Paradise Lost

Four years old is way too young to make life choices.

At least, that's what I tell myself when I try to console myself over the mess I made.

I wanted a baby sister and begged and begged my parents for one, so there's no one to blame but me.

My mom expressed that she had only planned to have one child, but she wanted me to be happy, so little Stephanie was born. 

I was so thrilled. She was lovely and precious and I vowed that I would be the most helpful, best big sister ever. I would do anything that it took. 

The beginning of our sisterhood was a dream as I taught her the little things that I knew. I taught her how to ride a bike and to draw. I read Mary Poppins to her and we played for hours and hours. We would imagine these magical worlds that we would play in and with our art skill and a variety of cardboard boxes, we would make the most amazing kingdoms. The family I wanted was here and I was confident that we would be the closest sisters ever.

As we grew, my mom continuously reminded me that family is forever and I should take care of them because one day, I might need them to help take care of me.

I saw how my mom took care of my aunt, her younger sister by giving her money once in a while and babysitting her kids. They hugged and laughed at every visit. 

I wanted that to be Stephanie and me.

I followed in my mom's footsteps by taking my sister to the movies when I was old enough and babysitting her when mom had to go out to work.

We hit a bump in high school. Stephanie grew to be so beautiful at five foot seven and thin. Everyone wanted to be around her, so many guys wanted to take her out.

I was easily overlooked by most, being only five feet tall and having many curves that caused others to refer to me as fat. I tried to avoid the term fat in my own presence. It was a hope killer. And I had so much hope that Stephanie and I would lift each other up and enjoy the world together.

Stephanie had an entourage of friends and I was happy for her. Friends are so valuable that I wanted her to hold onto them as long as she could. 

Sometimes I wondered about the way she treated them. New friends would show up a lot. Older friends would fade away. But Stephanie was never alone.

I hoped that the same would happen for me too, someday. Maybe if I could get myself together and make myself pretty too. Maybe I would be desirable in my own way.

As we became adults, we did go out together sometimes. I would invite her to the movies or a club or to dinner. I would pay because I did the inviting and I was her older sister. It was my job to take care of her. 

Sometimes I wondered when she would do the same for me. She was doing well as a publicist and maybe we could finally just exist as a family and I wouldn’t have to take care of her when we were together. But I still remembered that being part of a family was about taking care of each other, so I continued to be the best big sister I could possibly be.

This huge bond was becoming strong. I was certain of it. Soon we would be able to rely on each other.

Stephanie followed her heart and had a son, and I had no idea that such a little person could steal my heart away so quickly after first meeting him. I offered to babysit, and she left him with me often. She was busy with her friends and meeting new men. I was happy to show my love by helping her raise this adorable angel.

I felt it, I was helping build a life for us. I was helping to build this family and that gave me strength.

But emotional strength is not the same as physical strength, and my avoiding the word fat was not changing the fact that my size was hurting my back. I was in pain. So much pain.

The doctor said that I needed three days of bedrest to help it heal. I needed to ask family members to take care of me and I was to stay in bed for the entire three days.

I went to Stephanie's place and told her what the doctor said. She let me stay the night, so I thought this was the moment when Stephanie would help me.

Of course she would. We’re sisters, family, and I’ve done so much for her. I have given her so much love. She would want to help me get better. I was certain of it.

The next day, she woke me up and told me how busy her day was. She had the school drop off and so many meetings and people to see and she would not be around for the entire day. 

I commented, "I think I'll be fine by myself for a little while. I just need you to make me breakfast and I’ll stay put for the day."

She looked at me like I was joking.

I pointed out, "The doctor said that I needed to stay in bed for three days."

"You look fine," she bit out.

"It hurts so much I can barely walk," I answered, "I'm fine here in bed. I just need you to make me breakfast."

She stared at me for a moment and then answered, "Make your own damn breakfast," and walked out.

I lay there, tears approaching fast. Then for an hour, I allowed myself to bawl. 

I gave her love, like a sister does.

I helped her out, like a sister is supposed to do.

She was not willing to help me out and I tried to think, did she ever give me love?

When we were little and we played for hours and hours, I’m pretty sure she loved me then, but it’s been a while. It’s been a long while since I’ve felt loved.

I allowed myself to wake up and realize what I should have suspected for the longest time. The thing that I never wanted to believe was true.

I don't know what it feels like to be loved by my sister anymore because my sister only uses me now. For the majority of our adult lives, I was just a tool, not family.

Now was the time to figure out how to be alone.

It shouldn't be as hard as it felt at that moment.

After all, I'm pretty sure I was alone this entire time.