I’ve repeatedly said that my sister hated me and that my mother kept us apart but I thought of something the other day. What if she knew how I really felt about her? What if she knew despite all I did to help out that I resented the fact that she didn’t fight more? What if she knew behind my smile, behind my helpful hand was disgust and anger because she couldn’t be more like me? What if she knew? Maybe that’s part of the reason she hated me so because she did know.
I’d chase kids and pull them off her. I’d beat them up but then go home and yell at her for being so weak! Oh I was so angry that she never stood up for herself and left it up to me. While hitting those kids I was furious that they had the nerve to touch my big sister. Who did they think they were and why did they think they’d get away with it? Here’s a kick to the stomach and a fist to the mouth. Think about that the next time you want to put your hands on my big sister. But I’d turn around and go home angry, cursing and screaming (much like my mother) that she ran like a coward, that she cried and backed down.
Through the years we saw each other being abused. We saw the pain, we saw expressions of pain as well as felt the agony of waiting for our turn. In that time was she aware that I stood less than 5 feet away angry at her for showing fear and crying with her mouth open? Could she feel the dowel rod and my resentment, my complete disgust for reacting to pain?
Perhaps it was more than my mother that drove a wedge between my sister and myself. Maybe the fact that I identified with the aggressor helped put a wall between us that still stands.
I may never have said I hate you because you’re weak or I hate you because you scream and cry. Some words don’t have to be said, a look will do just fine.
Why didn’t she follow the ever changing rules of sexual abuse and starvation then cross them with our public life of perfection? Why didn’t this child successfully juggle home, school and torture so that I could be proud of her and say, “That’s my big sister laying there taking it like a seasoned captive?”
Joan of Arc
EVEN WITH YOUR EYES CLOSED YOU CAN SEE SOMEONE APPROACHING.
HIS SHADOW SHOWS ON THE INSIDES OF YOUR EYELIDS.
Jenny Holzer
Slowly catching up with you
Just a thought I had reading this: sometimes I think get “jealous” (I’m not sure that’s the right word at all but the only one I can thing of right now) of people who can let their emotions show, give in, etc. It’s just not for me an acceptable thing to do, I think I sometimes wish I could just say “I’m too tired to fight”. I find I get really angry at people who do that. I don’t know if it’s because I feel that’s just not a choice for me or because they just really genuinely piss me off for being weak and emotional. I think I wrote something of that in some post about fragility or something like that…I should probably go re-read that one.