Genealogy

Your sister is out of prison, but I’m wondering how long it lasts. Your mom said she’s been very impulsive with money and men. I think she’s just been so mentally unwell her entire life and she never got the help she needed. She is like a shell of a person with a traumatized little girl inside.
Your mom said she’s waiting on the final call for your brother. He isn’t doing well. He overdosed again, he’s lying again, he says he’s only doing amphetamines but we know. He’s never tried so hard to stay clean, but it makes the fall even harder. I still keep his obituary in my phone, for the day I’ll have to read it. I’ll still be so young when it comes.
I don’t know if I am autistic like you and just not picking up on the social cues, but either way, we still share the same naivety. I was really hoping our family was finally healing. Maybe I am addicted to hope the same way you were to dope. Maybe it will kill me too. I don’t plan to die, but I’m feeling really weary of the world. Really helpless. Really out of place. Really unseen. Just like you felt.
I know I used big fancy words that you couldn’t understand, but we were so much more alike that either of us realized.
You learned to hide parts of yourself to fit in. I feel like I am doing the same. I spend time with friend, I act normal. Just under the surface, though, I desperately want to be asked if I am okay- I feel a visceral need to be wrapped in a long tight hug, to feel like someone sees the cracks and wants me to be whole again. But sad girls kill the vibe and I don’t even know if I can be that vulnerable with anyone.
I wish you were here. You would understand. You would give me that hug. But I’m glad you’re not, because it would only kill you again. I know, because we have always been the same…
Desperately wanting to fit into our family but always feeling out of place. I know that they all think I am doing better than them, that my life is perfect… But I am rotting inside. One rotted root can kill the entire family tree.
Do you remember the old tree we used to play on? I wish we could have felt as at home in our family as we did sitting on those ancient branches. It was crooked but it was strong. Just like I thought our family was. It fell down, you know- all that’s left is a log. I don’t think our family will ever grow to be as old as that tree. Sometimes I miss our place on those branches as much as I miss you. I keep a piece of the bark right next to your ashes. I’m sorry for everything that runs in the genealogy of our family tree. I am sorry our love was not enough to save it. I hope there is a cure on the other side of eternity.