Dark Strength

Dear stranger,1

As I am writing this I feel safe in the knowledge that you are a stranger to me; and I to you. I will never know who reads this as you will never know who wrote it. I have long felt that I need to tell my story to someone but I have never known who. I only know who I don’t want to share it with. This seemed like the best solution. This is my story. Mine alone. While it very much involves several other people it is still my story. The way I look at it, everyone has a story and it usually interconnects with someone else’s. Be it family, friend or complete strangers such as you and me. The question is where to start. Though perhaps I should start with the questions. I have asked myself so many over the past five years. But you see the one I keep coming back to is this: Why am I the person I am today? Haven’t you ever wondered that? Maybe you have the answer; all I know is that I do not. Instead I have simply come across more questions. Was there an incident in my life that determined the person I would become or was I destined to be who I am today? And then do I believe in fate or destiny and if I don’t is it still real? What if there is a person who has hurt a lot of people? If you don’t believe in the concept of people  simply being either good or evil like me (although I have come across one person being the exception to that rule) then how can you not ask why that person did those things , why that person became who they did , since they could not have always been like that . And of course having now written all that I can’t help wondering how many other people my age care about this? It seems to me that most are too busy pretending to be someone they’re not to find out who they really are , let alone why they’re who they are . Perhaps now would be the best time to mention that I’m only fifteen.    2

I’m sorry; I had to stop writing last night. My little sister wanted me to play with her and I could hardly refuse her now could I? As I’m sure you can see my story as I called it will have to be written more each night. There’s only so much I can write at one time. But then again perhaps you’re not even reading anymore. Perhaps you’ve already thrown this out in which case my words are being wasted. What a sad thought. So, have you noticed I’m in a much lighter mood today? I started off rather seriously .I bet right now you’re wondering why I’m still writing if I think you’ve already thrown it away , aren’t you ? Well I don’t. I was just noting the possibility. I can’t help feeling that somehow this will be read. If I didn’t believe that this would be read, I would not bother writing it. I wonder, stranger, what do you think so far? Are you curious about me? Should I tell you something about myself? What if I make something up, how will you know the difference? Notice I ask a lot of questions? Well there you go, that’s what I’ll tell you about me. I’m curious and, no I don’t mean odd. But I am, always have been always will be. Someone once told me that if curiosity killed the cat then I killed the lion. What do I know about you though? Absolutely nothing. I like that. There’s nothing that could possibly change my mind about telling you my story .At least I will never know of anything, which isn’t the same but is still good enough. You know I’m in a surprisingly good mood today. Why surprising? You’ll have to wait and find out. Hehehehehe! I don’t want any serious spoiling an otherwise perfectly good page. And now I find I have nothing more to say, so tata for now.3

Hello again! Yes I’m still in a good mood. That goes without saying considering what day it is. And what day is that I hear you ask? I’ll give you a clue: presents, cake, balloons. Ok so that was three but I never was good at maths. Give up yet? My little sister’s birthday. I already mentioned her I think .Well in any case Claire was five today. And watching her just made me smile. I love watching her and today she just had so much fun. Although having just written it I feel sad. I’m used to it now. I guess it was writing about watching her that did it. Maybe that’s where I should start telling you my story. See, for as long as I can remember it’s like I’m watching. I don’t really mind that so much. It’s the other part that’s hard. I’m always on the outside. I can watch my family having fun but I can’t join in. I don’t belong. And it’s always been that way. I guess I just didn’t notice it so much when I was younger. I’m sorry I don’t want to write anymore. Tomorrow.4

I’m sad tonight. Not depressed, just sad. There’s a difference you know. It’s kinda funny actually. When I got depressed before, everyone just wrote it off as me having a bad day. Mum would insist that I was just “a bit down”. Yet now on these occasions when I am just feeling sad she’s all of a sudden trying to find out what’s wrong and what she can do, as if she thinks I’m going to throw myself off a cliff .Why is it that people can’t see the difference . Sadness is just a part of being human .If we didn’t feel sad for things then we wouldn’t be real. Depression however, is different .It might start from deep sadness or trauma. Or guilt .But then it takes over .It pulls you into darkness. Slowly, so you don’t always notice it at first .And you feed it by letting it take over. By not fighting. Until you choose to be strong and pull yourself out of it. But that is not to say that if we aren’t strong and don’t pull out of it, we are choosing to be weak. I think that’s an unfair assumption It seems to me that some people think that depression is simply a matter of choosing not to be. If that were the case then most people would live their lives without any lapses into depression. I say most because some I fear are like me. I don’t choose to pull myself out of depression for the simple reason that I don’t want to. I cannot go about my life whistling cheery tunes and pretending that I deserve to be happy. I do not.  5

I couldn’t write anymore last night. After writing what I did I lost control. It happens when I think about stuff like that. Usually I can ignore it for a while. Pretend it doesn’t exist. But it does and when I remember that I can’t always handle it. But hey that’s what guilt does to you. If there’s one thing I’ve learnt though it’s that you can live with guilt. That doesn’t mean it’s easy but it can be done. I think it’s time I start from the beginning. You have to understand that this is hard for me and I may have to stop sometimes. But I have to do this. I guess the beginning for me wasn’t really the beginning. To be honest I don’t know when it all began. I doubt if even she does. I can’t remember anything about that day at all. I don’t even know what month it was. But it was before the Easter holidays, I know that much. I know it was a school day but I remember nothing about that. W ho I played with, what I did, it’s all a total blank. Everything about that day is hazy. The only clear parts are the details directly surrounding it. I was ten. Claire had been born in January. She was still just a baby. Mum was breastfeeding her in the lounge room and dad was talking to her. I was having a bath. It was just after dinner. We had a toilet that was separate from the bathroom. I didn’t even hear Jess, my older sister, go in. At least I don’t think I did. But then again it’s not something that I would have paid any attention to. And I didn’t. Until I heard this noise. At first it didn’t register in my mind what it was and then when it did it didn’t make any sense – at first. But then, slowly, it dawned on me. I remember it feeling like I sat there for hours while it sunk in. But I guess in reality it couldn’t have been much more than a minute because then Jess knocked on the bathroom door and asked if I would be out soon. After that all I remember is the feeling of dread in the pit of my stomach. I’m sorry, I have to stop now. This too hard!!6

