I feel like before I go on to write down my story, I have to tell you a story about someone else. Someone who is closer to me than anyone ever could be - and yet he is as far apart from me as in any way possible. Someone I was never allowed to meet. Someone who failed to ever see the light. He was killed by the non-existend love of our mother, before he got the chance to take his very first breath.
I am sitting here in the midst of the broken fragments of my life. And yet my brother is forgotten. He doesn't even have fragments. There is a darkness envelopping him he can never escape from. And there is nothing I can do to help him. Nothing I could have ever done. He never got the chance to make even one single mistake which he then could have learned from. He neither got permission to laugh nor to cry. Never. Not even once. He died during sixth month of pregnancy.
How a make-believe Mother can be deadly
Mom told me all about how she lost my brother. In vivid detail. She was relieved when he was gone. You read that correctly. She was afraid that the birth would be as painful as mine was. Therefore she was relieved when she had lost my brother. She was more than happy to sacrafice her child for her own well-being. What kind of a mother would say that? A borderline would...
This is for you... I have not forgotten about you. I never will. I love you and I am with you. Forever.
I am writing this with tears in my eyes. I have not forgotten about you. I am your sister. I can not even begin to tell you how much I miss you. It was not fair. It is not fair. You had the right to live. You had the right for love, the right to make your own mistakes and to learn from them. You had the right to go your own special path.
Did you decide to leave because life seemed too painful and too unbearable? Your own mother did not want you. So you were gone. I would have wanted you. Why couldn't I do anything for you? Why wasn't I able to save you? The truth is that I couldn't. I was only two years old at the time. I am so sorry. And now, it is too late.
There is no love in our family. There never was. Even our grandmother was abused by her own mother. So the trauma got passed down from generation to generation. But this is a different story. You did not survive that. And I am so sorry. All the traumatized people in our family hat to cut out their hearts in order to survive. Somehow I was able to survive - with my heart shattered into a million pieces. You did not. I can do the work to fix the damage. I can do therapy and heal. You cannot. I would give anything to be able to change your destiny.
Sometimes it feels as though you were still here. As if you were my ally. Because you know the truth. The ugly truth about our mother. You know, what everyone else refuses to believe. What people do not want to hear. That some mothers are damaging their kids. That some mothers are incapable of love. You are a part of me. And this will never change. Even though I don't know where you are - since I do not believe in afterlife. I can feel you within myself. I will forever be your older sister. I carry you inside of my heart. This is everything I can do for you. Everything I have left. You are dead. And I am alive. How is this fair?
Breaking the toxic Cycle
Where ever you are, please know that I did wake up. I can see what you were able to see decades ago. Our mother does not even deserve the title mother. I refuse to believe that you just left for no reason. You left because you felt her emptiness, her despair, her contempt, her helplessness. Believe me, I felt it, too. You, however, might have been even more sensitive than I am.
When I am unable to sleep at night I think about you who isn't even able to have problems falling asleep...
What mom did was not okay. That she was relieved when you were gone was unspeakably cruel. Your life mattered. It still does matter. Sometimes the whistleblower of a toxic family decides to leave before they get the chance to turn him into the black sheep. You saw it long before I was ready to. Before you have been born. They turned me into the black sheep, now. And you know what? I am proud to wear that label. And I will never stop telling your story. Which is my story, too.
I will always love you.