My sister and I used to be so close. We shared a room for the first eleven years of my life, until she went to college. And after that, we were even closer, with as much as I looked up to her. She was a god, a queen, that could do no wrong. There really wasn't any rational reason for it. But I don't suppose there is any rationale for sisterly love. She used to dress me up, do my hair, and make me pose for pictures. I loved it. She was the reason I played volleyball, she was the reason I wanted to go to college, she's part of the reason I started to not get along with our parents.
My sister was raped when she was 16. Or around 16, I'm not exactly sure of the age. I found out a couple of years ago that when she finally told our parents, dad started crying and mom stared at her and then finally said, "it's your fault". (Classic Mom.) I don't know if the image issues came before or after. Maybe it was just a teenage girl thing and the assault exasperated things. Either way, she began working out considerably more than usual, wearing baggy clothes, hardly eating anything. Mom accused her of being anorexic, which, if she was, did not help matters. I don't really remember what other issues there were between the two of them. I think mom was both jealous and disappointed. My sister was very talented at the piano, but only at free play, playing a sheet of music was difficult and mom always made her play for church, which of course my sister hated. My sister was pretty, mom wasn't, sister started abandoning the church, she was "rebellious" and "blamed mom" for us being poor. Mom always had something nasty to say. Who knows what else. Needless to say, they didn't get along.
I remember not knowing what alcohol was, other than it wasn't allowed. I didn't know what it did to you. But I remember reading in my sisters journal that she got drunk the one rare time the parents went out of town. (I think that was the time I read she was raped but I didn't know what that meant either.) That was the one and only time I read my sisters journal. I remember it so well. It was just a bright red, college-ruled 120 page notebook. She kept it under the bed I think. I wasn't allowed to touch it, let alone read it. I never wanted to. But I remember her and mom fighting and she left and I thought somehow I could help if I knew what was going on, so I read it. I think I was 9. I must not have put it back in the same spot because she accused me of reading it. She still brings that up occasionally.
She went to one of the biggest party schools in the nation. Probably not the best thing for her. I remember visiting her when I was 14 for my Spring Break and her giving me alcohol. I remember her telling mom and dad that she had to take her roommate to the emergency room for alcohol poisoning but that could have been herself. Who knows. She was (and is) an alcoholic. And she got in an abusive relationship that lasted for years. I think that was the worst break up of the century, she was a mess for years. And then she met her husband who has been great for her. He truly is a nice guy and perfect for her. Supportive, strong, doesn't take shit, intelligent. I don't know how he puts up with her bullshit.
Our relationship evolved as I got older. But the mechanics stayed the same: she was the "older, wiser sister", and I was the "younger, inexperienced girl that needed taken care of". We were extremely close my first few years of college. She'd visit me in my dorm, I'd visit her when I could (she's on the other side of the state), we'd drink and have a good time, she liked that I was "fun" and now an "adult" (despite her treatment of me otherwise). I was an idiot and relied on her at a time I shouldn't have and I think that started the process of where we are now. We had a fight about two months before my wedding, she randomly texted me accusing me of reading and stealing her notebook. (Fourteen years later, still bringing it up.) And then the topic got on how I hate how she's always thought that she needed to protect me, and now was the time to stop, I didn't need it anymore. She apparently was very hurt (understandably), but she had her friend (who I've never met) send me a facebook message, chiding me. We've never talked about that, let alone resolved it.
Two years ago, a month after Husband and I got engaged, she came to visit. She, Husband, my best friend, his girlfriend, and I all went out for my best friends birthday. That night, I had to take her to the E.R. for alcohol poisoning. She was at a .38 bac. Point three eight. Point four oh usually means death. We were walking back to the apartment after the bars closed and she sat on the sidewalk and started bawling. I couldn't get her up. The entire time, she was talking about how she has a problem with alcohol and it scares her and that mom "really fucked her up and has no idea". We were there half an hour before the emergency responders came. They were not kind. A thirty year old really shouldn't be that drunk.
It wasn't until six months later that she finally decided that she should probably get some therapy. She approached it as, she has a problem, she'll get it fixed in six months max, and then she'll pop out a kid because she'll be fine. She was in therapy for a little over a year and now she's done.
I don't like my sister. As a person, I don't like her. I feel sorry for her, I support her in her recovery, but I disagree with most of what she's doing. And I feel guilty for it. I strongly disagree with her approach to therapy, that she has a simple problem that takes a simple solution. Maybe a few tools to deal with the down days, but other than that, just work through things, and be fine with it. I think that in her particular case, with the sexual abuse, issues with mom, her ex-boyfriend(s), she will never get away from that. She will always have to deal with it.
