Mothers and daughters

I need to preface this by saying that I love both my mother and my sister (very much).

Ever since I was young, I knew my mum loved my sister more than she loved me. Of course she denied it – for years and years. But two years ago I finally got the truth and it was actually such a relief – mainly because it meant I hadn’t been crazy all those years. My mum finally said that she loved my sister more than me. For various reasons. I have always been the difficult one. I was the one that drove my dad mad, that made him hit me (the one time he hit my sister, my mum went to the divorce courts). I was the one who had a weight problem, pierced her ears and wore too much black. I was the one who – aged seven – was put in charge of a traumatised family and failed to look after anyone (er…I was seven).

I sound so bitter and such a cow but the problem is my sister has gone home because she is sad and upset that her engagement is over. And I don’t blame her and I want to give her a big cuddle and her ex fiance a huge slap. But suddenly my presence isn’t required. Couldn’t get off the phone fast enough. 

It hurts. I accept it because that’s the way it is. I know that when my sister goes back to her life (in a week) and is no longer available, then I’ll be required to pick up the pieces and be at the end of the phone and in their house and at their beck and call. 

God! I sound like such a grumpy teenager and I hate myself for it. But it hurts so much.

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