A Little Truth a Little Lie

I have a question for you. Do you know that your sister lies to you? I mean, she likes to twist words and sit back and watch the drama. It's her thing. You, of all people, know she loves the drama.

I learned recently that she told you I thought you were lying about your illness. That wasn't completely true. What was said, which she heard first hand since she was standing in the kitchen next to me, was:

"I think her stomach issue is her anxiety. If I thought it was serious, I would make her go to the doctor."

I didn't say you were faking it. I just didn't think your illness was anything other than the usual issue you have. You never intimated it was more serious.

Thankfully, your issue wasn't life threatening.

Unfortunately, there could be other issue down the road, but you are not interested in my two cents, so I keep my thoughts to myself.

Every time I think that you and I have made headway, I learn that it's a lie. We haven't made any progress. It's frustrating.

You do not think of us as your parents and certainly not as friends. Where does that put us? I don't know how to fix us.

People ask about you and I lie.

"She's doing great!"

How would I know?

Just another little lie.

The Slow Learner

There are moments when I feel like we are making progress. Fleeting, whispy seconds when our words are sweet and promise floats between us. It dissipates rather quickly and the familiar stench of distrust returns.

You have been unwell, but didn't want me involved. Another reminder of my place in your life. Always the outsider looking in. Peering through a lock, searching for the entrance to your heart.

Failure is bitter to swallow.

I prayed you would be okay, that the doctors would figure out what was wrong. I prayed you weren't pregnant, that your appendix was healthy, that cancer would never be mentioned. I was relieved to hear that you are going to be fine.

What if your illness had been more serious? Would you have wanted me then?

Stupid, isn't it? My desperate desire to be needed. It's sick really. I'm disgusted with myself, but I am learning.

Learning to stay away, to forget. I'm a slow learner, but you and your sister remind me constantly to let go.

Let go. Just let go.