I always was jealous of my sister. It seemed that my parents loved her more than me or my other sister. She always got good grades, told my parents about the upcoming tests she needed to study for and just told them everything about her life.
I chose not to tell my parents about my life at school, because I knew how demanding they could be. My parents are strict, especially my father. He can get abusive at times.
But because I chose for not telling them anything, they kind of left me. I am glad I did, but I also miss it. It somehow felt like they cared when they asked, but I never how to answer them so I never really gave them an answer.
So I got jealous of my sister, who was in my eyes “The Perfect Daughter”. But what I didn’t know is that my perfect sister wasn’t so perfect.
She had a break down. She felt the pressure of my parents and her school grades. She couldn’t really handle it, so she took pills for her anxiety.
One day she came home from her work and she was not in a good mood. She was tired. I knew that I shouldn’t start a conversation with her, but my father didn’t.
He asked her something about her broken phone, and she answered that she was tired and really couldn’t deal with it right now. I for one was impressed that she could answer like that. But my father wasn’t. He translated her answer to “I’m the only one working here, so leave me alone.” He got mad, like really mad. “If you can’t act normal you can get out of the house! Be very careful with what you say, before I need to slap you.” he said.
Like I said, my sister was tired. But what I finally understood from that day was that she was tired of living here. “Then go ahead. SLAP ME!” she screamed. I was scared for her life, because he was lunging towards her, but my mother and I got in between. I held my father back and my mother took my sister towards her room.
My sister needed to get out of the house so she could have some peace, so she asked her two best mates if she could possibly spend the night there. My mother didn’t like the idea. She could go out, but not stay the night. My mother was afraid what their parents would think.
I hated that she thought like that. I would be fine telling the whole world what my father done to me and my family. I would have loved to tell everyone who he really was if that would have helped me throughout the years. I used to be ashamed, but not anymore.
Before she went to her friends she cried in the backyard, and tried to get rid of her puffy face. I calmed her down and walked with her to her friends house. That day made me realize that I shouldn’t be jealous, but I should help her with the fights she has against herself when she’s not feeling okay.