On any normal day, I would wake up for school and go downstairs to eat some breakfast. My mom would be reading the paper, dad out the door for work, and my sisters upstairs getting ready. Today was different. It was eerily quiet when I woke up and Chelsea wasn’t in the shower like usual. Morgan was still asleep. I walked downstairs and my mom wasn’t there. Dad was standing at the counter on the phone with the dim light hanging right above his head. He had a dead serious look on his face and his stance was very stiff. My heart skipped a beat as fear crept upon me.

I was confused, and my dad wouldn’t tell me what was wrong. All he said was that everything was fine and Chelsea’s medicine just made her sick. I wasn’t allowed to tell Morgan what was going on because he didn’t want her to worry over nothing, I always had to be strong for her. He seemed calm, so I trusted him and went through the day trying not to worry myself. I was used to her going to multiple doctors the last few years; one more didn’t mean anything. The only thing I was worried about was that it was a couple days before my birthday; she had to be better before then.

I really couldn’t help but worry though. I knew my sister, and when something was wrong, something was very wrong. She had really bad depression and a drinking problem. Could it just be that the mix of her happy pills and the alcohol made her sick? I hated that she drank. It killed me inside, knowing that my sister endangered herself and others all the time. She told me that she stole a fifth of alcohol to drink during school everyday.
It made her mean too. Really mean. She didn’t get along with any of my family members; the only thing she would say was hurtful things. She even threatened to slit Morgan’s throat once. I was the exception. She loved me for some reason. She told me her secrets and her feelings. We were close and I even looked up to her. It sounds weird to look up to a depressed alcoholic, but it was her strength that I admired, not her problems.
I would go home to an empty house everyday while my mom sat at the psychologists and doctors with her. I liked the loneliness and silence and dreaded their return home. Every second that my sister was home, there was either yelling or crying, and many times both. My sister and mother would scream at each other at the top of their lungs about how “stupid” she was and how Chelsea hated my mom. These words pierced my soul and killed my liveliness. When the yelling was done, I would hear doors slam and sobs coming from my mother. Chelsea would blare her heavy metal music. I hate heavy metal. Then my dad would come home. My parents would talk about the day’s events; they would disagree about how my mom dealt with it, and there would be more yelling.

All the while, Morgan and I would sit in our rooms, pushing our headphones into our ears as far as they could go, trying to drown out the yells and cries. Morgan was like me; always alone and quiet. We never really talked, because we both knew how each other felt. I felt bad that she had to go through all of this at such a young age. She didn’t get to know Chelsea before all of this started. All she knew was this new stranger that lived in our house and caused us problems. Morgan hated Chelsea. I wanted to be the good older sister and help her through it, but that’s hard to do when I myself don’t even know. All I could do was be strong and put on a fake smile when I was with her.
I never invited anyone over, I wanted to spare them from witnessing the mess of a family we had. I kept to myself most of the time and went into a depression. Life sucked and I envied my friends who all had perfect lives. They all had older sisters who were cool; they played sports and got A’s in school. I hated when they complained about their families, they didn’t know what fighting really was.

My mom was home when I came home from school. She explained to me what happened. I was furious. How could this happen? I was completely crushed and didn’t understand. She took me to the hospital with my sister Morgan. They were all trying to comfort Chelsea when we got to her hospital bed. I couldn’t even look at her. I felt sick and betrayed. It hurt so bad to hold back the tears and burning anger building inside of me. She was hooked up to so many machines and had black charcoal around her mouth. Her face was pale and the mix of dim lights and charcoal gave her face shadows that made her look dead. It was hard to look at and made me sick to my stomach. The charcoal was used to absorb the overdosing of drugs in her stomach. She had tried to commit suicide.

I can’t even describe the pain I felt that day. My sister tried to kill herself. It was a week before my birthday. What a birthday present. I just couldn’t understand how somebody could do that. To me, suicide is a selfish act because they not only take away their own life, but they never consider the lives they will affect when they are gone. My dad’s sister had committed suicide during his childhood as well so this one really cut him deep. We all felt like it was our fault and even put some blame on each other. It wasn’t out fault though, it was her decision. I will never be able to forgive Chelsea for the pain she caused my family that day.