt us. She says she will stay here and stay in her son's room and she won't speak to any of us. She has forgotten the logistics of getting her son to bed at the right time and brushing his teeth. Of reading him a story and gently reminding him to put his bad thoughts away and think of something happy. He is unable to do that while she is here. She wants to lock him in a room with her and forge a revenge on us. She does not see the impact this will have on him. 

She has forgotten the logistics of the tickets and the seats so close together and driving there because my mom is too scared to drive in the city. She will be overcome with guilt and remorse as she watches him dance on the stage wondering where she was while this was all being planned, wondering how come she didn't know until right at that moment he was to be a poppy.  She has forgotten how embarrassed he is at school functions of explaining who I am and who she is and how it all works. I think he has told people she is in the hospital so they will wonder how she got there. Her demeanor is so reckless and unforgiving. She is loud and rude and aggressive. I want to believe that she could attend his play and be grateful for the moment, that she could store the memory in her mind to recall when she was falling, that it would motivate her and keep her strong in rehab. 

But I fear that the opposite will happen. 

I just fear.

Every day.

And so I spoke with my mother yesterday and we decided it was best to stay with the original plan and not have her come here and set her up for failure. My mother will try to discuss with her what she is feeling and how we can make this play happen without overwhelming her and hurting her. My husband and I have agreed not to go so that she can be there if that works better. I will do that for her even though it kills me to not be there for my nephew. I want him to have her anyway he can. I want her to see his little face poking out of his poppy costume. I want it to heal her some, just a little. Please, oh pretty please?

But perhaps, she will just drive into town the next day and go straight to rehab, do not pass go, do not kiss the little boy in the Poppy costume. 

God, I miss her today.

Sins of the Sister

The picture I have on this blog is a picture of my wedding day - a year and a half ago. I love this picture of me and my sister almost as much as I hate it. Her wedding was to be a month before mine. At first she was mad at me for planning my wedding so close to hers. I had stolen her thunder. I was surprised at her reaction but when I thought about it I realized it could be taken that way. When I first decided to get married so close to her date it was because I wanted to share the experience with her - I wanted to go to bridal fairs and try on dresses together. I wanted to introduce her and her new husband at my wedding and have them walk down the aisle with us in their new glowing commitment of one another. That was what I was thinking, and when she finally told me her complaints about it, I realized I had never thought about it from that perspective. I did not think of how she would feel because I had already decided how awesome it would be in MY Head. 

We got through that and indeed it became a constant calling on each other to make decisions and wrap ribbon around candles and fill the gift bags. We were having two entirely different weddings. It was so cool to see it - our unique personalities coming out but influenced by each other. She let me buy her dress and it needed some tweaking so I did the alteration as well. I was so proud to be such a huge part of it. Her In-Laws were difficult and so were mine so we held each others hands and counted to 10 whenever we needed to. I have never seen my mother so happy as when she was planning her daughters' weddings. It is my second marriage and I told her once that I would never do it again because my heart had been so broken and here I was completely head over heels planning a life with a man my mother ADORED. But she also ADORED my sister's fiance - we all did. They were our best friends. Here's where I start to lose my composure. Here's where my heart breaks and I feel like I need to confess my own sins, my own contribution to her demise.

A week before her wedding, my sister's BPD took over her world. There would be no wedding. The bitterness from her In-Laws was corrosive and unyielding. They did not understand mental illness - they would not understand mental illness. They did not just hate my sister, they hated my whole family. They contrived a reign of terror over all of us - but especially my sister. Her daughter was taken from her in a way I could not even discuss today without having a break down. I want you to know that ultimately it was clear and still is that she cannot care for her infant daughter. But the way it was done will rip me to shreds for all the rest of my life. She has never recovered. Her son was tossed aside by this surrogate family. He will never recover.

I am still in shock today at how people have reacted to my sister's illness. Even professionals have said - she is beyond recovery.  Our friends have moved far away from us as if they will be somehow be tainted, as if it is contagious. Some days, I wonder that my self.

