I remember when she was annoying. It seemed she found every little thing to do, just to get on my nerves.
I remember how I thought she did it on purpose, but then we found out it was out of her control.
I remember when I got the phone call. “Its Tourettes and OCD., there’s really not much we can do.” Then the depression showed its ugly face, and therapy followed. And then the doctors and the white pills came, the cure they said would work. But it only made it worse.
I remember her crying for days, her skinny body curled into a ball, on her bedroom floor. How she would say she wanted to be dead, how she wished she was never born.
Then I remember hurting herself.
I remember people saying, “She’s emo”, “It’s just a phase”, and “It’s not like it’s a big deal or anything”.
I remember the fear I felt and the fear I saw in my mother’s eyes. The fear that every time I left the house my sister wouldn’t be there when I got back.
I remember the fights. How I would let her tear me down just so she would feel good about herself. As long as she could let go of some of her anger she had bottled up, I didn’t care how much she hurt me.
I remember being her emotional punching bag.
I remember no one else understanding. Why is mental illness such a taboo? Why can’t we talk about it!
I remember how my heart stopped when I found her writing that letter. How I could barely see through the tears in my eyes.
But most of all I remember is that my sister is alive to battle her demons every day. I know that after every bad episode and after every fight, we can still come together and hug. I can now remember the few good times over the many bad. Every day, I remember that no matter that we are sisters. I just hope everyone else can remember that too.