When I was five, my sister almost killed me. We had just gotten separate rooms. In those days my sister and I would communicate through the vents, she would read to me as I had yet to master the art of distinguishing the differences between y and g. We would congregate in Elizabeth's room, playing cards or house or setting up the giant elaborate marble track. It had to be done a certain way, include every piece in the exact same three tracks, because that’s the way Elizabeth wanted it. One day, we were running around her room, playing doctor. The house was quiet, our mom doing laundry in the living room. I was the patient of course, following every instruction she gave me. Lying down on the sky blue carpet, all I could see were a few rays of light gleaming through the blinds, filled with shadows of leaves as they rustled gently outside.

“Open your mouth and close your eyes and I will give you your medicine.”

It sounded almost like a nursery rhyme taunt, assuming my sister had stolen some candy from my mother I obliged. Maybe after this we could play go fish, Elizabeth never wanted to play but it was my favorite game. Probably because it was easy to understand. Suddenly, I felt something heavy fall in my throat. I jumped up tears immediately in my eyes trying to spit it out. I couldn’t breathe. Pain. Not the kind I felt whenever I tripped and scraped my knee but unbearable stabbing pain. I saw less and less of the room, one by one the bed faded away, the chairs the toys. Finally, the only thing I could feel was the pain. When I could next see, I saw my mom. She took me to my room to lie down after making sure I was okay. I could hear screaming from the next room but I couldn’t make out the words. All I knew was that we weren’t allowed to have marbles for the next three years, and that my sister couldn’t be trusted any longer.

When I was 10, I stopped singing. We had just put the tree up in the living room. Hours were spent debating the placement of ornaments, one was broken. Luckily it was just a standard orb and had no sentimental value. It had just started to snow and my father was cleaning the driveway while my mom napped. There was a slight chill in the house so I was wandering around my room alternating between reading and annoying the cat. Suddenly I was struck with an idea. Looking outside I hummed the tune to let it snow. Unsure of the words I made up my own (Oh the weather outside is frightful, the inside is so delightful, so since there’s no place to snow, let it snow let it snow let it snow and so on). My door opened. My sister walked in, jumped on my bed, and joined in. We had fun changing the words and dancing around, but then my sister stopped and looked at me.

“You know, you should really just let me sing. I’m the one that inherited the good voice. You don’t sound good.”

My stomach sank as my eyes began to water. Silently I walked away and shut myself in the bathroom. I thought to myself that she was right. My feelings weren’t hurt exactly, it was more like I was embarrassed that I had started to sing in the first place. From that moment on I stopped singing. In music class I would mouth the words, and once band came along it became a non-issue. As I got older I wished that I had a good voice, I wanted to do musicals and theatre but simply couldn’t sing. I never had a chance to learn how to.

When I was 15, I stopped loving my sister. I had just gotten to high school. I was so excited to meet all the new people and do as many extracurriculars as possible, one of which was play. I grew close with one girl throughout the production, unsure of what I was feeling I finally realized that I wanted to be more than her friend. Confused and scared I confided in my sister. She was supportive, but I was too scared to know what it all meant. Over the course of the year, I started to become more comfortable with the fact that I liked girls and boys. However, I did not want to tell anyone before I was sure myself. My sister was struggling. I was up late most nights trying to tune out the fighting, the threats, and the loud bangs as things were thrown against walls. It was thundering, but that didn’t prevent the inevitable altercation. Then I heard the words that cut me so deeply I would never recover from them.

“You’re terrible parents, she doesn’t even trust you enough to be able to tell you she’s gay.”

With those words, many things were stolen from me. My relationship with my mom, my confidence in who I was, and my ability to share my feelings with others. Most of all, and most importantly, I lost the idea that my sister was my sister. There had been fights and rivalries, but I loved her. After those words were spoken, I vowed not to trust her. Eventually, I stopped caring about her altogether. She could no longer be my confidant, she could no longer by my sister.