As you can see from last night, writing this is hard for me. I just couldn’t write anymore. And now that I’ve calmed down I don’t know what I would have written anyway. I can’t remember the rest of the night. Except for crying myself to sleep. I did most nights after that. Sometimes out of fear, sometimes out of guilt. And sometimes it was just sheer emotional exhaustion. I was just ten. At the time I hated being in that situation. I even felt sorry for myself. People have argued that I shouldn’t feel guilty, I was just a kid. But that’s not the point. I am guilty. And actually it’s only one person who’s said that because she’s the only person I’ve told about it. That person is Lyn. My counsellor. It wasn’t my choice to go see her, my dad kind of made me. But I guess if I’m honest I like seeing her now. I almost feel safe with her and trust me when I say, that doesn’t happen often. It took almost two years to tell her about my guilt and it being the main cause of my depression. Before that I just avoided awkward questions with shrugs and silence which I know rather annoyed her. When I did tell her, she said I had no reason to feel guilty. But you see, the problem with that is that she actually believes it. It wouldn’t matter if she was saying it to make me feel better. I realise that must sound back to front considering the fact that most people say they dislike being lied to, even if it is to spare their feelings. But I wanted her to tell me I was right. That I was a horrible person who deserved my mother’s hatred. She didn’t. She truly didn’t understand that it was my fault. I don’t know who you are but I still hope that you have never felt such pain as I have. No one deserves to feel the pain I do. Well, no one except me of course. I deserve this pain and so much more. Just ask my mother.7

****8

Hey, me again. Sorry about last night. Wait, you know what? I take that back. I’m not sorry. This is about my story and it wouldn’t do to leave that out. It’s part of it. It’s where it all began for me. Actually I think it’s only half of what’s brought me here – to   telling my story. As you may or may not be able to see, I’m just writing things as they come to me. But at the same time I’m trying to keep things in order. Back to what I was saying before though. I guess really a lot of stuff happened before that night. But with me not Jess. But I think it was that night that I started to understand a little about myself. It was then that I really worked out that I didn’t matter. That I’m not worth anything. So, I’m guessing you’ll want to know what happened next, right. I don’t really know. I can’t remember. I don’t think much did happen. I started watching more. I went about my life pretty much the same as usual but it was all pretend. And of course occasionally I would lose it. Like one day in sport we were playing T-ball. I knew I’d be hopeless. I knew I wouldn’t be safe. By that time I was noticing it more. The not being safe. Most things I could do but that was just too much. I couldn’t do it. And then when the teacher showed me how to hold the bat properly (because of course I wasn’t) I just lost it. I threw the bat away and yelled something, I can’t remember what exactly. Then I went and locked myself in the toilets. I didn’t come out for ages. I just sat there and cried. Silently of course. The last thing I wanted was a teacher finding me crying, they would have called my parents and at the time I could think of nothing worse. By then I was pretty good at silent tears. I’d been doing it every night since I’d heard Jess. It all just went along like that for a while. I don’t really know for how long. I can’t remember. I know it must seem like there’s a lot I can’t remember but it’s just the way it was. I did try to tell my friend though. She didn’t really understand. We didn’t talk about it again. I can’t think of anything else to say, so stay tuned for the next episode of THIS IS MY LIFE.9

Do you get on with your mum? I never did really. I was always doing something wrong. You know, let’s change the subject. What shall we discuss? Of course I do realise it’ll be a rather one sided conversation but anything’s better than telling you about my mother. Do you like to read? Personally I LOVE to read. I have a lot of books. Not that I had a lot of friends when I was at school but the ones I did have didn’t understand the appeal that books had to me. I mean they still do. Probably more in a way because there’s so much more variety in young adult books. I love pretty much everything. I even re-read all my Enid Blytons from time to time. You know, The Secret Seven, The Famous Five and all those books. I still love them. I love the way they can go off for the whole day with a picnic. And how they always had sandwiches and chocolate and cake or buns and lemonade and ginger beer. It just always sounded so good. I always wanted to be able to do that. But I also like John Marsden and Jackie French, Alyssa Brugman, Isobelle Carmody. I like a lot of authors. What I love about books is the escapism because that’s what it is. A total escape. From anything and anywhere. To a totally different time, place or world. And I think everyone needs that at times. Singing is the same. At least it is for me. Because ultimately that’s what a song is – just a different type of storytelling. I love singing. Most people my age sing whatever’s on the radio but I sing things that I like to think reflect who I am or how I feel. I like a lot of old music. Not that it’s actually all that old but by “teenage etiquette” as I like to call it, I’m required to call it old. For instance that song by Joni Mitchell, River. I love that. Or Vincent by Don Mclean. I like Wendy Mathews and Crowded House, Midnight Oil, Van Morrison, even some Beatles songs. And at the moment I really love Billie Holiday, Ella Fitzgerald, Nina Simone and Lena Horne. So now you understand why I was never popular. I do like other music too though. Nirvana, Pearl Jam, Foo Fighters, Ben Harper, Jack Johnson, Dido, Norah Jones and certain early Mariah Carey stuff. The list just goes on. And for the record, I hate Britney Spears. That won some points. So there, I don’t exactly know what that was but it was fun to tell someone. Well, fun for me, probably not for you. I imagine you’re with the rest of the teenage population. The consensus so far is that I should hop into fridge til my teenage years are over. Oh well. You know what I’ve noticed. I’m writing as though I think you’re a teenager. I realise that the odds of whoever reads this being my age are probably against me but nonetheless I do think that you – whoever you are – are my age. Wishful thinking maybe? Who knows? Well, I gotta go.10

