My sister has autism.

She is nonverbal, and she takes medication everyday.

 

She eats non food items, 

And throws temper tantrums,

And bites and kicks when she doesn't get what she wants.

 

She laughs, and cries.

Hugs and kisses.

She looks like me.

 

So when people ask me about myself, I have to mention her. Because we go together. My sister and I

 

I know in some cases that might be seen as grammatically incorrect. 

After all, it can be said as, me and my sister too. 

 

But no matter what the rules say, it has to be my sister and I. She has to come first. She always has.

 

I'm her lawyer and protector,  pointed fingers and nasty laughs have to answer to me.

 

I wear all the t shirts, and the awareness wrist bands. I volunteer, and explain over and over again to people I don't even know.

 

But that not enough sometimes, because her reality just isn't like mine.

 

I hate the truth. If someone hurt her she wouldn't tell,

If she was raped I'd probably never know,

And god forbid if she ate something poisonous, or ran out into the street, she'd never even know she killed herself.

 

I am atlas, I hold up the sky, the cruel reality of the world, to keep it from falling on her shoulders. My sister and I. 

 

I have problems too. I'm waist deep in homework and debt, and last week I broke a mirror and ill never tell you what I did with the pieces.  

 

But I have to save her, right?

My sister and I. 

 

This mentality made up my existence. Sometimes it still does.

 

But life taught me a lesson. It wasn't in a single moment. It was not a plain flash of understanding. It took years.

 

But slowly, I began to take the world off my shoulders, and put it down, gently, on hers.

 

When its too much I stand next to her, and we hold it together. But sooner or later I let go. 

 

Because I can't carry two lives at once. 

I cant always help her, and sometimes I may be forced to let her fall.

 

But doing everything for her doesn't make her stronger. 

It makes us both weaker. 

 

So now, I talk to her. She listens to me.

I read her stories and if I'm lucky, she'll read a couple words with me.

We add and subtract, and count little white stones together. 

 

My past mentality was futile, but the future is where I must keep running to. Hope. For her and me. A candescent light is in my heart.

 

Once I was blind, though I could see, and my heart was gray and dull.

 

But I'm glowing brighter than ever now. 

And its all thanks to her hugs and kisses.  So when I tell my story, I can't help but mention her, even if only a footnote in my book of life. Because its not just me. It never has been. In fact, its always been,

 

My sister and I.