Life with Annisa 

I often wonder how many positive actions are needed to offset the negative, because my memories go straight to the negative. Why is that? Is that a result of my upbringing or a flaw in my character? I want so badly to remember the good, but the negative memories haunt me.

Since my sister was 5 years older, my parents would allow her to babysit. She would use this time to terrorize me. Perhaps it is a normal sibling thing to do to some extent, but it made me live in confusion and fear.

One day, my sister came back with bags of white powder. She told me that if the cops came looking, I should not say anything. She said she found them in the field, and it was probably cocaine. I was 7 or 8 at the time, and I felt she was teasing me, but she insisted. Now, this may not seem like much, but it just laid the groundwork for me to not know for sure if she was telling me the truth.

She would come up with all these fantastical stories involving things that were illicit or (in my mind) negative situations. One day, when my parents were out, she told me to stay in my parents’ room and stay behind the bed, watch television, and eat peanut butter (out of the jar, no less). If I got scared, I was supposed to call out for her. I did not like being alone, and how she set up the situation made me uneasy. She closed the door as she left, and soon I heard her music blaring in her room. A few minutes went by when the door started to creak open slowly. I saw the barrel of a gun peek through the crack in the door. I began to scream. Her music stopped, and she came running. I told her what I had seen, and she told me she would look around the house to ensure everything was safe. She insisted it wasn’t her. I was a hot mess. I can still feel the fear of that moment like it had just happened. There was that part of me that could never trust her.

Other times, she left the mental warfare aside and decided we should have contests to see how much pain I could withstand. She would squeeze my arm as hard as she could. When I would try not to show pain, she would then add her nails and gouge my skin until it was bleeding. Then, of course, I was told worse would come if I told my parents, so I never did.

And here, I am trying so hard to remember something fun we did together. I know there must have been something. I feel like any positive memories were from when I was much younger and locked deep in my mind. At least during her teenage years, Anissa was lonely, sad, misunderstood, and had no real friends. I am so sad for her. For someone to inflict pain on someone who loved her unconditionally must have been so indicative of her pain and struggles.