But here is my confession. The one I play over and over and cannot ease the regret of. When my sister's fiance left her we were one short in the wedding party. Her son no longer wanted to be the ring bearer. He said he could not do it. He was 7 years old and he wanted nothing to do with a wedding ever again. He was devastated by the loss of his "Dad". My sister had started drinking excessively, she had lost her job and wrecked her first vehicle in a string of three. She was emotional and explosive. She was hopeful one day and completely suicidal the next. We had been through 2 suicide attempts at this point. My bridesmaid and I discussed having a stagette. I was hesitant. I did not want to take my sister to a bar or even have her around alcohol. I decided to go ahead without her. I wrote her an email but she did not get it. She did however get wind of the stagette. She texted me the most vicious texts on my cell phone for the better part of 6 hours. I finally turned off my phone. She finally wrote me one last text and that said, "I got your email. I understand now. Sorry. I love you". I wanted to leave my party but I didn't. It was a terrible evening. Most of my friends I expected to come didn't come anyways - they had long ago abandoned me and my family. It was a disappointment and a curse.

I asked my sister to think about walking with my nephew down the aisle but he refused. He sad he couldn't and wouldn't do it. He cried and begged us not to make him. I told my sister I understood if she wanted to drop out of the wedding party and sit with her son. I told her I wanted her to make the best decision for herself and her son because I knew this day would be hard for her.

TRANSLATION: Please don't make me have to kick you out of my wedding party because I believe you will ruin my entire wedding and I don't want to be responsible for you on this ONE day.

She didn't get the translation. And she merrily planned to be a bridesmaid anyways. I kicked her out a couple of days before the wedding. 

At the time, I thought I was making the best decision for everyone. At least that got me to sleep for a couple of days. I was bitter. I had to cancel my first wedding and get married in Vegas because at the time my parents couldn't stop fighting. My first wedding was a disaster and I got married with none of my friends or family there. I have spent the better part of my life caring for my mother, then my brother, then my sister. I have always been the "go to girl" for my family and I have always "Gone to". All of my past relationships ended because of my family. It was too much for anyone to handle the brunt of that much mental illness and my always williness to drop whatever I was doing and go fix it. It was all encompassing. 

I decided that I was going to get ONE day for me. I was not going to be held hostage by my family's circumstances, I would not bow to pressure from my In-Laws to have a more traditional wedding, I would not invite family memebers just because they were family members. I had planned this wedding essentially to have something in my life done MY way. I had a poker game for my reception. I wore a much too revealing dress. I simply did not care what anyone thought and this time I was going to get my day.

Well I got my day. My sister was devastated and got drunk at the wedding. She was removed by my cousins. My In-laws left by 10pm before the poker game started and I may not have met most of them and we surely did not kiss and say good bye. It was a disaster. Exactly what I thought would NOT happen if I didn't have my sister in my bridal party.  Karma is a bitch.

I have been protecting myself and my family from my sister ever since. Sometimes her anger at me is so intense I am afraid she will kill me. I am afraid she wil kill herself somewhere that only I will find her. I am just afraid of my sister. I limit her visits here with her son for this reason. I am terrified to be around her. I push her very far away and I act like I don't care about her. She translates this very well. When I am not scared of her I am repulsed by her - the things she says and does. Her desperate attempts at conversation that include the details of her assault or arrests. I know these things are happening. I know she needs to talk to someone. I know she is confused about why we cannot just sit down and converse. I am confused about why we cannot talk either. I simply cannot hear anymore what happens to her. I can't sleep at night. I am tortured that I don't help her and I am tortured when I do. I am always still shocked when she lies or steals from me. I do not want to see or talk to her because I simply can't handle the fact that she is not getting better. I have abandoned her - like all the others I rebuke for their cowardice. 

I do not take my pennance lightly. I am not going to stand here and say that I have done nothing for her. I have given my all - my time, my tears, my money, my children. I was a machine for my sister. I never stopped. I never gave up. I thought if she KNEW how much I loved her, she would get better again. That actually happened once. She got better for TWO years. I recited that to myself every day. I BELIEVED it would happen. 

Now my sister is homeless, addicted, in and out of hospitals for her health, violent, disconnected from her children, suicidal, and penniless. I want to believe she will get better but I don't.

I know I have contributed to her despair. I will carry these sins for all the rest of my life. Her words don't make me angry at her - they make me angry at myself. No one blames me. I don't even blame me - it has been hell. I know that if I don't care for myself, for my children and hers, that no one will. In a year my health has so declined, my weight gain, my skin, my rolling depression. I do not recognize myself anymore. I do not want to go out. I have trouble feeling joy. My soul is dying. But I have choosen to live. It does not mean I will live without giant and unforgiving regrets. 