I think she's annoying as hell. I've hung out with her on her own, with her and her group of friends. They're the type of group that everyone tries to one up the other on witticisms. Constantly. And glorifying in being weird just for the sake of "being unique", when really it's all a ploy to get attention. They're attention whores and my sister is the worst. She has to be the funniest, she has to be the center, she has to have the best story. I hate it. Why can't she calm down, shut up, and have a normal conversation that doesn't center around her? She has all these little things she loves doing: points a finger at you and says "stop it!" in a childish voice, burps really loud, makes random noises at awkward points in the conversation. [Yes, I realize I sound phenomenally petty and mean. Let me finish.]
I don't like how she's approached/approaching having kids. She's always been terrified of the idea, because of mom. She doesn't want to turn out like her and I think her mind is on a loop and can't get past the idea that she won't if she puts an iota of effort into it. She would have panic attacks just thinking about it. But no, "Frank and I are going to start trying in three months. We're going to try in six months. We're going to start when my therapist thinks I'm ready. We're going to try when John and Kim start trying." Everything is based on some random, arbitrary point in her head. And meanwhile, she's still scared. She's scared of having a child with problems (Frank has a horrible family health history), she's scared of raising a child, and she's scared of losing her body to pregnancy and she's scared of putting someone else first. She recently said "the idea of having a kid doesn't terrify me like it used to. I don't know if I want to, but Frank does. And we should." ... What?! Great reasons to have a kid.
She still exercises way too much. She gets up at 3-4 in the morning to work out for an hour or two before she has to go to work and still goes to bed late at night. But God forbid she misses a work out day. In college, she gained about 50 pounds and she's terrified of doing that again. But she's obsessed with the number and there's no convincing her otherwise. She's has a muscular build. And she lifts weights. She loves and hates her muscles, she glories in them and she hates them because they make her look manly. But more than that, muscle weighs more than fat and she knows that, and yet she's still obsessed with the damn number on the scale. She can't be at her goal weight unless she starves herself. And she enjoys eating. She came over one time, made two giant cheesecakes, and dinner and in one sitting, ate dinner and an entire cheesecake, and fifteen minutes later, had to "take a shower" for an hour. I approached her one time about her exercising, she blew me off, said it wasn't a problem. I suggested she talk to her therapist about it. She got angry.
Oh! And her therapist hates the "modern idea" that alcoholism is a disease. And guess who just loves that idea?!
And just to throw in there because I'm ranting, she's bi-sexual (which is fine, I am too), but she has affairs with women in hotel rooms. But she's "safe" because she screens them, and Frank approves and it's all hunky-dory.
And this is going to sound the most disgusting of all. But I said I was going to be honest. She's jealous of me. [God I cringe when I write that.] But in her own words (I promise), I am skinnier, my body type is "better" (naturally slim, no muscle mass), I'm prettier, I have my shit together, I've dealt with my sexual abuse in a healthy way, I've dealt with mom and dad in a healthy way, I had the big giant perfect wedding, etc. It's difficult talking with someone who constantly is saying in a self-deprecating way "you're so much prettier than me. I love your lips. I love your teeth. You're growing up!"
I am over-critical, a liar, and non-supportive. She just finished therapy last week or the week before. She just had our dad over for a four day visit, that was the first time she had seen him for years. And I haven't talked to her and I don't really want to. I don't want to hear about her therapy because I don't think it's really helped all that much (even though she thinks it has). And it probably has in some ways. But since I disagree with what I've heard him say, I don't want to hear the rest of it. I don't want to hear about her goddamn work. Work consists of 90% of the conversations and I just don't give a damn about cars. I don't want to hear about her friends and how they're pregnant, because that'll lead to her saying that her and Frank are going to start trying this summer now that she's finished with therapy and their friends are pregnant. I don't want her to talk down to me. I don't particularly want a relationship with her. Eventually we're going to move to that side of the state and she's offended that we're going to live closer to his family and as far away from her as possible. I don't want to babysit her kid because I don't think I agree with her parenting style. I don't want to be taken advantage of.
I am a horrible person. I should be supportive. I should be loving. I should at the least be trying to work on our relationship. I should be doing a lot of things. But I'm not. I need space. I need to not be so angry with her. I need to get over myself. Because if I don't, she'll be able to tell that I don't respect her. And I don't want her to be hurt. She doesn't realize that ever since I read her notebook and found out what I did, it hasn't been her taking care of me. It's been me taking care of her.
See why I need this blog anonymous?
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