Hello again. I was playing with Claire again last night. We played shops. I gave her a cash register for her birthday and she’s been playing with it ever since. She’s so adorable. I love her so much you know. She almost died when she was a baby. I was so scared. She was about six months old I think. Around about that age anyway. It’s not exactly part of the story, just something that happened at the same time. Although I guess it didn’t help me. I’m not sure exactly but I think it must have been about a month after that first night I’d heard Jess. It had been a regular occurrence after that. It happened nearly every night. Anyway, that weekend was the last weekend of the holidays and my friend Heather and I had stayed at Marzie and Paba’s place. Marzie is my mum’s mum and Paba is her husband. Mum’s parents divorced when she was little and then her mum remarried when mum was eighteen. We hardly saw Pa, mums dad, and Marzie and Paba were just always our grandparents. We always had the best time at their place. So, that weekend Heather and I had stayed up late on Friday night watching videos and then on Saturday we just mucked around. We went to the park across the street and had a game of Scrabble with Marzie who, needless to say won. And of course Paba supplied us with snacks which really meant lollies. He always had stuff hidden away for when we stayed. He died last year. Lung cancer. He had beat it once a long time ago when he was younger but they had removed one lung so when mum told me that he was sick again I knew that he would die. They never said so but I knew. I miss him. Sorry, I’m getting off track. It’s just hard sometimes because I write what’s in my head as I go. On Saturday afternoon they dropped me off at Heathers place. When I rang dad to tell him where I was he told me to come straight to the shop because Claire was sick. When I got home Claire had a really high temperature and she was throwing up. Mum took her to the local medical centre and they thought it would pass with some Panadol but it didn’t and by the morning she was worse. Mum was worried so we took her to Westmead Children’s Hospital. I was to go back to school on Tuesday and I remember thinking that I couldn’t possibly go back if she was still this sick. I just wanted to be there with my baby sister. We had to wait to see a doctor and it took like an hour. I remember the guy sitting next to us worked out that he and dad had played cricket together when they were young. When they finally got to see a doctor I could tell it was bad from the look on mums face when she said to wait there. Then dad came to sat that they had to do a test called lumbar puncture. Neither Jess nor I knew what it was until dad came back out a few minutes later. He couldn’t handle it. When I found out later what a lumbar puncture was I understood why he had to leave the room. In case you don’t know a lumbar puncture is where they curl you up into a ball and you have to stay really still, and they put needle into your spine to extract the spinal fluids. They did it because they thought it might have been meningitis. It wasn’t. We were relieved but at the same time worried because we still didn’t know what it was. All they could do was put her on a drip of antibiotics. It was about that time that Marzie and Paba and Uncle Pete arrived. I guess mum must have called them. I think we all thought she was going to die. She was just so little and so sick. I guess the doctors must have done other tests but I’m not sure. Jess and I were kept out of the way as much as possible. We spent a lot of time playing video games in the rec room. Uncle Pete played quite a bit too. I guess he didn’t know what else to do. He and mum have always been really close. By Monday evening Claire was much better so the next day we just went back to school. The doctors never came up with a definite diagnosis but mum has always thought it was a reaction to the immunisation she’d had the day before. She never had the rest of it either; mum didn’t want to take the chance of her being so ill again. The thing I remember the most about the time we spent at the hospital was how everyone was so distracted. We got our meals from the cafeteria nearly every day. Jess hardly ever got anything and when she did as soon as we got back they would just ask if we got something all right and Jess would excuse herself to go to the bathroom. They never noticed. Why would they?11

I don’t want to write today. Things are not good. Everything’s bad. Bad, bad, bad. Why can’t they see? Oh god this is so bad. She can’t die, she just can’t. I can’t lose her. Not now. Please, no. Please god, don’t take her away from me. Let me die not her. I deserve it. She doesn’t!!            12

********13

Look, about last night. I shouldn’t have written that. It’s just that writing has been good for me. I just didn’t know what else to do. I don’t even know why I’m writing now. Actually that’s a lie. I know exactly why I’m writing now. To try to keep my mind off Lisa. As if anything could. I don’t know what to do. I might as well tell you what’s wrong. She’s in hospital. She’s in a coma and on a respirator. I don’t want to talk about what happened. But I can’t lose her. I just can’t. Why now? Why did this have to happen now when she was so happy? Everything was so good for her. I just can’t understand any of it. I was so happy for her. I wasn’t the only one. Oh god, I am so afraid. She’s all I have. Can you understand that? Lisa is my best friend. But it’s more than that. I can’t describe how close we are or everything we’ve been through. I guess that’s it. Everything that’s happened since she came home we’ve been through together. I know if I could explain all the things that have happened you might understand better but I can’t tell you. It’s not mine to tell if that makes any sense. It just wouldn’t be fair to tell you things without knowing whether she would be ok with it or not. I don’t know what else to write. I had intended to write more about me but how can I? All that I can think of is Lisa. I think the hardest part is that my family haven’t even noticed that anything is wrong. They don’t even know her let alone how much she means to me but you’d think they would have noticed how worried I was or something. You know I take that back. Who cares if they can’t see me? The hardest part is that I could lose Lisa. That can’t happen. I won’t let it!!  14

Oh my god, she’s ok. Everything’s ok. Oh thank god she’s alright. Lisa’s awake and she’s gonna be ok. I’m sorry, I’m crying so mo much right now. I’m just so relieved. I’ve never been so scared before. But she’s ok! I should have known. Lisa’s strong. I mean, she couldn’t die, not now that she and – Oh I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have written that. It’s not important. At least not to you. Why would it be, you don’t even know her. Dr Beaumont said she’s weak but she will be fine. She just has to stay in hospital a little while longer. Needless to say she hates that. You’d understand if you knew Lisa. And of course there’s the fact that L – Sorry I did it again. I just forget I’m writing to you. Again, please ignore. I guess I could just erase what I wrote but if I do I might be tempted to do it in other places and I can’t do that. This has to be honest or it’s pointless. Anyway all that matters is that Lisa’s ok. And that she’s happy. Which she is, so nothing else matters. I’ll write later. Right now I just want to see her. Seeya. And thanks, you helped.15

I don’t really know what to write now. I don’t remember it exactly as it happened. It’s just some things that stand out. I don’t remember what happened after Claire came out of hospital. I just went back to school. Everyone thought I was fine. I mean why I wouldn’t I be. I got so good at pretending. I still am. They never see when I’m not good. That’s pretty much all the time anyway so I guess that either shows how good I am at pretending or how blind they are when it comes to seeing me. Or maybe they just don’t care. It would be so much easier if that were true but the problem is it’s not. At least not where dad and Jess are concerned. Mum couldn’t care less but they, well, they still do and I don’t deserve it. I know at times Jess does hate me. Or maybe she just hates what I did, I don’t know but I know she still cares about me. I wish she didn’t though. I don’t deserve it. She has every right to hate me. It’s not like we were really close before but it doesn’t matter that doesn’t mean a thing. She still has every right to hate me and mum knows it too. That’s why she does it. She’s punishing me. I hate her, I really do but I have no right to complain about the way she treats me because I deserve it. I honestly do. 16