I write the terrible things here not because my life is all terrible but because it needs somewhere to live. My heart cannot possibly hold all this pain. I cannot choose to live but continue to kill my spirit. So I bring it here like an altar, like some respite from the sorrow. I don't harm myself or cut or fuel addictions in my pain. I just hold them as if they are revered and holy. I am not the one to pity here. I have married a man who loves this vessel of sorrow and my sister and her and my children despite its so very obvious deficits. I have a good job that fills a void in me. I have healthy and beautiful children. I even have a good relationship with my ex-husband and a lovely home and vehicle. I have friends who are connected at my soul. I can outrun the sorrows in my Asics some days. I am blessed. My sister carries the curse. 

My sister went back to the hospital today with a blood clot. My mom called to tell me and was really concerned because my sister said she didn't need to do treatment right away and would do it "later". I'm not a doctor but I think blood clots are fairly serious? So I talked with my mom who was fairly panicked and thought we could come up with a plan together - that's what we do on a weekly basis. My sister heard my mom on the phone and she said nice and loud "Tell her she doesn't have to pretend to care about me". 

Now I know my sister is bitter and angry about us asking her to leave, I don't even blame her. I just wish she didn't blame me either. It makes me want to say "Forget it - I don't love you anymore." I wanted to throw the phone across the room and rip up every picture of her. Sometimes I feel like I hate her. My life has been ripped apart by this disease. Not just hers - all of us, totally living in the devastation of what is left of her. I'm not even allowed to feel bad for her when she in the hospital. I'm not allowed to worry or call and check in. I'm nothing to her today. For a year and a half I have fought for her - lied for her - begged for her - manipulated for her. I have done things I am not proud of to get her stabalized. I don't want a medal - I want my sister back!

It just hurts - it shouldn't hurt anymore. I know better. I wish it didn't matter when she makes snide comments or writes me hateful email. I have a pretty tough skin when it comes to her and I can be cold - she is not imagining this. It's too hard to love her completely anymore. I am waiting for her to die. It's not just BPD, she has many health issues that should have killed her a long time ago and she continues to smoke, drink and abuse drugs with a body that is already living on borrowed time and I am afraid she will die with her last words to me being, "Tell her she doesn't have to pretend to care about me". 

And I want to make a list of all the things we have sacrificed and given to make her better and I want to shove it in her face and tell her to shut up. But that's my anger talking and it is not what I want to do at all. I want to have BBQs with her again and watch her chase her kids around the yard. I want to play card games and laugh at our partners and laugh at ourselves. I want her back. At the very least I want her to know I love her before she dies. I want her to love me again. My mom says that somewhere inside her she is who we knew and loved and that her reality has caught up to her and she is scared and worried and tired. But I know what she knows - that parts of me have given up on her. There has just been no hope in over a year now, no sparkle, no possibilities. My mom keeps going, keeps pushing her through to the next day and I am sitting here doing nothing anymore because if I do anything else for her and it doesn't work, I just don't think I could go on. I cried at work again - there is so much mental illness and so much pain out there. I think about her everyday. She will never know how consumed I am by her. 

New beginnings

I started my new job today. I did not take this job before because I was afraid it would be too much to handle my sister and a REAL job. I say real job because I have been working part time for over a year just in case something happened with my sister  - I could just go. I had a very sympathetic team at work who helped me re-arrange my schedule time and time again to answer the phone calls, to show up in court, to walk the halls of the hospital.

I turned down 4 jobs before this one. I just couldn't move forward without her.

But I started a new job and the sky didn't fall down. I am having such a hard time living a normal life without my sister. I read a new case file today and it was almost nearly the story of my sister. My experienced social worker persona completely folded. I am pretty sure all my colleagues think I have Bulima or Colitis because I spent a great part of my day in the bathroom today. I just couldn't stop crying when I read that file. I was so embarrassed but I honestly didn't care. I couldn't stop the tears. I didn't want to. 

I cried because the new program I am in is designed to help families and supports gather together and rally around families with crisis - mostly families with mental illness. It is designed to get the system to help those affected, especially the children, instead of alienating them. It is a new program, it is a beautiful program. And I think this program would have changed my sister's life. Why didn't I know about it then? Why didn't anyone refer us? I am a social worker and I did not know about it. I wish our friends and family had been in this program to understand what was happening to all of us, to support us, instead of running scared from something they did not understand. I shed a million tears today thinking I am so grateful that someone is going to get this help. But I am so devestated that it did not come in time for my sister, for my family. I had this vision of all of us in a room together talking about how we could support her, showing her our love and committing to action something on her behalf. It has been instead anger and pain so often bestowed upon her - often on my behalf. Our meetings are confrontational and leaving her without power or dignity. They always seem to leave her smaller and with less and less to leave with. It is no coicendence that her material possessions are so minal - it mirrors what she feels about herself. And of everyone she loves, I leave her the most wounded. When I am kind, she says she doesn't deserve it. When I am angry or mean, she wonders aloud who the hell I have become? How can I tell her that I am getting paid now to do for other people exactly what I could not do for her? Oh the irony...

