torture by comparison

I personally think that the worst torture is torture by comparison and yet I can't help but willingly engage in that same masochism over and over.

It was the summer between my Senior year of undergrad and my first year of grad school.

I spent that summer jealous and alone. I should have been relishing in my youth, in my beauty, in the fact that I should have been carefree. In a better world I would have had parents that congratulated me on not only graduating but also getting a scholarship to grad school. Finally, this was my moment. But I never had a graduation party or much acknowledgement that it even happened.

Instead I got a phone call forcing me home. It was the summer she tried to kill herself.

We all knew she had problems that none us could solve no matter how hard we loved her and no matter how hard we tried to be perfect. It's something that’s greater than all of us that started long before us.

I got the call and found myself in a mind numbingly drive back to Buffalo. Fucked if I knew what to do. What does a twenty-three year old do for a ten year old child who just lost a father to a drug overdose the year before and now has a mother who tried to kill herself?

Fuck.

So I made her French toast every morning. I drove her to school even though she could have taken the bus. I made sure I told her I loved her everyday even when she rolled her eyes at me. I lied to her. I told her our mother went on vacation and would be back soon. "Don't worry, it'll be ok." Even though it wasn't ok and we both knew it.

During the day when she was in school, I drove downtown to the hospital to see her. I hated her then. I hated her for stealing my summer while my classmates backpacked in Europe or interned. I hated her for making everything about her. I hated her for not knowing what I should to do. And for a minute (as awful as it sounds) I wished she had had the guts to pull it off.

She begged me for coffee while she was there. So I lied to her too. I snuck in decaf and pretended it was the real deal. "Don't worry, it'll be ok." I lied to her sister, “Don’t worry, it’ll be ok.”

I lied because I knew that as a former prom queen she’d never want anyone to know. I tried to hide it because I was embarrassed and ashamed. I lied because I couldn't bear anyone knowing.

But more importantly, I couldn't face the judgement that comes from comparison with my peers, and so I lied to myself as well.