I didn’t know what else to write last night and I don’t know now either. You know what, screw this. I can’t be bothered. I’d rather see Lisa than deal with all this crap. I’m just not in the mood today. 17

Ok, sorry about last night. I was in foul mood. Don’t worry I’m not anymore. In fact I’m in an excellent mood today. Want to know why? Well, too bad I’m not telling!! Sorry, I know I shouldn’t tease like that it’s just the kind of mood I’m in. It’s so good to have Lisa back. Like I’ve said before she’s my best friend. Do you ever feel like your happiness only ever comes trough other people? No, you probably don’t. In fact you probably have no idea what I’m talking about. It’s like, whenever I’m happy it’s not cos of something good happening to me. It’s always happiness for someone else. I’m happy for Lisa or someone else I care about. I can’t remember the last time I was just happy, for no good reason, just happy. I sometimes wonder if I ever have been. That might sound strange but I can’t help it. If I can’t remember being happy other than for other people for so long then maybe I never have been. I don’t know. Let’s face it; the only thing I know is that I’m not happy.18

About last night, I’m not going to apologise but I will try to explain a little bit better. I can’t tell you why I’m not happy. There’s the guilt, yes but I wasn’t happy long before that happened. But lately I just fel so tired. Emotionally, I mean. Like I just can’t be bothered anymore. No, that’s not right because I can be bothered; there are things I actually look forward to. Like seeing Lisa. But at the moment I just feel too heavy. Every thing is such an effort. Except for Lisa. She’s what keeps me going. This must all sound weird to you. Have you ever felt like you’re on the outside? I told you about it before. I don’t know anyone else who feels it the way I do. It’s a constant for me. I always feel alone. Sometimes I think I feel more alone when I’m surrounded by people than when I’m by myself. I always feel alone. I don’t belong. Anywhere. Not with my family, most definitely not at school. I guess that had to come up sooner or later. I hated school. I didn’t feel safe, I didn’t have friends. I felt like I was so far below everyone else. Everyone I know is good at something. I mean, they say everyone has hidden talent, right. Well, I don’t. I’m not good at anything. You know I love to sing and I’ve been told I have a good voice but they’re wrong. The only reason mum said it was to hurt me and Jess, to make me feel good. They both know I love to sing. But at school I was no good at maths or sport or anything. They all had something but I didn’t. That alone would have been enough but it was more than just the way I felt. I went to an all girls’ school and that was a big mistake. It was just so bitchy. I got called a cow by someone who had been one of my best friends in primary school. I know they said other things behind my back too. I just hated it so much that I stopped going. I’m tired. I feel like I’m about to collapse but I doubt I’ll get to sleep easily. I never do.19

Hi again. I’m in a good mood today. Sadly not because I’m happy. It’s been a good day for Lisa again. An extremely good day. I know I’m being mean by not telling you about her but I can’t. To be honest I don’t think I want to. But I can’t not say anything about her either. I hope you don’t mind. And I’m sorry if you do. It’s hard being friends with someone my family don’t know because I can’t talk about her. So instead I’m telling you. Well, sort of. Something really good happened to her today so I’m happy. Well, I’m happy for her. I don’t even know if you care about this so I’ll stop. What should I write about then? Like I’ve said before I don’t know what happened next. I guess it was the letter. One day when they were all out, I went into Jess’s room. I know I shouldn’t have. I know I would have hated it if she had done it to me but I felt like I had to. I don’t know, I guess I thought I might find something. Looking back I think I thought if I could see something in her room then it would stand to reason that mum and dad might see it too. Instead I found the letter. It was to someone called Belinda. At the time I didn’t know who she was but I found out later. It didn’t say anything that would spell it out to someone who didn’t already know what it meant. She was being very careful. But I knew what it meant, or I could guess. She asked Belinda not to tell mum and dad because she didn’t want to worry them. She said it was nothing, that she’d had the flu. That was it. Nothing that would really make anyone suspicious if they hadn’t already known what I did. It was the beginning of a lot of letters between them I guess. It was, after all a letter that brought it all out into the open. But that wasn’t until about a month later. It felt like forever to me though. That was the real beginning of my pretence. I was only ten at the time so naturally up until then if I was upset I didn’t try to hide it. Of course having always felt I was on the outside I never told anyone I was upset but being so young I didn’t try to hide it either. Although it’s true I didn’t ever tell them what was really wrong. How could I? I knew they would never understand. Anyway, at that time I was so caught up in Jess that I couldn’t think about anything else. I couldn’t let anyone else see that so I pretended everything was fine. I lived my life the way any ten year old would. I went to school, I did my homework and I went to friends houses. I was the same as every other kid my age. On the outside at least. But inside I felt a lot older than ten. I couldn’t see the point in all those things. How could I worry about those things when that was happening? I started writing and singing to escape. Only it wasn’t much of an escape because my writing mirrored what was happening and the songs I sung, how I felt. I don’t know what else to say. 20

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Jess and I were never particularly close. She’s four years older than me so we were never really at an age where we did stuff together. Just the two of us I mean. You know, like friends. Mum has always said she wished she’d had a sister when she was growing up instead of three brothers. But really as much as I love Jess, we’ve just never been close. We did do some fun stuff I guess. Next door to us lived Rachel who was Jess’ age and Naomi who was two years older than me. And then close by there was Holly and Savanna. Same deal. We never really did stuff together, as in the six of us. It was always us and Rachel and Naomi or us and Holly and Savanna. Maybe it’s because our personalities are so different that we’re not close. Or maybe it’s just that I’m different. I’ve always been different and let’s face it, these days I don’t and could never make myself belong in her world. Jess is athletic, she’s funny, she’s always doing something. She’s always surrounded by people. She’s always had friends. I guess she’s pretty easygoing, confident. I don’t know. But people like her. She’s the one they remember. I’ve always been Jess’s little sister or dads other daughter. I’d like to be able to say that I’ve stopped comparing myself to her but I think I always will. And I’d like to say it doesn’t bother me anymore but it does. However, I can say this. I have stopped trying to live in her world. I don’t feel as though I have to anymore which doesn’t mean I don’t still want to sometimes. I don’t need to though. I have Lisa. 22

