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I'm new to first person POV so be gentle with me! Inspiration drawn from Charlotte's story featured in SAY MY NAME.
Comment if you want to suggest me to write you a one shot of your choice!
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Missing you is the hardest thing I've ever had to do. It's an itchy sweater for school pictures, it's tossing and turning during a heated summer night, being on the outskirts of a close kinship you crave for. Crave for with you, more than you claim to know. Missing you more than you claim to know. Your world remains intact, unchanging, supportive. You do not feel the need to cling to people, to beg for second chances when we've only got this one go at this one dying life.
I've been told that the missed opportunities in life are the ones that haunt you in the end. The memories that when you're laying senile, pressed into a cotton covered bed, it's those would have's you wish you'd done different. The things you wish hadn't let decide your fate, to reign over your life goals and motivations. Yet even with a shared date of birth, you'd toot your own horn and call it victory. Whilst I, the other half to the DNA equation, am left burnt, quaking in your absence as you occasionally tried to pencil in time for your depressed second half. Not by choice, you've always rathered to be on your own. Creating your own. Living your own.
I am the Number Two to your Thing One, I am the grasping fingers grazing your passing body. I am endless trips of motion sickness, slumping my aching spine from coast to city to reach you and your world. Every beck and call from you and I come running. I run to you as you call my efforts not enough. That it's you who calls for me, who needs me, and then to blind your eyes to my undying devotion to be there for you whenever you breath a letter of my name.
You say that it's not your fault that you can't provide the same kind, listening ear to me, to be the crutch to my pain, when I need you the most. No, you explain it easily to me while tears track my cheeks, mascara running rancid, that you simply cannot understand how to express your love for me when you clearly can with everyone else.
You feel like on most days, you've done your duty and act as if I am nothing but clingy. Telling me that I have to learn to live my own life without you when after twenty years it's been nothing but you. Though again, even with a mirrored appearance, thats never been the truth with you.
You who in elementary school would spend lunch hours running away from me with my replacement, again with wet cheeks calling for your companionship. And later I was nestled in my corner of the playground, digging up rocks with another lonely friend that wasn't enough for me, yet I tried for you. You who made all kinds of friends who put up with me all the same. Sure, I'm amicable, likeable, but when you were laughing with all those friends, looking around, I'd laugh with just you, stood with my boyish clothes just at your heal.
You've had many best friends since our lives began. It was Paige, Candace, Emily, Nathan, Ali, Maddy G, Earnie E, Tanner C, Sara D and all but me. I made friends in your absence. Survival some would say. Loneliness some would say.
I would later learn that our adolescence was child's play compared to what lay ahead.
High-school was high terror at times. I've never witnessed a person so affected by horrendous hormones as the ones that shook you of your sweetness. You'd see me, your sickly stick-ly sister and vomit out your frustrations at I. Don't deny it, you simply can't, you were the Dee during your own pond jump away from me. You didn't want me sitting next to you, talking to you would arouse anger, any and all doings with me were extended ideations of what you didn't like about the earth your feet were glued to.
You'd call me stupid, I'd call you crazy, and that was that. You were crazy and I was stupid.
I can't make you love me, and neither can you. Though I can't do this anymore, I'll regret everyday away from you. I can't tell you anymore lies, can't have you patronize me, make promises you never plan on keeping. Lying to you that I forgive you time and time again, when no, no I'm still aching. Yes we've had many great times, many more than the tracks I tread trying to find you, but as time has gone on and you've gotten more and more complacent with your love for me; I can't fight this fight any longer. I'm sorry, I just can't. I'm tired and angry and hurt, reminded more and more often to the adding list of the times I needed you, but you weren't there.
I'm physically assaulted, trapping myself in my room for two years writing my problems away and all you can say is I'm acting unhealthy. I'm young and should be working, making friends, should be providing a competitive competitor for you to compete with. Not sleeping fourteen hours a day, riddled with nightmares and anxiety. Unable to leave the house I'm trapped in for more than once a week.
You didn't come visit me in this city I've been enclosed in during that time. You claimed you couldn't book off days with work, or you didn't have the money, the time, the energy.
You didn't when I needed you the most.
I didn't want to talk about it, not after you were so clearly done with the topic. Not after I'd tried to open up to our mother about it, only to be brushed off as a bad first experience. Something to get over. Not a big deal.
So I moved. Again. After we had together, then you left, then months later I followed. Again. 400k away to a father who had forgotten how to be a dad. An authoritarian, unknowingly growing cancer inside his body. This place where I'd spend two years with yet another person who would yell and berate me when I couldn't muster enough energy to clean up after him. Who would vent to me about every aspect of his unhappy life, claiming the same thing as you did when I tried to weakly speak of my sadness.
He just didn't know how to ask questions, to keep promises, to listen and talk to me after a full day of work and recuperating weekends.
He has become better now. Cancer, chemo, surgeries--things I was there for and you weren't. After he had yelled at me, shouting out every trauma that could've caused me to become as I am. Set me into the worst anxiety attack of my life, he had called mom, threatening to take me to the hospital for my behaviour or to move out. The later being a common constant, only actually kicking me out once similar to when mom kicked us both out after learning we were moving away. But different. Very different. Very alone in a city I didn't know, late at night wandering around trying to call anyone who would house me for a few nights. Uncle did. The man who likes to hug, who touches and creeps with slimy hands.
You left our home town, the province, the country, the big chunk of land, to a place of British politeness and posh presentations. You'd keep me up day and night, I'd wake up day and night, just to speak with you. I'd tell you how much I missed you, you'd echo it in return and add that you never wanted to come back.
But you did. You came back and I went back to the city of Him to be with you. You went through depression, your own kind of horrid assault, and I was there for you. I fought for you against mom who didn't know or understand that mental illness is as real as snapping your leg. Even more so debilitating. I never denied your need to talk about it. To vent. To be heard.
You got better, thank god. You made it through and I'm so proud of you.
But now you've got a boyfriend, a likeable asshole in my books. Treats you like you're his trashy princess all in the same swoop. He doesn't know you like I do, love you like I do, and the way he speaks to you gives me all the proof I need to not like him. So I don't. You hate me for it. I try to get to know him, I lie to you, I cry for you, I'm mad with you, I apologize to you.
You don't see what I see. He doesn't see what I see.
But it doesn't matter. No longer I try and withhold flinging shoes at innocent walls because of you. I remain alone, getting better by the day, once clawing my way from the cave of depression I was thrown in, to taking breaths and breaks as I sit at the top ledge. I'm developing into everything you said I should be. Working. Healthy. Making friends. And now also done looking forward for you. I'm done losing you.
I'm looking for me. My wants, my needs, my pains and stories. You with your jealousies and me with my anxieties, we go separate ways now. For now, not permanent. But I'm done losing you to things that don't matter. Until you can miss me like I've been missing you, until I learn to live for myself, until we can meet halfway, I won't be seeing you. I'm done and so are you. I'm done chasing you.
Find me here when you have the time, the consideration and understanding of just how special being a twin can be.
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Theres a lot of angst here. Guess I wouldn't be me if there wasn't.
Random Question: Whats been your most painful loss of relationship?
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