Dear Sister,
I understand
that I grew up to be a despicable human being. I also understand that I will never
be the kind of a person that you would ever maintain a friendship with. I’m
sorry that you’re forced to do so because we share blood. But there are some things
that you have to understand as well; I grew up to be a fucked up person, and I have
no fixing.
I don’t
need to be educated and raised, anymore. That is already done. Irregardless of
how bad the results are. You have to understand that you are not my mother. And,
don’t worry, my failure as a human being won’t be attributed to you. And
weirdly enough, it won’t be attributed to my mom, either. I am responsible for
my own failures. I am responsible for my own sorrow, and for the pathetic
excuse of a life I live in.
There’s
something else I want you to know. I love you, I genuinely do. But I hate who
you have grown into. Or, to be exact, I hate the person my mom has turned you
into. Because even though she doesn't admit it, she loves you more than all of
us. She has you in a golden pedestal. And even though you may have come to
disappoint her, you have not come down from that pedestal. And the same goes to
your offspring.
Even though
as your younger sister, I was the one destined to imitate you, I have turned
into a completely different person from you. Whenever you talk to me about
things of your interest, I slip away, and don’t listen to you. I’m sure you do
the same. But despite all of that, I have to say, I envy you.
Although I dislike
the fact that my mom nags at me, and tries to be my mother again, I do wish she
loved me as much as she loves you. When Camilla was born, she made such a big
effort to be there, to go, and just be there. The day I graduated, she didn't
even try to get out of bed. Most of all, I envy that you had my mom in full. I was 14
when my mom slipped away. You were 22. I was a kid with a mom with menopause. I
am jealous of the things you had. Things I will never have.