Continuing on from last night’s theme, I guess I’ve always been jealous of her. Well I know I have. But I also wanted to be close to her. I had always felt so un-normal, so different from the rest of the world and I looked up to her. I wanted her to be how I thought big sisters were supposed to be. I wanted her to stick up for me if I needed it. She didn’t. I wanted to be able to tell her my secrets. To tell her about the feeling of being on the outside, of being different. But I think most of all I wanted to tell her how alone I felt and have her say that I wasn’t, that I had her. But she never did those things. I don’t know why. I know she loves me, she just doesn’t want to be that kind of sister to me and that hurts because I know she will be to Claire. I already see that. Jess absolutely adores Claire. So do I of course but Jess is the one she goes to. Jess is the one she wants if she’s hurt. Jess is the one she wanted when she started school. All of the important things are Jess. But you know something, I think I’m afraid to love Claire too much. I keep coming back to the fact that if I was able to hurt Jess so much, what would I do to Claire. If I could do what I did to Jess how much could I hurt her?23

Despite our lack of closeness we did have a lot of fun. We lived in a dead end street and there was this reserve at the bottom. It had two sides divided by a creek. It was really cool. Every time it rained hard we had to find new places to cross. I remember this one time after it had been raining for days and we had this major storm, thunder , lightning, the lot. It was huge. Anyway this massive branch fell dropped off one of the trees and when it finally stopped raining we went to investigate. We always did, to see where the creek was up to and how to get across again. And just cos it was fun. When Jess saw this branch she decided it was the perfect thing to make a bridge out of. So she did. That’s what she’s like. If she wants to do something she will. It was really cool. I know it doesn’t sound like much, just a bridge right, but we just had so much fun with it. We were back and forth over it all weekend. We practically lived at the park on weekends. We used to play 44 safe with Rachel and Naomi. Do you know that game? It’s hide and seek and tip mixed into one. You have to hide while the person who’s in counts to 44 at safe, a tree or something. Then you have to get back to safe before they tip you. We played it at school too but in the park it was so much better. Like if you ran for safe and they saw you, you could run and hide somewhere else and you had a pretty good chance of losing them. I mean the park was pretty big so it was really good. Of course there were times when it was just Jess and me so we had to play together. When we went out or stayed at Marzie and Paba’s. And of course when we went to Great Grandma’s. Mum’s Grandparents. They had a great place at Yowie Bay in Port Hacking. It was right near the water and the path down to the boatshed was long and steep. The garden was the best though. It had all these levels and rocks and trees and stuff. I was about five maybe when I remember visiting. So Jess would have been about nine. I remember playing this game. We were spies and we’d go off separately then meet back at our secret hideout which was this tree. No one could see us when we were up it which is why Jess chose it I suppose. Then we’d report on what we’d found and stuff. Jess was the one who made up our missions and stuff. I liked going to Great Grandma’s. It was always the same and I think I liked that. I remember we always had crumpets. And she had a biscuit tin. We’d always sneak biscuits out. I’m sure she knew but she never said anything. Great Grandpa would play this trick on us. He sat in a chair next to the door that went out to the balcony and every time we went out he would tap us with his cane and then turn back around and pretend he hadn’t. It was funny. He also had these two favourite rhymes. They were these two:24

The other day upon the stair,     There was a young man named Paul25

I met a man who wasn't there.     Who went to a fancy dress ball26

He wasn't there again today,      He thought he could risk it and go as a27

Oh how i wish he'd go away!        biscuit     28

But a dog ate him up in the hall29

I miss those times. They both died when I was younger. I miss Paba too. He was like that. He was so much fun. He used to play this game where he’d say he was practicing to be a grumpy old man. He also had this joke about checking the death notices in the paper to make sure he was still alive when he woke up in the morning. I always had fun at Marzie and Paba’s. Their nickname for me was Pixie. It used to be on every birthday and Christmas card. Since he died it’s just my name. Like I said I miss Paba.30

I have to get back to what was happening with Jess. I’ve delayed long enough, what with Lisa and all that stuff about the park and great grandmas. All I can remember happening next is Jess exercising more than she ever had before. She’d always been an active person. She played netball and cricket on the weekend and soccer and softball for school. I guess it wasn’t a big deal to anyone when she took to running after school. Long runs. She would often tell me where she’d gone and she was always so proud of herself. I had already known it was bad ever since I heard her that night but this was even worse and I was scared. But did I tell anyone? Of course not. To be honest I don’t know why. I don’t know if there was a reason. Maybe I was just too scared. I don’t know. I’ve spent countless hours trying to understand why I didn’t tell but the truth is I honestly don’t know. I just know I didn’t. I didn’t even consider it. Not once. The point is I didn’t and I should have. That’s why it’s my fault. I knew what was going on and I didn’t tell. I’ll never forgive myself for that. Then she started borrowing my bike to go on rides. I let her. I couldn’t not, now could I? She would have told dad and what excuse could I possibly have given? Next she started doing sit-ups. Although she could have already been doing that, I don’t know. At the time I only knew that she was doing sit-ups and that she always did it to music. Always to one song. Ana’s song by Silverchair. Do you know it? She played it all the time. I guess mum and dad never actually listened to the lyrics. Surely if they had they would have known.     31

