Abi: Flight risk. [06/30]

I recalled something today I hadn’t thought of… well, in ages, really.


I remember kneeling in Amanda’s room talking to her, trying to persuade her that her ideas were not safe. It was after dark, and the lighting in the very small room was dull. Amanda had the littlest room, just enough room for a desk, bed, a filing cabinet and the built in closet area. For some reason (probably because the other room that mum and dad took had the access to the front screened in porch) I had the largest room in the house there. I remember there was a door between the rooms that was locked on both sides, and I am pretty sure I always had something blocking it on the other side (just in case Amanda did the sneaky thing I did, where I would go in her room and unlock her side without her knowing). I think her side has a hook-n-eye style lock, because I remember I couldn’t pick it (another fun thing I learned in order to be antagonising).
I digress.


I remember Amanda was entirely driven on the idea of running away from home. It was Arcadia, so we were still young, middle school age or younger. I don’t know why she felt this way, or what started the whole ordeal, but I remember she was an incoherence pile of tears and bitterness… and all I wanted was to help her. All I had for her was love in that moment… and this pit of expanding dread, were I to fail to influence her to remain.


I’ve mentioned our love/hate relationship of the time in an earlier post. I think as much as I tried to talk reason to her she didn’t want me to, or want me there, and as far as I know I could have been the reason she sought escape (because I still feel that is why she left for a college so far away when the chance arose, and then never stayed at the apartment when she visited home (even though her bed was still there—just saying I have valid reasons to feel I drove her away, even early on in life).
What strikes me about this memories is I spend so much energy, to the point of exhaustion, trying to beg Amanda not to run away. I was so scared!
What would she do?
Where would she go?
Where would she live?
How would she eat?
Who would keep her safe?
Who would love her?


Then finally someone, I think it was mum, had heard the commotion in the room and came in there… Of course, I was in Amanda’s room and Amanda was crying (though I am pretty sure I was crying as well), so I was punished.
I remember trying to convince mum that Amanda was threatening to run away. 
I remember yelling it repeatedly, to no avail. I was in the wrong, always.

I don’t remember everything word for word, but I remember (and trying not to cry right now) the sheer hurt from it. I felt that I was truly trying to help my sister, but I was being punished for it… Like no one saw that I genuinely cared.
And that for preventing what could have been a horrible event in our lives, I was being disciplined.

For me, being so young, I felt unheard and like I was a bad egg. I could never please my parents… which might play into my accepting that I have very ‘negative’ traits, that might not really be as ill as I believe (like how I’d sooner call myself manipulative than relatable).
It might have even encouraged me to examine the more negative things in life, because I felt I could associate to those things better. I was, after all, bad.


I should note, as she reads this, that I wasn’t mad at my sister; though I wasn’t pleased with her either and did harbour other unpleasant feelings towards her. I think this was one of the moments that made me see her actual emotional weaknesses, thus making her more human to me and not just my shadow.
I do, however, resent how my parents were prompt to point their fingers at me for everything. It has impacted me and my self esteem, and how I raise my daughters, because of it.
Currently in my life, raising two little ones, I’m very quick to jump to Zoey’s defence if John tries to blame something on her when we honestly haven’t a clue to the root of the matter. I hope that I never make Zoey feel like she is to blame for things, or that her younger sister is the more loved and favourited of the two.


I learned some things about myself today reliving this memory. (:


Ah, tomorrow I might share how I tormented my sister, just so you know that I wasn’t the good sister. ;D