Scars (Ziam)

Letters

   "Thanks...." I trailed off, the white folded papers in my hand feeling as if they were burning.

   Finally, Ruth turned and left the room, leaving me with the four letters that I had the inkling would absolutely destroy me.

   I grabbed the other three from my nightstand and laid all four out on my bed. My heart was palpitating as I ran my fingers over each of the letters. I found that I was holding my breath, wishing I could freeze the time until my next therapy appointment.

  I knew I had to read them. It was part of my assignment, and I didn't fancy seeing Dr. Phillips' look of disappointment if I didn't do as requested of me.

   I let out an exhale as I settled my fingers around Nicola's note. I lifted it up and unfolded the page, finding her quickly scrawled handwriting. She was studying to be a psychologist, and she had the handwriting of a doctor. It was quick and nearly illegible, thin and nearly cursive but not quite. It was a far stretch from the teenaged girl who loved her bubble letters.

  I had to focus on the writing, taking my time to read the scrawled out words.

   To Liam:

      I know that you feel you are some sort of burden to us, and I know that you think I only see you as a patient. For that, I apologize. I never, ever meant for you to feel like you couldn't fall apart in front of me for fear that I may try to explain it all away with psychological terms and judgment. I'm sorry that I became a stranger to you when you already feel like a stranger to yourself.

     I promise that my intentions were good. I only wanted to help, but I am now aware of the fact that I need to suppress that studious side of me that has been trained so fervently in the mind and simply be a life raft, a support system, for you instead. When mum passed away, I struggled with normalcy. I think we all did. Knowing how the mind works was my only way of ever possibly understanding why she did what she did and why you feel what you feel. But this is not about me.

    I know now that I will never understand, not truly, what you feel because I am not in your position. I can try to sit here and explain away all of your symptoms, but that is not understanding you.

    When I look at you, I see my failure. My failure for being your oldest sister and not being able to protect you that night of the crash. I see my failure at not being a good enough support for you-- the way Ruth is. I see so much of my own short-comings, but none of it is your fault. Not one ounce of it.

     When I look at you, I also see someone so brave. To go through what you have been through, to feel as you have, and to be able to live every single day with all of the weight you feel, that is a true form of bravery. You are so much stronger than you realize, Liam, and I am so sorry that you got handed such an unfair deal.

    I will try not to diagnose you or treat you as a patient. I will do my best to make you feel like the old days again, even if that's difficult for you.

   You, my sweet little brother, are a warrior.

    I set the letter down after struggling to read it, the tears in my eyes making the already illegible letters harder to read.

   Ruth was right when she said Nicola was trying. She wanted to speak with me, and now I was certain it was because she wanted to rekindle the relationship we used to have. We were never as close as I am with Ruth, but we didn't need to be. I jist wanted my sister back.

   I wiped at my eyes and let out a deep breath before moving to pick up Ruth's letter. It seemed to be the longest of my family members.

   Her hand writing was neat and tiny. It seemed as if she took great care in shaping every letter of every word. The way her letters curved and glided along the page was calming, like she had nothing to hide.