I was planning on writing a beautiful, heartfelt letter to you; one that captured this raging typhoon of emotions that has been slowly suffocating me day by day over the past months.
I wanted to show you the concern, heartbreak, anger and betrayal I’m feeling, but now that I sit down to write,
I don’t know where the words I had so carefully selected went, or why my organized thoughts suddenly scattered to the four corners of the earth, but now I just don’t know what to say.
Maybe that’s my problem- I try to over think, organize, analyze each word and phrase, trying to make it perfect, when what I really need to do is just explode onto the paper, and let my emotions lie where they fall.
I’m not going to, though. I’m not nearly calm or drunk enough to allow myself to loosen my grip on my tongue. Maybe after I have a few shots of whiskey, I’ll be able to tell you about listening to mom cry over “where she went wrong.” When my mind’s edges are hazy from the alcohol, perhaps I could talk about how hurt dad is, because he thinks that he’s failed as a father. Perhaps the whiskey will burn away my filter, so I could tell you of the pressure you’ve shoved Phoebe under- Phoebe, the dizzyingly free middle sister, the flakey one, is now the one who’s acting as the glue to hold what’s left of our family’s emotions together. She’s the sounding board now, listening to our parents and holding their insecurities and fears in some miraculously strong Pandora’s Box in her heart. Out of the three of us, she was always the least likely to end up in that position, what with her temper and emotions, but there she is.
It’s been a month since you moved out, although “snuck out” is a more accurate description, since you didn’t even have the balls to tell mom & dad what you were doing to their faces. I still can’t believe you used me as your excuse, because “Emily is coming back, and I can’t deal with her shit.”
I’m sorry I don’t put up with your boyfriend’s lack of manners and disrespect. I’m sorry that I don’t believe a single excuse you let leave your mouth, and oh, I am the sorriest I could ever be for actually telling you the truth about what I think of your secret engagement to a boy you’ve known barely a year.
No wait. I’m not sorry at all.
Since you have obviously turned your back on your family, first by continuing to date a boy (because at 19, he is still most definitely, a boy) that neither family nor friends approve of, and second by going behind mom & dad’s back, getting engaged, and then having the nerve to be angry that we weren’t happy for you, I won’t ask you to come home.
Because I don’t want you home. I don’t want you to be any closer to my parents, to cause them any more heartache. I want to ask you to grow up, get a pair, fuck up your life, and then have the guts to realize it. I want to ask you to think clearly, be an adult, listen to true, solid advice, even if you don’t like what you’re hearing, because let’s be honest- you won’t.
So, my dear, naïve, 19-year-old baby sister, I want to ask of you one thing:
When you make your mistakes, when you realize how you’ve treated your family, I want to ask that you be woman enough to apologize to our parents. I don’t mean I want you to break up with your bf/fiancé, because if you truly think you love him, you won’t. I mean, I want you, with your heart open and conscience heavy, to approach our parents and apologize for the shitty way you’ve been treating them for the past 10 months. Apologize for the yelling, sneaking around, disrespect, and say, as a woman, that you went about everything in the wrong way.
What you’ve done can’t be undone. We’re human, we fuck up; however, treating those we love with contempt is inexcusable.
Lydia, I hope you grow up.