A Life Made of Glass

Tw: suicide mention

I would like to begin by saying that I love my sister. She is sweet, kind, innocent. Her IQ is in the 30s and her body has somehow survived multiple disorders that should have killed her. I don't know how long that's going to last. The fact is though, that I am waiting for her to die before I cut off my parents completely.

I spent half of my childhood in hospitals. I was labeled "gifted". I had the desire to keep everyone around me smiling through all of the fear and pain. So I was perfectly okay, right?

We all know I wouldn't be posting here if that was the case.

I presented with what we now know was ADHD during puberty, and suddenly I wasn't quite so perfect. I was met with shouting and disappointment rather than any desire to understand or help. I was "lazy," which is a sin of the highest order in my family.

Throughout my teens, I knew something was wrong with me. I told my mother that I suspected Depression, and she yelled in my face, "What do you have to be depressed about? Your life is perfect!"

Naturally, I rarely brought it up again. But, I started asking questions. Every time I was available, I was the one taking care of my sister. My mother all but forbade me from going to college far away because "What if we need you and you're gone?" I asked her once, "What are you going to do once I move out? If I get a job in another state? What are you going to do about her?" She refused to answer until I kept pressing, but eventually shouted, "Well, then I guess I'll HIRE SOMEONE, (name)!" In that perfectly clear tone that she resented that I asked, that I made her think of it at all.

But suddenly I was 21. Struggling mentally, in the closet, losing religion, failing classes. And I was hit with something new. My parents had gotten Guardianship over my sister once she turned 18. One of the conditions of it was them writing a will. It included the provision that I would become my sister's back up guardian after I turned 25. My father looked me in the eye and said, "You have four years to get your shit together." Which is, of course, the worst thing to say to someone who has undiagnosed anxiety being fed by unfettered ADHD. My cries for help had been ignored.

My plan was to pass out in my mother's bathroom with a very simple note that read, "Do you believe me now?"

They caught onto something being wrong, finally, just hours before my attempt would take place. Even then, I don't think they understood. Even then, it wasn't safe for me to come out, to tell them how terrified I was of the burden of my sister's care. My dad's insurance was the only reason she survived, and I watched him fighting them over the phone night after night. I felt like a failure at every metric, and completely unable to meet any of her needs.

I don't need to tell any of you what it was like growing up. Taking showers with her until I was 13. Sharing a room in case she needed someone in the night. Memorizing and administering supplements and medicine. Having to learn how to operate medical equipment at the time I was learning long division in school. Idly making a joke about selling a kidney for show tickets and being told, "You can't. What if your sister needs one?"

I don't need to tell you about promises broken. About no one at my academic award ceremonies. About being apologized to via summer camps. About the things you want most being instantly forgotten the moment something happens. About the "What if" thoughts that you have to break off at the root because thinking about how things could've been different opens you up to unending grief.

I don't need to tell you about that looming sense of dread taking over your life, about feeling the shadow of death hanging just beside you. About every hospital stay possibly being the last. About how most of my toys were cast-offs that she got as "get well" gifts that she didn't want anymore.

I definitely don't need to tell you about the festering resentment, and the constant struggle to keep bitterness at bay because it's not her fault. About the rage at hypocrisy. About my own needs being ignored because they were "less important."

But I will tell you this: I was failed on every level that matters beyond physical by my family. I was never supported, and only loved in illusory pieces instead of as a whole. I Could Not be mentally ill. I Could Not be gay. I Could Not tell anyone about marrying the love of my life.

And yet, I am and have done all of those things I Could Not do. So can you. No, so MUST you. Being Glass means being both invisible and broken in some ways. It hurts. It will keep hurting for a long time.

But we are not glass, we are people. People can heal. People have choices. My choice is that my parents will likely see me for the last time over my sister's grave, with my wife at my side. I will use the sharp edge of the glass they made me to be and cut myself free.

Glass will reflect, as we reflect the things we have lived through. But it can also shine like nothing else. We will be seen, full of all of the things that make us human.

And I see you, just as you, now, see me.