********32

I was thinking about Lisa just now. Or more to the point I was thinking about that night. When I thought…. When I thought she was going to die. She even knew something was wrong that night. I could see it. She was scared. I mean she was standing there and she was looking out the window. And I just knew something wasn’t right. I still remember what I said. My exact words were “Lisa, what is it, what’s wrong?” She wouldn’t tell me though. Of course I understand now why she couldn’t. I mean she didn’t…never mind. But it hurt when I found out what was  going on. I’d been so scared. I didn’t understand. I knew something wasn’t right. We both did. I forgave her of course. How could I not? This is Lisa we’re talking about after all. And besides, as I said she couldn’t tell me. It wasn’t really her choice. It’s just that I think about that night so often and it always hurts a little that she didn’t tell me. Of course that’s not the only thing about that night I thing about that night I think of. Nor am I the only person who thinks of it. I remember everything about it. For instance what she was wearing. Pale blue jeans and a blue singlet. She was wearing small silver studs in her ears and no other jewellery. But she still looked beautiful. Her hair was a bit messed up and I remember how when she standing in the kitchen I kept wanting to tuck it behind her ear. I didn’t of course. Besides she was busy. And I didn’t want to interrupt her. It was too important that she say what she needed to say. She said one thing though that bugged me. It wasn’t so much that it didn’t make sense because in fact considering what was happening it made perfect sense. It was more the way she said it that made me feel that perhaps it had more meaning than what we thought. It was the intensity with which she said it. I understand it now. What that other meaning was. Looking back I should have known. Maybe not exactly what was going on. I could never have guessed that. But knowing Lisa the way I do I should have realised what she was trying to say. What she knew. I think we both worked it out, understood that other meaning, once that night was over. None of this matters. Well, not to you. It matters very much to me. And to others. In any case it doesn’t matter to you. Nor does it make any sense if I’m right. And if you did ever manage to decipher the meaning of it all then the only thing I can say is: You’ve got some imagination girl! I can tell you one thing for certain. If I ever did try to explain what happened that night you’d never believe me. I almost didn’t believe it. But I had to because I saw it. I watched it happen. I’m not even sure why I wrote all this down. Maybe it was a bad idea. It makes me think about memory. One of the things that scares me the most is that I’ll forget. Of course there are things I’ve spent a lot of time trying to forget. But there are so many other things that I desperately want to hold onto. Mostly Lisa I suppose. The thing about memories is that sometimes that’s all you’ve got of someone. And if all you have is memories what happens when you forget? If that happens, you have no proof that it ever existed. If you cannot remember something how could it have been real? If I ever lost Lisa all I’d have left is memories. I wouldn’t have anything real to remind me. I wouldn’t have anything I could touch. The other people who love her will have photos and places and things that belonged to her to remind them. I know it sounds silly to think about that since I didn’t lose her that night. And I won’t lose her for a long time. Well I hope not anyway. But I can’t help it. I get so scared that I’ll forget things. Even little things. I couldn’t bear that. I couldn’t bear to lose Lisa. And if I forget then I lose her. But it’s not just Lisa. There are all the things Jess and I did together. I often find myself asking her if she remembers certain things. Just so I know that they did happen. I need to know that they were real. That it wasn’t always like this. That there were good times because although I do remember them it’s like its someone else’s memory. I can see it in my head but it doesn’t seem to have anything to do with me. I don’t feel it. It doesn’t feel like it happened to me. They’re happy memories and I don’t remember what happiness feels like. Not my own in any case. I guess I also need to know that she remembers too. If she does then maybe they meant something to her too. 33

My life and everything I do is dominated by rules. But they’re so variable that I know I couldn’t possibly explain them to you adequately or put them in a list. It’s so hard to explain. The one thing I can tell you is that they are so strong they rule my life. It’s these rules that tell me whether or not I’m safe. And being safe is the most important thing in my life. Some of the rules, the most important, I know instinctively. Smile. Make them believe you’re happy. Don’t let them see what really goes on in your head. Don’t voice opinions. Do as they ask. Be good. And probably most important: never let on how you really feel about your mother; don’t ever let her know you’re afraid. The lesser rules are not as defined. They’re the ones that can vary for no particular reason. Sometimes I cannot even go outside. Sometimes even that does not feel safe. The one time I tried to disobey the rules I learnt why it wasn’t safe. I was overwhelmed by the feeling of being watched; of everyone looking at me and knowing I was a horrible person. I have never disobeyed since, with the exception of when the important rules overrule the lesser ones. I still don’t know why the small rules vary the way they do but since they do I can’t know them the way I know the others. The big rules I know clearly in my head but the lesser ones I have come to know by feeling. When I do something or even think about doing something I either feel nothing, meaning it’s safe or I am filled with an overwhelming feeling that if I do it something bad will happen. I’ve always been a fairly shy person with people I don’t know but this fear, this feeling of being unsafe pushes it way beyond shyness. It does depend on the day but sometimes its effect is so extreme that I can’t do things as simple and everyday as say ordering a cup of coffee from a café. Another example is this: I can go into a bookstore and buy a book. But if I can’t find the one I want I can’t ask for help. So you see what I mean about the rules dominating my life. They rule everything I do. I would love to get a job to enquire about or apply for one is not safe. I know my family can’t understand. I’ve tried but I can’t find a way to explain it si that they do. I suppose to most people it must just seem like a lack of confidence – and perhaps it is – but it feels like so much more. I’ve never been a superstitious person. In fact I used to consider myself a fairly logical person and a logical person would tell you that believing bad things happen simply because you did something you weren’t comfortable with is ridiculous. But they have. I’ve broken the rules only to find later that Jess is upset or something has happened with Lisa. A logical person would tell you that it is just a coincidence. I however am no longer a logical person. I don’t think you can be when you suffer from depression. At least you can’t be logical where it concerns yourself. That’s why it’s so hard for people to understand depression if they haven’t been through it themselves. They can’t understand the way you think. Most people look at you and say “You’re young. You have a good family, what reason could you possibly have to be depressed?” And yet we somehow end up thinking “I’m ugly and I’m a horrible person who doesn’t deserve to be loved and I’m too stupid to do anything with my life anyway.” It’s not normal to think like that and if you used logic you could probably prove yourself wrong on every point but the thing is, once you start thinking like that you don’t know how to stop. Of course if people always apply logic to things then some are always going to misread depression in teenagers as an attitude problem or laziness. But it’s not like that. Part of you doesn’t want to feel the way you do but the other part tells you that you don’t deserve to be happy. Maybe it’s not like that for everyone but its how it is for me. As I said before, the little rules vary. Sometimes I can go out and feel fine but all the same, they restrict my life so much. And the fear is so strong. Just the thought of breaking the rules can bring on the most severe of panic attacks that usually only my nightmares and the dark can. But I don’t want to talk about the nightmares. Have you ever had a panic attack? It’s scary. And the thing I find scariest is the fact that they can be brought on by such small things. For me I only have to contemplate breaking the smallest of rules and suddenly I’m filled with fear, shaking uncontrollably and gasping for breath. They usually don’t last long and I have a few tricks to get them under control but are nonetheless terrifying. I just have to think about certain things. They have to be memories that hold strong emotions. But good emotions of course. I find the best thing is Lisa. I have plenty of memories about her I can use. And of course I have to make sure no one knows about them. The funny thing is that I don’t actually have panic attacks when I am breaking the rules. I think it’s because anyone knowing about them is against the rules so it’s more important to keep it a secret than having them enforced by an attack. I’m just filled with that always the same, overwhelming, terrifying fear of something bad happening to someone I care about. If there is someone you care about then I’m sure you can at least understand what that fear would be like if not the rest of it.    34

