Everyone reacts to trauma in different ways. Some like me - I strived even harder for perfection. It was my job to make everything look even prettier on the outside than it really was. I had a perfect home life, made perfect grades, was the perfect daughter ... that was my fiscade.
My sisters, however, was quite different. She became withdrawn and joined "the vampires of the night" - sneaking out of the house and being as eccentric as she could (black fingernails, black hair, white make up, etc). She flunked out of school and was ALWAYS in trouble.
I don't know why I went down one path and she went down a compeltely different one ... we were having the same experiences - or so I think.
Eventually she ran away from home at 15, got drunk, shaved her head and was taken to a youth shelter. That youth shelter changed my life - as strange as that sounds. It was at that shelter that I met my mirror - although little did I know how our lives would be so entwined.
I went there to meet with my sisters counselor. To drop off school books and tie up loose ends. I clearly remember the way her office looked and felt. The way she looked - She was nice - but she challenged me too. "Why are you the one coming out here instead of your mother"...ohhhh - she hit a soft spot. Protect the family - at all costs.
I was the adult at this point ... I came to the family counseling sessions - I brought things to my sister as she needed them - I got a tour of the facility. At some point, I got comfortable - I told her my secret.
The next image I have is sitting on her living room floor, drawing a picture of that night with a purple crayon.
She didn't judge - and little did I know she would turn out to be my nearest and dearest friend - the one who would get me though another night of hell - my mirror.