Dear Sisey,
It's been a long time since I have written, I know. I haven't had the motivation or inclination to write on this blog for months, and I haven't written a letter just to you either. Today I felt the sudden urge to do both, so here I am, though it's hard to even know what to say.
It's been nearly 8 months since you died. Exactly 8 months ago, I was on a Zoom call with some acquaintances, watching funny burlesque videos and eating junk food without a care in the world. I particularly remember one girl in the videos who wore an (incredibly impressive) shiny crab costume, and danced a routine to Moana's "Shiny." I was going to send that video to you so we could laugh about it together. I never got to show you the video, and 2 days later my whole life fell apart.
The sister who is writing to you today is not the same person that you left behind 8 months ago. The happy, content, calm person that I used to be died along with you on 16 August 2020, whether you intended to kill her or not. I don't think you would recognise the person that I am now, and to be honest, I don't even recognise the person I was before you died. I no longer think of myself as being one person my whole life, I am very much two people: Annie before Madz died and Annie after Madz died. Or to give them their more affectionate nicknames: human Annie and zombie Annie.
A lot has happened since you died, but at the same time, it feels like not very much has happened at all. Because every day begins the same way, and I go through a similar mess of emotions. Most people know the feeling of going to sleep, having a nightmare, and waking up to feel relieved that it was only a dream. For me, I would describe suicide bereavement as a kind of "reverse nightmare". Every night I have to go to sleep, knowing full well that I will wake up to a nightmare in the morning. Knowing that I will wake up to a world where you are no longer here, where I am constantly being tortured with the memories of our very last phone call, and the aftermath. Not that sleep is much of a reprieve either - I never know when I might have some kind of f**ked-up dream about your death.
I never told you this, but losing you was my absolute biggest fear. Losing you at such a young age, in a way that feels like it should've been so preventable, and having the added trauma of you phoning me right before your death but being unable to save you: the pain is indescribable. I feel like I am trapped in a nightmare, worst-case scenario version of my life every day.
I don't know if I am supposed to find some deeper meaning in what happened to you. I obsess over what happened nearly every second of every day, and I still come up with no answers. It would be impossible to. What was the point of us being sisters and best friends for nearly 30 years, when in the end everything came crashing down in the worst way possible? What was the point of your life, and all the joy you brought to the people who loved you, and everything you achieved, when your death caused so much pain? What is the point of my life now, when I feel like I am being mentally tortured every day? Every day just feels like some really messed-up existential dilemma that I can never solve.
I also don't have a clue you would think about the new Annie if you could see me now. Some people have told me cliches like "your sister would want you to be happy" and "you should live your best life for her". The depressing truth is: I don't know how the hell to be happy without you, any more than a depressed person knows how to just cheer up. You were my soulmate, and my favourite person in the world, by an infinite amount. You brought meaning and purpose to my life, that I have now just lost in the most senseless way possible. You were my home on this crazy place we call Earth, and you made me happy in a way that nobody else did. Until the day you died, you always had my back and I always had yours. I kinda know that your death wasn't about me, but I can't help but wonder how the hell you can just leave me here. Alone, abandoned and traumatised for life.
I don't know what to do with my life any more. I go through all the basic motions of life: working, forcing myself to eat and drink, playing pointless games online - but all the joy and passion has gone out of my life. The only future I ever wanted or envisaged was one where you played a huge part in it. I don't know what the point is of working hard and completing mindless everyday chores when I will never see your face, hug you or enjoy any holidays with you ever again. I don't feel happiness or excitement anymore, and I don't know if I am capable of feeling positive emotions ever again. 8 months ago I was happy, but fast-forward 7 months to the week of my 30th birthday and I'm on the phone to my GP, crying uncontrollably because I feel like I don't want to be alive anymore either. I have an appointment with a mental health nurse next week, maybe she can give me some meds to help, but these are no replacement for the love and support that I used to feel from you. I've already been through a round of counselling through work, regular support group, and have ranted on bereavement forums more times than I care to count, but nothing can fill the void you left, even a tiny bit.
I don't think you wanted to hurt me at all, but at the same time, I can't help but wonder - what the hell did you think this would do to me? Did you think I would just be able to move on, with my mental health left unscathed? Or did you expect me to follow you - I can't help but wonder by your last words if that was the case? Having read about a US murder-suicide case this week where two brothers murdered their whole family before killing themselves, I have even found myself wondering if you would've tried to end my life as well, had I been in the room with you on that night. This thought sounds crazy, but right now I feel like I never really knew the real you at all.
I loved you so much, and I will never stop loving you, but I am really really angry as well. I am so angry at you for taking this action that killed both of us. I am angry because I feel like your problems were most likely temporary and fixable, but you didn't get help for them and instead placed this massive burden on me. I am angry for the fact that any responsibilities that should've been shared between both of us have now been dumped entirely on me. I am angry for reasons I can't even write on this blog: one of the many joys of suicide bereavement is that family members often disagree on how much the world should be told about your death, and I am no exception. I have to keep my mouth shut about certain details of your death, for the sake of our parents.
I know I can't get my old life back, but right now I just feel extremely bitter and cheated out of the many decades of happiness we might've had if you stuck around. I try not to think about the future because the thought of having potentially another 30/40/50 years without you if I have a normal lifespan is absolutely terrifying. Most of the time I don't even know if I should try and get better, or just engage in as much self-destructive behaviour as possible without actually killing myself, in the hope that I will get to the place you are sooner. I feel so mad at you for making me feel like this.
Above everything though sisey, I miss you. I miss you so much, despite all my anger and complicated grief. I would do absolutely anything and give absolutely anything to have you back here with me. We should both be getting excited about the ending of lockdown now, and the prospect of getting to see each other in person at some point in the near future. I wish we could watch another Disney movie together tonight, and I could laugh at your silly Whatsapp comments about how Disney always sexualised weird characters like fish and planes (seriously - I don't know the hell the creator of Cleo from Pinocchio was thinking either!!) I wish I could be rolling my eyes at whatever hideous piece of Britney Spears merchandise you wanted from me for your 32nd birthday. I wish I could sing Baby Shark to you on repeat to wind you up again. I wish you could introduce a new foster cat to me over video chat again. I wish I could pet your hair like a cat again, and make fun of your few grey hairs. I wish you were around to do the same to me, whenever my grey hairs appeared, but now that can never happen.
There's a lot that I don't know, sisey. I don't know if this life on Earth is all we get, and you are merely a pile of ashes now. I don't know if all your memories and love for me have just disappeared. If there is some kind of afterlife, I don't know if we get to retain the memories from this life, or if they all just disappear. I hope I get answers someday, I think. Though if there is an afterlife and the creator is the same person that created this messed-up world, I'm kinda scared to find out what that would be like. Anyway...
I love you so, so much, I miss you more than any words can express. Please come back to me, we all need you so much.
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