Jess had started hiding food. It had been scary enough to know that when she didn’t think anyone would notice, she ate so little that she fainted at school. Because that’s what the letter was about. But then to find that Jess was so desperate not to eat that she would pretend was absolutely terrifying. And even more so how fast the problem had escalated. Even though I knew she probably couldn’t stop, I think part of me had hoped she would realise that what she was doing was dangerous and stop it. But she hadn’t. Instead she had started pretending to eat her dinner when really she had hardly eaten anything. Jess had two tricks. And both were fairly easy to execute because dinner was always hectic. Claire was on solids; mashed pumpkin and mushy food like that. And she was always making a mess and being noisy. Nothing much has changed on that front. In any case mum and dad didn’t think they had any reason to pay attention to what she ate. They just expected that an active thirteen year old would eat. The first trick Jess had was putting as much food as she could in her serviette, then scrunching it up in her hand and throwing it away. Then she would get another serviette and do it again. She never used that trick more than twice during a meal and the second time was always at the very end when her plate was almost empty. Her other trick and the most risky of the two, was to put some of her food on other peoples plates. She mostly did it to me and occasionally dad. It would just be small pieces of potato or pumpkin or whichever other vegetable we were having, things you probably wouldn’t notice. But I did. I probably wouldn’t have but I have a system for eating meals. I eat all of one thing in order from least to most liked. For example: pumpkin, carrot, broccoli, potato and then meat. So when I found pumpkin on my plate after I had already eaten it I had my suspicions, so the next night I watched. I saw her put extra meat on dad’s plate and once again I ended up with extra pumpkin. I guess Jess knew that if I told mum I’d eaten all my pumpkin when there was still some on my plate she’d have never believed me. So I put up with it. And I pretended I didn’t know. 35

One day I came home from school to find Jess and mum fighting. When I walked in the door I found Jess in the hallway screaming at mum that she had no right to read personal letters and mum was yelling at Jess… I’m sorry! I cannot do this right now. I can see it too vividly.      36

***************37

My little sister is sick. She has a bug or something. She was throwing up all last night. I feel so bad for Claire. Poor little thing. Not to mention guilty. I think I must have given it to her because I was sick the night before. Mum says she more likely got it from her friends little sister. She was at Georgia’s place that afternoon and Georgia’s little sister had a bug. But I don’t know. I still feel like it’s my fault. I can’t help it. You have no idea how much I love my little Claire. Although she’s not very little anymore. If she’d heard me call her that she probably would have whacked me. She can’t stand being called little. The name Claire means clear or bright. She definitely got the right name. I’ve never met a brighter happier little girl than Claire. It scares me sometimes. Sometimes I think the happier you are the harder it hits when you get hurt. Anyway, I don’t just say she’s bright cos she’s my little sister. Everyone thinks so. She’s just so bright and intelligent and beautiful. Everyone likes her. How could you not like her? She’s a lot like Jess that way. I think she’s like Jess in a lot of ways. She looks more like Jess than me. But it’s not just that. They’re both very active, outgoing, vibrant people. Even if Claire is only five. People always know Jess and Claire. I was used to it with Jess. I’ve had to put up with it my whole life. I went through the whole of primary school being known as Jess’s little sister. The only teachers who actually used my name were the ones who had come after Jess had left. Since Claire was born and Jess started running the girls part of the shop I’ve noticed it a lot more. For starters you need to know that my dad knows everyone. Eastwood is only a small suburb. Everywhere we go dad sees someone he knows. I guess it’s because he’s had the business for so long. We’ve had the shop for almost sixteen years. As a result, he knows a phenomenal amount of people. All the young kids, their parents, the people he used to know as kids and everyone in between. And the thing I’ve noticed is that any time dad introduces me to someone I don’t know, they nearly always respond with “Oh you’re Michaels other daughter”. It’s the “other” that bugs me. But the other response I sometimes get is worse. Sometimes people will say “Oh! I didn’t know Michael had another daughter”. They know Jess and they know Claire but they never remember me. I admit I don’t spend as much time at the shop as Jess since she works there or Claire simply because she loves going there. But all the same it has always hurt that people don’t know or remember me. Perhaps that is partly my fault. I do tend to be quite shy with people. Unless they ask I don’t introduce myself; unlike Claire who’ll walk up to anyone, tell them who she is and then ask who they are and who knows what other questions. But I’m shy. Especially with adults. It’s hard in my position because what is the first question adults ask when they meet a young person? School, that’s what. They always ask where I go to school and I never know what to say. So I lie. It’s a bad habit, I know, but it’s what I always do. I name the last school I was at and since it was fairly small and about forty minutes away from where I live, most people have never heard of it. And they believe me. At least I think they do. If they suspect or know otherwise they certainly don’t say it. Besides why wouldn’t they believe me? It never occurs to people that there is any legitimate reason not to go to school, other than illness. But depression is an illness, isn’t it? Even if I did say that I’m depressed they’d think “Oh she’s a bit down” or something like that. So I just don’t even consider it anymore. It’s just second nature to lie now. I know they would never understand. Another thing that bugs me is my parent’s attitude to it. Though mostly my mother’s I suppose. She doesn’t say it. If ever she does discuss the fact that I don’t go to school with anyone she always says it’s because I’ve had “a few problems” as she likes to put it. I don’t know why. It’s just that sometimes I wish she would she would just say it. I’m depressed. It should be easy enough for her. After all, she went through a pretty heavy depression herself at one point. Though I doubt she’d ever admit that. Sometimes I wonder if she actually knows that she did. I just wish she would acknowledge that I do suffer from depression and that it’s the reason I can’t cope with school. I have enough trouble just coping with life. I don’t think I’ve ever heard dad say it either. They don’t seem to understand. I guess they can’t really. No one can really understand what it’s like unless they’ve lived it. 38

