In the maze of my memories a still picture of you is held.

You were 12 years old.

Your brown hair blew lightly in the breeze-

A smile spread across your face

As if this were the happiest time to be alive;

As if from this moment forward it could only go down.

Well, it did.

You were 14 years old when I noticed you being methodically led into depression.

You had your arm outstretched, holding onto his hand.

Step by step, you walked with him and away from me.

At 16, you acted as if you had fallen in love with a razor.

You let the blade nick at your skin like a lover kissing up your arms.

I helped you clean up the blood.

You were 18 years old the first time you told me that drinking was fun.

You then proceeded to come home late at night with the smell of her clinging to your skin

There was evidence of her in every step yet you denied it.

You stumbled over your own feet and

I had to hold you up because your legs couldn’t.

At 20, you had a nasty breakup.

You had cut your ties with him but reacted as if abandoned

Screaming for him with a dry throat

But in return you were left only with hot flashes, hallucinations, and overwhelming nausea.

I had to hold you as your body tried to get revenge for the years of ill-treatment.

You are 22 years old and those memories of how laughter turned into yelling

continue to echo in my mind.

Smiles turned into swollen red eyes.

You have to understand,

I can’t just forgive you.

Silence is a force stronger than words, and it’s worked its way down my throat.

Silence has lived there now for years.

But I couldn’t leave those things unsaid any longer.

Your secrets, I couldn’t put them as a burden on my shoulders any more .

Because.. because it’s not normal to be awoken by your sister at 2 am lying on the floor in a fit of laughter.

Halfway yelling between breaths,

“Come to the land of drunken unicorns”.

It’s not normal to hide out of sight because vodka gives you the words that you couldn’t say while sober.

It’s not normal to be collateral damage.

I’m sorry, but you...

You are not my sister.

Addiction stole you away.

Stole your personality and innocent smile.

You have to understand

I can’t just forgive you

Because how many second chances can I give you until I’m enabling your addiction?

I’m sorry.

You are not my sister.

You are simply a stranger that I know very well.