She is well this week. My mom keeps me updated. She is attending mental health classes and waiting for her spot in a rehab clinic to come up. That is 3 weeks away. She has not called me. She will not call me. She is angry and defeated by me. She told my husband that she understands but that her heart is breaking - breaking because of me. I can have no contact with her right now because living in limbo is better than living in sorrow. I can't function with so much sorrow. Neither can she. And when we speak, it drips out of our mouths and reduces us to nothing. And today I won't do that to her or to me. But I want her to know that I am going to work hard at my job and do the best I can. I want her to know that I will take every moment of these experiences between us and apply them to every moment of my work - I will respect people I may have otherwise found useless. I will teach other families how to be patient and kind. I will listen. It is so much easier to do when you can close a file and go home every day. 

I ran today

I ran today.

I ran today for the first time in months. It was a bittersweet reunion with my body. I could feel my skin sweeping the top of my running pants, my belly heavy with the side effects of grief's indulgences. I am so well padded from the pain now. My own self destruction parralleling my sister's. I don't know when I start eating for comfort but clearly it's not working. I am not comforted. And now I've gotten fat to boot. Perfect.

I started to cry two feet out of my door. It felt like I was leaving my sister behind to start running again. It was as if to say "If you're not coming, I'm leaving you".  All those months of getting up at 6am and pushing aside the temptation to push the snooze button - praying for my sister to be able to quell her temptations with mine. I could run 7km every morning and barely break a sweat. I ran 3 km today - scratch that - I walked most of it - with my tears falling and my nose stuffy and painful. The wind kept throwing itself down my throat trying to block my even rhythm. It made me feel so pathetic. I desperately searched through my ipod to find Cold Play - Fix You. And I just dragged my body along to the words:

When the tears come streaming down your face
When you lose something you can't replace
When you love someone, but it goes to waste
Could it be worse

And there it was.

All those wasted months of running - hoping she would get better. I felt so pissed off to be starting over again, barely able to get around my block, grateful for the icy patches so I could slow down and step over them. So I could stop running because it hurt so bad to be running for nothing now. 

And I cried for 2 km.

Maybe it was the ipod selection right? Maybe it wasn't such a good idea to be running to sad, "rip your heart out" songs. So I changed it. I put on my work-out folder and I started running. It was slow, like it should be when you're training. Not clumsy and aching for breath like when I started. I could feel my ass sliding into my thights for the first 2km. I took slower, surer steps and I got my rhythm. I know this isn't rocket science but it felt like a miracle. I ran my last km all the way to my door. I knew I could have kept running but I slowed down and stretched out my calves and I sat on my door step and cried some more. 

Something about running makes me strong and hopeful, even when I don't want it to. I have evaded my most direct path to mental health for 4 months because I simply have not wanted to feel good. It seems ridiculous for your body to be strong and healthy when your heart is breaking. It actually seems impossible. But I'm falling. I miss my sister so much. I miss me. I miss who I used to be and what I used to believe. I miss how clear my thoughts were after a run, how proud and full of grace that sweat on my forehead could make me. 

I want it to be that easy - I would sacrifice my comfort for her. I will take the cracked heels and the black toe nails I get from running. I will wear a brace to hold my knee together when I have pushed it to far. I will sweat and wheeze and push through the pain every day if she will just get better. That's fair right? That seems so fair to me but it just doesn't work that way. I will run and sweat and suffer for me. I will get stronger, my mind will get sharper, my body will look sleeker and slimmer. People will applaud me and say "good for you" and lament on their own exercise will power. People will notice how good I look. I will sleep better. I will have more energy. I can get better. And I will leave my sister behind. And she will get further and further behind as I run faster and farther. Because I can. Because there is nothing in my brain that stops me from being well.

What a double edged sword these running shoes present. 

"Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness, that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, and fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small doesn't serve the world. There's nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We are born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It's not just in some of us, it's in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others." 

(The above speech by Nelson Mandela was orignally written by Marianne Williamson)

So I will run again tomorrow. Liberation sounds pretty good to me.