Somehow, I managed to find the stores of energy that would help me go downstairs to visit my beautiful sister. As I made my way down the stairs, I overheard my mother and stepfather discussing their plan to end my sister’s life. They were to use her prescribed medication. Little by little, feeding by feeding, continually adding to her dosages to end her life slowly.
As I arrived at the living room (where this conversation was being held in the presence of my sister), I began to weep again. I ran to my sister and reached around her whole body. They (the parental units responsible for both mine and my sister’s well-being) pushed me away from her so that they could feed her again with the planned excessive doses of her medication. And I watched as my stepfather used her feeding tube to deliver the drugs that would be the end of her life to her formula and fed them to her. She quickly fell into a deep sleep, and there was no way to communicate with her.
It was only four days ago that I turned 15. Everything seemed normal, well as normal as it could be, in a ‘family’ like mine. I mean, there were stores of drugs and alcohol, and I was, as usual, the only person sober enough to take care of my sister.