Seventh grade was not a good year for me at all. It was the year that I truly hated my life. Every aspect of it.  Everything I had once loved now seemed to just bring me down. Nothing seemed to make me happy. I didn’t want to do anything. The entire world seemed dull and lifeless, as if I lived in black and white.

It started with my personal life. School was no longer enjoyable the way it had always been for me in elementary school. I remember despising the thought of it every morning when my alarm clock rang at 6:30am. I had always been the eager beaver in school, raising my hand and being that kid who was excited about the test other kids cried about. But that had all changed. I didn’t love playing music anymore, either. I even quit the piano, leaving me with just the violin, which I felt I was being forced to continue without my wanting to. To make matters worse, my friends didn’t seem to understand me. It was as if I was the only one who was struggling through her life. 

Of course, just when I thought things couldn’t get worse, they got worse. Our parents -- our happy parents who loved each other -- started fighting big time. I came home from my music school one Saturday in November with dad, and when we walked into the house, mom started screaming and shouting. She picked up a plate and threw it down at Dad, shattering it into a million tiny pieces. Dad shook his head over and over, trying to reason with Mom. It wasn’t working. I was in such shock that my body became numb. I lost control of my fingers and toes to the point where I felt paralyzed. I was crying, and you were, too. But I was crying more, because you were stronger than me.

I remember you got a cut on your hand from a piece of the shattered plate at some point that day. It hurt me to see you get hurt more than it physically hurt you, because you were tougher than me. 

Mom and Dad made up in two days. By Monday, they were on good terms again and our family seemed repaired. That night, we had dinner together as a family and everyone talked and laughed together. Except for me.  Because I was more sensible than you. And something told me this all wasn’t over yet. 

As I had predicted, Mom and Dad weren’t done. I woke up that next Thursday to the sound of Mom’s angry voice downstairs in the kitchen. I got changed for school, grabbed my backpack, and put my hair in a ponytail (I didn’t wear my hair down, because you were prettier than me and unlike you, I looked bad with my hair down). But then, I had no idea what to do. I didn’t want to go downstairs during the fight, but in order to go to school, I needed to. So I stood there in my room like an idiot until I came to the realization that Mom and Dad weren’t going to come to an end. So, I pulled myself together and went downstairs. 

Right when Mom and Dad turned around and looked at me, I burst into tears. Afterall, I was more emotional than you. To this day, I’m not sure exactly why, but I couldn’t keep it in and I was scared about something I couldn’t quite place my finger on. Mom hugged me and told me I could stay home from school if I wanted. I was choking and crying too much to talk but I decided I would rather be in school than watch Mom and Dad keep fighting, so I just shook my head and went off to school. 

Things went on like this for months -- Mom and Dad would fight, then they would make up. They would fight again, then make up again. On, off. On again, off again. And it drove me crazy. I’m sure it drove you crazy, too, but you were better at hiding it than I was. 

By January, I wanted to just die. To commit suicide. I thought suicidal thoughts all the time, and I came up with a list of ways I could kill myself. I couldn’t bring myself to actually do any of them, though, because I was more reasonable than you, and I knew none of them would ever work. 

Then, one day, I was in the car by myself while Mom was picking you up from school, and I was there alone doing my math homework. I’d had a bad day at school, so I was in a horrible mood. There were kids walking by everywhere. There were parents laughing and talking with their children, and the children were smiling. The sun looked so beautiful and warm, and I almost felt as if nothing could ever go wrong again. The warmth of the beautiful day touched me through the open window of the car.  I almost smiled for the first time in months. Almost.

And that’s when it hit me. I would never have a happy family again. I could keep believing and dreaming, but it would never happen. There would always be “on” moments, and there would always be “off” moments. I knew there was no way Mom and Dad would ever fully make up, and all of the sudden, I was furious!

Without knowing what I was doing, I picked up my pencil and instead of solving the math problem that was in front of me, I wrote the words I had never imagined I would write. 

Before I knew it, the words “I hate you, dad”, “Kill me”, and “Go to hell”, covered the page. I almost started crying, but I decided that I should try to be stronger like you. As always, I failed, and a fat teardrop fell onto the paper. 

A few days later, you and I were home alone.  I was working on something for school, and you were reading. I wasn’t conscious of the fact that the math page I had been writing on days earlier was at the ledge of the table, and about to fall off. Being the stupid idiot I was, I bumped my elbow into it and it drifted to the floor, slowly. My jaw dropped in fear that you would see it. 

Of course, you bent down to get it for me, because you’re kinder than I am. 

And of course, you read the paper, because you’re more curious than I am.

You looked at me instantly and I remember the look that was in your eyes. You seemed so intense and the way your eyebrows were furrowed above your eyes made me want to hug you right there on the spot and tell you how much I loved you and how I would never be able to live without you.

“Are you doing okay?” you asked me. I nodded. 

“And you?” I asked. You nodded back.

“Are you sure?” I asked, just to double check. 

“Of course,” you replied. And I won’t forget what you said next. “I’ve got a great sister like you,”

The thing about sisters is that they can’t be replaced. And if you have a sister, it’s like you have proof that your life is beautiful. Catherine, I remember that you and I used to fight a lot when we were a lot younger and more immature. I remember telling Mom and Dad I wished they hadn’t gotten you, and that I would have been better off as an only child. I know now that none of that was true, and I hope it didn’t hurt you too much. Because I didn’t mean any of it, and I wish I could take those words back. A lot of people say “I have the best sister”, but I’m the one that truly has the best sister in the world. 

Mom and Dad still fight. They’re still on and off. But I don’t cry each time they fight anymore. Sometimes, I don’t even realize. And that’s because you’ve taught me that life goes on, and that I’m capable of finding ways to love life even when there are obstacles. People always think of me as the tough, smart one, and you as the shy, sensible one. But I think we can both agree as our little secret that it is actually the other way around. Deep down, I am weak, I am sensible, and I am hurt easily. You are beautiful, you are strong, and you keep me alive. 

Thank You, sister.