The truth of the matter is, I miss my sister.
I never got along with her all through my childhood. Never. She was an evil bitch from hell, to be completely honest. She was terrible, and I know that. We never got along. In fact, most of the time I would say I probably hated her. I couldn't love her. It was impossible. How can you love someone that tortures you, makes you cry every day? I don't know. I didn't bother to try, either. It wasn't worth it.
Then, she moved out of the house and she got nice. She was finally a sister to me. I had spent so many years with this evil person who caused nothing but pain and suffering, and then it all changed. She hung out with me, she had me come up to her house, she let me party with her. It was like I always assumed a sister would be like.
She was nice to me. She still stole all of my best clothes, of course, but she was nice. I thought she liked me, and I thought we got along. I didn't hate her anymore. I wasn't jealous of her. She was mean sometimes, still, no doubt, but nowhere near as bad as before. I liked things the way they were.
But she's fucked up now. When I did see her, she was so mean. She blamed me, she called me a rat, that I ratted her out for doing drugs because I'm a little bitch. It infuriated me, disgusted me, that she would think I would narc on her for my own pleasure, or something? To get her in trouble, to stay in my parents' good graces?
How would she know how hard I cried, after I saw her, when I told my grandparents about her, my sister, whom I finally found it in my heart to love and care about, and want to be healthy and normal? How I just wanted her to be a mother to her son? And not be 90 pounds on drugs? How could she know how hard I cried? And it would have done no good to tell her. In her eyes, I was the enemy. Someone who was trying to take away her "happiness". I didn't really care about her, in her eyes.
And as much as my sister is fucked up, and as much shit as she is drowning in right now, the majority of my heart and soul and mind are screaming, "THANK GOD! SHE'S GETTING PUNISHED FOR ALL HER WRONGS!! SHE CAN'T ESCAPE FROM THIS ONE! SHE DESERVES TO GO TO JAIL!" there's a little place, very tiny but there all the same, that is crying.
That misses the three or so years of time when I actually had a sister. A sister who would protect me, who would show me a good time, who would share her life with me. I know that that part of my sister is gone, I know that those three or so years are definitely over. Who knows if there will ever be a time when I can love her again? When I can be in a room with her without her screaming at me, calling me names, freaking out on me. Where I can have a normal family life again, where I can talk to her about things that I've done, and boys that I've liked, and places I want to go, and our parents.
Right now it isn't like that. I don't even know where she is. I don't know if she even remembers me, or my parents, if she hates me, if she has any idea what we're going through. I don't suppose she probably does. She probably never will. She will continue to be angry for the rest of her life, and she will never really know.
I remember the day when we visited her, and a picture of me and her at graduation was in her room. I wondered what she thought about when she looked at it. I wonder what she would think of it if she looked at it now.
~A little sister without her big sister.