I was looking at what I wrote last night. About feeling guilty. I’ve always had problems with guilt. Especially about things that really I shouldn’t. It’s one thing to feel guilt over Jess but I’ve had problems long before that. For instance any time I was sick when I was little I felt guilty. For mum having to clean up and for having to look after me. I remember apologising all the time. I know in my head I shouldn’t feel guilty about that. That’s what your parents do. Once, mum and dad bought us rugs for our rooms and a couple of weeks later I was sick in the middle of the night all over the rug and I felt so bad because it meant that mum had to wash it. I even felt guilty any time mum was sick. Though perhaps that was just mum. She has a way of doing that. Making you feel guilty. Not good enough…I’m sorry I don’t mean to do that. Now that I’m older I have a whole new set of things to feel guilty about. You know how you look back at when you were a kid and realise all the things you made your parents do? Like carrying you around the Easter show and letting you go on the rides for hours even though they wanted to do something else. My dad says he never minded; that that’s what dads do but I still feel guilty. It’s the same with clothes. For years now I’ve gotten clothes from the shop. People always think it’s really cool because we get free clothes. Especially since it’s the clothes most young people wear. You know, Billabong, Roxy, Starlet and stuff like that. I guess it is cool it’s just that it’s so normal to me. It’s probably much the same for kids whose parents are famous. It would seem so cool to us but it’s so normal to them. In any case as I was saying I get all my clothes from the shop. So does Jess mostly. I can pretty much have whatever I like; dad never says no to anything we want so I try not to ask for much because I feel guilty otherwise. But I hate getting new clothes. Actually I love getting new clothes; I’m a girl after all, but that’s the problem. I go into the shop and see something I really like and know that if I ask for it dad will say yes but I can’t help but feel guilty. I don’t know why. And then there’s Jess. She’s always getting me to try on stuff. Anything I like or anything she says will look good on me. She’ll often say “You have to get that, it looks good on you” and I usually do get it but I always feel guilty after. I know it’s silly but I can’t help it. Besides, what’s the point in having nice clothes when I look ugly and fat in them?39

I was just looking over everything I’ve written and I realised something. It occurred to me that you could get the wrong impression. I’d never thought about it before. My relationship with Lisa is just so normal to me. And yet I also know it’s not a normal situation. But you don’t. I don’t know why I wrote that. You couldn’t possibly know the truth about our friendship. It doesn’t matter. In any case that’s what I wanted to set straight. It is just a friendship. Like I said I’d never thought about it before but as I reread some of the things I had written about her I realised they could have seem ambiguous. That possibly you may have thought it was more than friendship. I have to say though, it is the craziest idea, the thought that Lisa and I … it’s quite funny actually. But I can see how it might happen. Especially the thing I said about wanting to tuck her hair behind her ear. But you don’t know her. If you did you’d understand why it’s so ridiculous. But hey, I don’t even know if it did occur to you. I just wanted to make sure you didn’t get the wrong idea. I know I should tell you what I started to about the day the letter was found but I just can’t tonight. I’m sorry.  40

Jess and I used to go up to the shop all the time when we were little. The old shop that is. We moved into the shopping centre when I was about eight I think. It was after a whole lot of stuff happened but I’ll explain that later one day. Anyway, we loved going to the shop. We always had so much fun. I remember when we were little we used to hide behind the big wooden racks that lined the walls. We’d sit on the floor behind all the hanging clothes and make up games. It’s funny but when we were at the shop we usually got on pretty well. I remember how one day Jess discovered the secret to making bubble gum flavour last longer. Somehow Jess’s bubble gum ended up in a glass of water. I have no idea how but when she took it out and put it back in her mouth she said it had its flavour back. So from then on whenever bubble gum lost its flavour we would put it in a glass of water for a few minutes. It was a good way of making a packet last longer. It was always really fun to be up at the shop. We were at the top of the arcade on the main shopping strip. Up one end of the street there was this really great lolly shop. We went there whenever we could. I always used to get those lollipop rings that you could put on your finger. I always got grape flavour. When we were younger we would go to the shop after school because we didn’t get much homework and what we did get we could do there. The primary school was on the opposite side of the street to the shops so it was easy to go there after school. I have this memory of asking Jess to lend me some money when I was about five and a half. She said “Sure. In the year 2000” I got mad at her because I didn’t believe there was such a year. I tried to get her to pay up on New Years day 2000 but she wouldn’t give. Not that I really wanted the money. I just wanted to see if she would remember. 41

One day dad dropped me home from school and I walked into the house to find mum and Jess fighting. When I came through the door into the hallway Jess was screaming at mum that she had no right to read private letters and mum was yelling that if it was private she shouldn’t have left it in the pocket of her uniform to be washed. Jess was absolutely distraught. She had tears streaming down her face and she was shaking. She was terrified. I could see it in her face. Mum had found out her secret. She was suffering from an eating disorder. At that time I don’t know which she was suffering from. In the time that followed she swung between the behavioural and physical criteria of both anorexia and bulimia. When Jess saw me she took the opportunity to escape to her room. Mum asked – no told – me to look after Claire. Which I did. She didn’t tell me what was going on. I had a pretty good idea what had happened. Mum had found a letter in Jess’s uniform pocket from Belinda. At the time I didn’t know who she was but I gathered from the snooping I had done that whoever she was, she was the only person who knew about Jess. And whatever was said in that letter – I still don’t actually know – was enough to either say it directly or enable mum to put the pieces together herself. I was mad at her for not telling me. I felt that I had a right to know, a right to be told. But I was often angry at my mother. I didn’t always understand it but she made me angry a lot. And afraid. I still believe I should have been told. I don’t think they knew anything that I didn’t but they didn’t know that I knew. I spent the rest of the afternoon and most of the evening looking after Claire, making a tent in my room. That night I cried myself to sleep harder than ever. I knew Jess was mad at mum and I knew that because of it things would only get worse.             42