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.