My Dearest Joshua,
I never wanted this for you. I never wanted you to feel the responsibility of raising your siblings, dealing with addict parents, or choosing between them. I have been in your shoes, and I have walked in them for hundreds of miles. With all my being, I hoped you would never have had to learn to cope with the responsibly of our baby brother being pawned onto you, our mother being addicted to meth, and our parents asking you to take sides in every fight. But it seems that after I left the house, my worn out sneakers were passed down to you.
I’m writing to you, Josh, because out of all our siblings, I fear that you have had the worst of it. Jacob left the house after he graduated high school, and I’m away at college. You and our baby brother, Jayme, are the only ones left in a house full of deceit, manipulation, and exploitation.
Since Jacob and I left, you have had pain and heartache thrown in you face, shoving its way down your throat. Just last year, at 16-years-old, you lost your best friend in the bottom of a lake, and you lost our mother to a glass pipe, hidden in the walls of our home. And as if that wasn’t enough, you continue to be, it seems, the sole caregiver of Jayme. You assumed the same role that I did, because our mother is in and out of treatment, and our father is constantly working to support a family of five. It is you who baths him each day, it is you who lays with him at night until he falls asleep, it is you who dresses and feeds him every morning.
I may have walked in your shoes, Josh, but you have dragged your feet much father than I ever did. I can not even begin to wrap my head around what you must be feeling, all the emotions, or lack thereof. Detaching might seem like an answer, just so you can survive it all, and that’s okay. But don’t let that be the only answer. Being desensitized may help you for now, but eventually, it will only hurt you.
As your older sister, all I ever wanted to do was protect you from what I learned the world to be: chaos. You were always my first priority. I felt as if I had a motherly obligation to you. And now, it feels that I have failed you, because you have suffered a worse childhood than I did. The only thing I can do is try to shoulder your pain and tell you what I wish someone had told me, what I wish I would have known when I was a teenager like you; it’s okay to not be okay.
We are entitled to our feelings, we’re allowed to be angry, confused, or unhappy. I have had to remind myself that these emotions are normal for every living person, because it is too easy to make yourself numb, too easy to separate yourself from your feelings, and too easy to feel alone. I know this because I’ve been there.
When we were all younger, growing up in our home, it was nearly impossible to ever be okay. And I tried so hard to shelter you from what was happening. When I was only ten, Jacob six, and you four, our family was in the same spot it’s in today. Mom was in and out of treatment, dad was constantly working, and I took the role of caregiver for you boys. It was too much for me, and I felt like I might break, but I couldn’t let myself do that because, if I did, who would be there for you and Jacob? I had to learn how to remove myself, how to survive from my emotions. I had to detach because I believed that if I wasn’t okay, you boys wouldn’t be either. I had to appear strong so you boys could feel safe and secure in our home.
I see this in you as well, Josh. When you are with Jayme, you protect him. You break your plans to be where he is, because you feel you need to, and Jayme expects you to as well. He calls you his “best friend brother” and you take that to heart, internally vowing to always be there when he needs you and even when he doesn’t. I know this because when we were younger, I took that vow for you and Jacob.
Your relationship with Jayme is stronger than other brothers. You are his brother, his best friend, and his surrogate father. You know this as well as Jayme. And I know this because I was all of these roles for you and Jacob. But these roles can quickly become consuming, overwhelming, and exhausting. You’ve needed to learn how to handle all of your responsibilities because you couldn’t just abandon them, could you?
The easiest way to cope is to be numb, and it works, doesn’t it? You feel as if you’re in control of yourself and your emotions, when, in fact, you’re not. Instead of facing your feelings, you push them so far down that you create a bottomless black pit. And every time some new hardship comes up, you toss the accompanying emotions down into it. I know, because that’s what I do too.
You’ve learned to be unfeeling when something new happens. Like when you found out mom and dad were getting divorced, or when they both asked you to testify in court, because they both want to win custody over you and Jayme. And maybe being distant was a good way to handle it, but what happens when you meet new friends in college, or a girl you really like? Without allowing yourself to feel, those relationships will only ever be surface level.
If you aren’t able to let yourself feel emotions – love, anger, grief – you won’t be able to let yourself have any real attachments to anyone. You won’t be able to love or be loved. Your emotions will fester and boil inside you, and it will only take a small incident to make them burst. Without slowly allowing yourself to feel now, you won’t know how to control them when that happens. And believe me, it will happen. All it will take is mom relapsing again, dad getting another girlfriend, Jayme getting hurt or used as a pawn in our parent’s games.
I have, however, learned that you do feel sometimes. When your best friend drowned last year, you were a stone. You showed no signs of heartache or sadness, and you told everyone you were fine. It was only recently that I learned you cried every night for months. You waited until everyone was asleep to lock yourself in the bathroom. And even though it breaks my heart to hear that, I am glad you did. You let emotions of loss take over your body, and it helped heal you. That’s why emotions are so vital and so powerful. As much as you may hate them, as much as I know I do, emotions are one of the only things that can ever help you to heal, to move on, to forgive. The only other thing that has that kind of power is support. You may have only cried when you were alone and no one could see or hear you, but any one of your family members would have gladly cried with you. Most of all, me.
If you have people who support you and if you allow yourself to feel, you will always end up being okay. Things never need to be so bad that you feel you are alone, or that there isn’t a way out. You will feel that way the most when you close yourself off from yourself and the people around you. But you are never alone, and there’s always a way out. You will always have people who love you, that want to help carry your burdens, that want to make you happy. And that’s what you need to remember when you feel numb, detached, or disconnected.
Most importantly, remember that it’s okay to not be okay, but it’s not okay to stay that way.
With all my heart,
Amanda
