My little sister

You may have negative perceptions towards the content of this blog, and wonder why I’ve decided to write it. Well, I feel that in a way, pressing ‘post’ will give me some closure, and it’s definitely worth a try. People reading it is just icing on the cake.
Sometimes, I can be a little dismissive to my close friends, but I don’t mean to be. It’s just, when someone I care about gets worked up about a family member annoying them; I try my hardest to communicate the unimportance of the problem at hand. I just don’t like people getting stressed about diminutive things. I know what it’s really like to have a dysfunctional family – so I know that people waste time when they worry about little family issues.
I don’t like to play the sympathy card; and that certainly isn’t the reason for writing this. Things could be so, so much worse, I know that, and I’m thankful they’re not. But in comparison to the cereal packet family, I’m light-years away.
I think it’s difficult for me because I used to have a close, happy family, so I know what I’m missing out on now. I can’t pick the moment that things change, let’s just say I’ve definitely been put off marriage and children. I won’t get too personal; actually, there are probably some legal issues I’ll have to dodge in places. However, I’d like to vaguely tell you a little bit about one person in particular.
In the very beginning, she had to fight for her life. She was this tiny, delicate baby, my new baby sister. I’ll be honest; as we grew up together, we were never very close. But she was terribly cute, she always looked so innocent, and she had an infectious giggle. Also, she would always give me any pocket money she had left over; and I took advantage of her kindness. I remember us playing together, laughing together, and fighting over toys together – the usual events of a young sisterly relationship. I remember how we used to always sneak into each other’s bedrooms late at night. We’d talk about silly things- in the unique manner that you can with a sibling – there’s no formality involved, and a lot is unspoken, yet understood. As cracks began to appear, we were in the same boat, which was comforting. We shared a childhood together, which I can never forget, no matter how hard I try.
As we grew older, and our family began to tear apart from every corner; instead of looking for solace in each other, we grew apart. My late grandmother said to me on many occasions ‘I’ll never understand why you two fight; I would have loved so much to have had a sister’. This reminds me that we always had rivalry, but deep down we loved each other – the way it should have stayed.
However, not only have I been put off marriage and children, I’ve also been strongly discouraged from taking drugs. Yes, my little sister, a phrase which now feels so weird to even type, has lost her life to drugs.
This is difficult for me to write, not because it saddens me, but because I do not want to delve too much into matters which are not really mine to divulge. Again, there isn’t one single memory I carry where I can pinpoint the moment it all began. From the age of 13, though, she became distant, rebellious, disobedient, and drunk. She began to befriend the wrong type of people, and got a questionable boyfriend. I remember one Christmas, she had a cloudy look on her face all day, which is when I first realised that she was on drugs. She became violent. She became very argumentative and unreasonable. She went missing a lot. She gave me and our mother injuries. It should have been a cosy house of three girls, as we were now living without our father. But it was far from that. The only words she uttered were to ask for money.
After a long string of illicit acts; mostly robbery, underage sex and truancy, she moved out, and lived with our dad. This provided little escape, though. There was no moment of ‘oh my god, my sister’s gone mental’; it was just a downward spiral.
She now lives in foster care, with no family contact. She broke into her own father’s house and has currently stolen several thousand pounds worth of household items from him. She has never shown any remorse or emotion, and is obviously desperate for drug money. There’s been talk of an underlying health problem – which I guess I disagree with, but I don’t really care enough to think about. She has no qualifications, despite being very bright. She has lost her family and ruined her life, which was potentially full of prospects. With the risk of sounding cheesy, it’s the most hard-hitting anti-drug campaign I’ve ever witnessed.
I have never once cried or got upset about this situation and I always joke about it. I remain stubborn that I will never forgive her; which is contradicted by the knowledge that she will never seek forgiveness.
Is there sadness behind the jokes? Maybe. Is there emptiness under the anger? Maybe. I’ll never really know. I think situations like this toughen you up. I will never cry for the sister I’ve lost, simply because they would be wasted tears.
Aside from the hurt she has caused my family, I’m thankful for the perspective and drive she has given me, as I want my parents to be rewarded with one successful daughter they can be proud of.
Maybe one day she will change, but I’m closer to some of my friends more than I could ever imagine being with my sister, so I’m absolutely fine.