Yesterday, 5/9/2017, my sister Destiny took her own life. She hung herself in her backyard.
A bit of history: I come from a very large biological family. I grew up knowing 8 (two brothers, six sisters) of my biological siblings. We were taken from our biological mother after she murdered one of her boyfriends. Before we were taken, we suffered at our mothers hands, the hands of the men and women she brought in and out of our lives, much abuse, physically, sexually and emotionally. We were a mess and there being nine of us, we were split up into foster care. They kept us in pairs except for the youngest who was just a baby.
Destiny was my pair. We were a set. She was six years older than me but we were bound together, close knit, we grew together as we bounced from home to home. We were finally adopted together into a home that seemed great at first. Then the reality of having such damaged children seemed to sink in and their unpreparedness became obvious. When I would wake in the night, crying from nightmares, unable to communicate what was bothering me, I was locked into the basement where I couldn't reach the light switch. Terrified. It was Destiny who snuck down there in the night and kept me company, took care of me, made me feel safe. To keep me from being tossed down there time and time again, she would convince me our closet was a direct portal to the North Pole. She would climb in, change her clothes and come out pretending to be an elf. Things got worse and worse though. Our adoptive fathers anger issues came out along with his reliance on alcohol.
It got to the point where we tried to run away multiple times. Each time, we were brought back to them. We were seen as damaged children making up lies. And Destiny was seen as the bad influence, the catalyst of all these problems.
They sent her off to a mental institute.
She was lost, she was damaged, she needed love and nurturing. We both did. But she was rejected. I was kept because I was young, I was blonde and blended well with the family.
Fast forward to my high school years.
I'm sitting in class and my little trackfone starts ringing. It's my sister Cynthia calling to inform me my pregnant sister Destiny was threatening to commit suicide. No one else knew how to handle it so they called the second youngest, they called the one who knew her best, they called a high school kid to talk her off the proverbial ledge.
I did. I did it then and many times to come.
Life continued on and she met a military man. She moved herself and her daughter down to Texas and married him. She had hardships with him, she had a son with him. Her illness progressed further and further and further. After her son, I went down to where they were living in Missouri to try and help. To take her to appointments, to get her help, to care for the children, to help keep up the house. But one night, she and her husband were fighting for hours. It was all I could do to get the kids to sleep. Hours later she asks me my opinion on the fight. When I responded truthfully to tell her she might be looking at things the wrong way, she lost it. She accused me of wanting to be her, wanting to take over her life. She went out to smoke and vanished. By the time her husband found her, she sat at the table with me, incoherent, barely able to insinuate that she had taken a full bottle of tylenol.
When I told her husband about it and went to call 911, he took the phones away, stopped me. He yelled at her, woke the kids... He was so concerned with his military career and how her behavior would effect him, he fed her some sort of medicine to make her vomit then took off. He left us that night. He left me there with a sobbing, vomiting woman, her two crying kids and he took all her medications (the valid and otherwise), all the booze, all the phones, all the keys... And he went. Didn't say where or when he'd be back.
I sat by her side for hours, sobbing, holding her, making sure she didn't die in her sleep.
The next day, she woke angrier than ever when she couldn't get her fix of any of her vices. The screaming was incessant. Her husband came back eventually. Things went back to "normal" but with heightened hostility all around. I moved away shortly after that.
After a while, we reconciled. But after a while a vicious cycle made itself obvious. She would get online on facebook and antagonize one of our siblings or relatives, get angry and block us, then forgive us and do it again. And again. And again.
Three months ago, I got tired of being called names. I got tired of the abuse. So I blocked her. I never spoke to her again.
Me, the one who's talked her out of suicide for many years, the one who she would listen to, the one who had the weight of it all on her shoulders gave up. I blocked her. I made sure she didn't get my new number. I intentionally avoided dealing with the drama.
And now she's dead.
She died alone. She died feeling alone. She died feeling unloved.
But the truth is I have always and will always love her. And now I will forever live with the guilt of turning my back on her.
God help me, I'm worse than those who used, raped and abused us.
My brother made this to attempt to return her body to our home state: