What everybody else sees.

It’s very difficult to live with someone who appears to be something they’re not. I’ve lived my whole life with a variation of these sorts of people.

Life is hard at the moment. Take out my wonderful daughter who gives me nothing but pleasure and I’m left with many dilemmas.

I suppose I have to be cryptic but whoever they are will clearly know when I describe my current situation.

What do you do when you lose communication? When you feel like you can’t access the people you rely on, the people who are supposed to be by your side. In recent years, I have felt very much alone. My support system is crumbling. The people who were once so strong are now so distant and guarded. It happened gradually only revealing itself fully late last year. When I myself was having to deal with the trauma of giving birth seven weeks early and coping with being a mother way before I had expected. Not only that, but my precious daughter remained in hospital, trying to thrive and I had no certainty of when she would be home with her mummy.

I needed support. Someone to be there for me.

Instead I am forgotten. My struggles are forgotten and this past eight months have felt incredibly lonely.

I don’t really talk any more to anyone. Friends know what they need to know. I’m used to hiding. It’s almost like a second skin. I did it for twelve years with my father. Friends I did tell never fully grasped the extent of his abuse. People tend to look for the good in others. It’s natural but not everyone is good. My father was a very bad man. There were no excuses for his actions. They weren’t a result of anything. He was how he was because he chose to be that way.

We all have choices. Life is a series of them. I’ve made some really bad ones in my past. I chose to stand by my father, through the abuse and allowed him to treat me abhorrently. All because I longed for my father’s love. A love that never was.

Now I hold onto hope once again. It’s a bad trait. One I wish I didn’t have. One that holds me back and makes me weak.

I will always cling to hope. A hope that one day I can be strong again, find myself and be able to do it alone if I needed to.

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We, us, she, me.

We were close once.

The age difference was not an issue for a short while. We had a relationship; we just don’t any more.

The two of us have never looked alike. People often mentioned how different we were not just physically; our personality could not be further apart.

She was an intellectual, quiet and gentle in nature. My mother oddly looked up to her when surely she should have really been her role model. She could talk to adults from a young age showing high levels of maturity as a child. Her school years were easy and she flew through exams, achieving high grades and scholarships everywhere she went. People liked her, adults admired her. I admired her. As an adult she grew in confidence and power. She and my mother formed a tight unit – unbreakable and robust, I could not get through it. I wanted to be included and be a part of her life. Her personality began to alter the older she got. She is a total stranger now. This is not what I ever wanted for us.

As for me, I want her in my life.

Of course I do.

Although I do not want criticisms or attacks. I do not want my character tarnished any more. I cannot cope with it. I endured it for years from all of them. We could have a relationship and find the love we once had for each other all those years ago. The two of us could unite once again and become a true family. She doesn’t have to do it alone.

Come back to me.

Sister.