I’m the lucky one. The pretty one. The favourite one.
This is what my ex husband thought of me and my family, I was the lucky one and my sister was the underdog. My brother and I were lucky, we fitted in, we were closer to my parents and we were closer to each other. C was the outcast he said, she was the underdog. Perhaps that is why he was always so fond of her.
It must have been incredibly difficult for my parents raising C and it must of been incredibly difficult for C to grow up in our family. ‘You don’t understand how hard it must have been for her when you came along. You the little princess.’
When I was a teenager I always wanted to be like her. She was thin and she was beautiful. She wasn’t sticking her finger down her throat, she wasn’t cutting herself. She was always incredibly loving, a mother by nature, she was a caretaker. She got married a virgin.
Of course she rebelled, she rebelled the most out of us the three of us children. She was flawed, but she was herself and she was perfect to me. I wanted to be just like her once a upon a time.
She was the lucky one. She was the pretty one. She was the favourite one.
Thats how I saw it when we were growing up. Yes my brother and I are closer. I’m the princess, I am. I’m the firecracker and the risk taker and most say I am the favourite and the pretty one. I’m different and I’m a good listener and liberal and supportive. Does it matter? She’s pretty, she has set values, she’s the most wonderful mother. She is smart and she is driven. She is the one that is filled with love all around. She is happy and she is funny. She is a role model. She is kind and she puts family above all.
It doesn’t matter what we are or who we are. We are sisters. It never was and it never will be a competition. It doesn’t matter.
We are who we are.
We are the lucky ones.