Matching Pink Dresses

We are sisters, Cecily and I. It was clear from early on in our childhoods that she was the more bold, more fun, more outgoing. We were dressed alike in matching pink dresses with matching white bows in our matching bob haircuts. Cute? Sure, but no originality for either of us, not that Cecily ever minded. It was always me who complained. "Sierra, whats with the fuss? Our dresses are beautiful!" Cecily loved dressing up.

As teenagers things changed, we had gone from near duplicates to total opposites.Cecily was the captain of the cheer-leading squad, where as I liked to be in the darkest corner of the library with my nose buried in some old dusty book. She wore bright colors, and danced. I preferred modest clothes, and studied. She was day, I was night. Cecily had all the fun while I gave her all the answers she needed to maintain a good grade point average.

Cecily began to change, and it scared me. She tried to ignore me, tried to make me quiet when I would give her warnings about situations she was getting herself into. I got angry that she never listened to me. We talked less and less as we got older, her attention always turned elsewhere, listening to someone else. Cecily had new friends, friends who didn't try to shield her from dangerous things, I have come to know them as the Others.

"Sierra, you are getting stuffy, you are going to be an old maid with a billion cats," she'd laugh. "We are young, it's time to have fun!"

Both Cecily and I were looking forward to college life. Cecily gave most of her attention to the Others, I was hopeful that the Others wouldn't reach her in college. Nothing changed. My voice was getting lighter and lighter, I don't believe she could hear my warnings over everyone else.

Boys came and went from her life, which was bad enough, but then she started experimenting with drugs. About the time she started getting dependent on various substances is when I began to notice how loud the Others had become, it seemed that they were more persuasive than I. Cecily was getting in trouble at home and school, her grades were suffering. No amount of pleading and bribing on my part seemed to help.

Cecily got taken out of school by our parents and hospitalized.

I don't clearly remember the day that Cecily told me I was only a voice in her head, and not her sister. She told me the Others were also voices, much louder voices telling her to do things. I felt shocked and hurt, I was her sister! I asked her about the Others, I asked her what they tell her to do, what do they talk to her about, I could feel that she is very uncomfortable talking to me about them. "Sierra, I have to take medications now, meds that will make you go away." Cecily cried softly as she explained to me I couldn't talk to her anymore, she ignored me when I begged her not to take the pills. "Cecily, if you just listen to me, ignore them, we will be OK!"

The medications Cecily started to take made me silent. I am silent to myself and silent to my sister. I scream for her to hear me, but I am only a voice that cannot be heard. I am not real they tell her in her support groups. But neither am I her imagination, I am here with my sister always. She cannot hear what I say, but I continue to talk.