My Sister: Toujours Avec Moi

My Sister: Toujours Avec Moi   

    "Well, here goes nothing. I guess it starts kind of like this. I often think about my sister." I keep my voice in a monotone. This is how I begin my story. Every time. Only a few people know the truth. My family. Our best friend. All of whom, I trust. Unlike, this therapist that I am being forced to talk to. He is not the type of guy I want knowing my story, my past. 'No one has to know' I think to myself. So, I lie. I rummage through my brain and find a story I like. "I think she is the root of my problems," okay, so that part is true. "When she moved away from home." Lie. "That's when it all started. I began feeling less self-sufficient, less self-assured. I felt like it was my fault she's gone now. Like I wasn't good enough." Blah, blah, blah. Lies interlaced with bits of the truth. Lie, lie, lie. That's what I told the first one. When my parent's found out I was lying, they just sent me to another. They thought I was uncomfortable with the man. I could care less about who it was. No one will know my story. My feelings. My thoughts. No one. The second shrink was a young, blond, sympathetic-looking woman.
  "So it starts like this. My brother was addicted to drugs. I wasn't supposed to know. I found out. I was devastated, ripped apart, emotionally helpless. I couldn't trust him. He was a liar who cared about himself only." I was really getting into this story, the words flowing easily. Maybe this could even be fun. " I felt like it was my fault. Like, I could have stopped it."
  "That's how it starts? Just like that? Are you sure that's the root of your problems?" She asked me.
  "It's my life. Of course I'm sure." I retorted, rather annoyed with her.
    "You don't have a brother--" She countered.
  "Okay, I think we're finished here." I said defiantly and walked out. After all, she had ruined my fun. My game.  I'm at home now. Comfy, cozy, home sweet home. Ha. I wish. My family used to be like that. We were happy, all of us. We had money, friends, we were kind and generous. We ate dinner together, went to church. My parents are still like that, I suppose. Just not to me. Just not with me. But who could blame them? Losing a daughter? It's not their fault, after all, it's mine. They used to be happy souls, my parents, my family. Now, not so much. Now, there is a lingering emptiness, like they both go through life with a sense of dread, alive but not really awake. I don't sleep well at night, knowing I caused this. I felt so bad. So God-awful bad. The worst part is there is no way to change it, or fix it, make it like it never happened. I can't wave a magic wand and make them forget. One of their daughters is dead. Because of the other one. And the constant reminders, they're torture. As if I don't feel bad enough already. My ever-present guilt. The depression manifesting in all of us. The loneliness, emptiness, unease. All caused by me. Me, as the only common denominator. The strength of the remorse that eats me alive at night when my insomnia kicks in and dulls into a mind-numbing pain during the day. These are the only reasons I don't resist my parents insisting that I go to therapy. Hoping to find someone to trust, to fully confide in. Here goes lucky number three.
  "So what do you know about me? About us?" I ask the woman on the sofa, kicking off my shoes and curling up into the chair. 'Lucky I wore my sweatpants. Very nice office,' I think to myself. as I look around. I am playing this one cautiously.
  "I'm sorry, us?" She asks. Maybe this one isn't as dumb as she looks.
  "Yeah, us, as in me, my family." I say, clarifying.
  "Nothing, yet." She responds. Short and sweet. And full of herself, adding in that  'yet', she probably thinks I am just going to crack and spill all my secrets. Yeah, like that will happen. "But, if you'd like I will share my first impression of you." I just nod, waiting for her to continue, she does. "You feel distant from your parents. Alienated, different. Like you aren't quite part of the family unit." I feel my jaw drop and I just stare for a minute. I close my mouth.
  "So let's do an exercise,you write down what you feel, generally, and I write down what I know about you, okay?" She says and doesn't give me time to refuse before she hands me a clipboard with a piece of paper and a pencil. I'm nervous. What if I can't think of anything to write down? But I put the pencil on the paper and start writing.

*guilty  *sorry  *regretful  *disliked  *talked about  *awful  *worthless  *difficult
*problematic  *a complication  *embarrassed  *extremely sorry  *should be detained
*cut off from society *depressed *hated *like crying *ugly *sad *stupid *disappointing
    *looked down upon    *numb  *scared  *i miss her 

"Okay, time's up. Stop writing. Pencil down." She says, " Look over what you wrote. " So, I did.
  "And I was worried I'd have nothing to write down. Ha." A meek laugh, a quiet statement. She heard me, though. Time to switch to number four, I made a mental note.
  "Now, let's switch papers." I did so reluctantly. I watched her read over mine before I started reading her's. I looked after she had finished.

a. you are beautiful
b. you seem confident, like you know what you want
c. you are smart
d. you are strong

I stopped there. It's been a long time since I've had anything like that said about me. I really didn't want to start crying here. In this stranger's office. But I did.  And I didn't know what to do from there.

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