I don’t know how to start this except to say that I miss you. I’m sorry we’re not close anymore. I know my PTSD scares you. Well, it also scares me as well. I know it stressed you out the last time I visited you two years ago, and I became anxious and shaky at your house. That must have made you feel bad, and responsible for my being triggered. But, it was not your fault, not at all. I asked Cindy, my therapist, why I got so triggered because I love visiting you and the kids. I was very happy to be there. Her theory is that sometimes I get triggered around you because you are a reminder of my trauma because you were there, you were present. We were in the trauma together. I would give anything not to get triggered around you, anything.
I know it freaked you out seeing me crying in the guest room. I have no words for why I felt such despair when I was visiting you. All I can say is that it is not a reflection of how I feel about you. It is not a reflection of the fact that I love spending time with you and the kids. It does not reflect the fact that I love you.
You prefer not talking about all of this. I understand that. I’ve tried to engage you in a conversation about this, and every time I attempt to do so you insist there isn’t a problem. But, of course there’s a problem, as you haven’t had me visit since that last visit 2 years ago. I used to visit twice a year. I don’t think it’s an accident or an oversight that you have not asked me back since then. I understand your reluctance. I just wish that we could have a conversation about this.
I miss how you would text me human resources questions. It was actually flattering that my big corporate executive sister would compare her HR’s assessment of issues with my assessment of the same issues. I loved that you would call or text me to get my opinion on the latest HR issue in your division.
I also miss how everyone thinks we look alike, but you and I are convinced that we don’t look alike. So we roll our eyes at each other when people say, “Oh, sisters! You guys so look so alike.” Remember the time we did summer theatre and we were sick of everyone saying we looked alike so we dressed exactly alike for a rehearsal when we were working backstage? And, remember how it drove everyone crazy because we were constantly mistaken for the other through out the rehearsal? The director just shook his head and asked us, “What is this? Guess who I am day?” We just laughed at him. Mr. B was such a jerk. I’m glad we gave him a headache that day.
I hope some day we can reconnect. But, if not, I still love you.