My super complicated love for my sister
You could call my relationship with my sister..."complicated".
She always harbored ill will over the fact that Mom never came back for her. Although, I assured her, living with her father and grandmother was definitely a trade up. Still, you could hear it in her voice sometimes, that little twinge of jealousy she tried so hard to hide from me.
My mother saw my sister twice from the age of 3 until her adulthood. So, of course, my sister has mother issues, the same way I have abandonment issues that my father gave to me. I suppose if my father hadn’t been in prison, I might have someone to be jealous of his relationship with. Lucky me, right?
However, I still feel once one reaches adulthood, it’s no longer "acting out". It’s an outright refusal to move the fuck past it and get on with your life. I suppose that’s also why I couldn’t overlook my sisters addiction.
I get it, truly I do. Everyone wants to numb the pain. I’ve done it for most of my life. However, a functional addict and a junkie are two totally different animals. She chose her path. I chose mine.
I knew every time she reached out to me she wanted money. The reasons were never important to me. Had I thought it wouldn’t have been immediately in her vein, I would have given it to her, despite our deep divide. However, I know high when I see it, in person or in print. Just the dramatic weight loss was enough to school a stranger, but she was my sister. I always knew the truth.
I told her on numerous occasions, just come stay with me a while. Get away from what’s gripping you. Just walk away from the dope, we’ll figure the rest out as we go. She always had some half assed excuse, some lame reason she just couldn’t break away right then.
I knew before I answered the phone that night exactly what call I was receiving.
Tammy, dead, a needle in her arm. Abandoned in a trap house. Left on a dirty mattress. Apparently, those fucking junkies didn’t want to ruin their buzz. Someone finally called the cops when they realized no dope boys were gonna bring any drugs while there was a dead junkie there.
She died alone. Is that poetic justice? If you asked my sister, she would tell you she died exactly the way she lived.
10:48pm