・DEAR JULIA・

Jules

Dear Julia,

Happy birthday! 20.. Wow, we're old. You know, I was thinking about something yesterday. Do you remember that horrible audition you did when we were 8? You were supposed to sing Maybe from Annie but you were so nervous that you started yelling the lyrics at the casting directors. Needless to say, none of us were surprised when you didn't get the part.

That's when you starting changing right? We all thought it was for the better; apart from me maybe. Not just because your sudden surge of confidence made me jealous but, soon, lying came too easily for you. You seemed so well-kept and put together, it was almost impossible for me to imagine that you were hurting. Well, we all have our bad days but I had no idea that every day was a bad day for you. It still makes me feel guilty for being so jealous of you, even now.

I had my reasons, though. You were so amazing at everything. I know it's pointless now that we're twenty but you were the prettier twin, the more charismatic one. That's what makes me wonder why you did it, five years on and I'm still trying to figure it out. Did I not know you well enough? Did I spot the signs but dismiss them somehow? I don't know. Maybe I could have changed your mind. Your life. Our lives. I hate thinking about it. I hate knowing that I could have stopped you if I paid enough attention; if anyone could have, it was me.

Was I such a horrible twin that I knew what you were thinking but didn't pay attention because I was.. Jealous? No. I wasn't like that. Was I? I don't even know anymore; I can barely remember what I was like before it happened. At least, what I remember doesn't feel like myself; it feels like looking back at the memories of someone else's childhood. This is what you've done to me, Jules.

Everyone's been saying it's time for me to focus on the present and the future. That I need to move on. I'm trying, Jules, I really am. I mean, I'm moving in with Frank but it's more for convenience than anything else. Everyone else has recovered so quickly.

I remember the very next day after it had happened. I went to school, I don't know why; maybe it was pride, maybe it was seeing everyone else. But I will never forget what it was like. The school sent us an email explaining what had happened that evening. As soon as I entered school, I knew that everyone knew. The atmosphere, their faces, the silence.

My footsteps echoed back at me as I climbed up to our form room, as if you were with me the whole way. The few people in our class were sitting together around the room, with at least one other person. No one sat alone. You couldn't hear anything except for their sobs. People were holding hands, hugging or just sitting next to each other. I remember Sophie K and Daina were sitting together. Two girls from completely different circles came together because of you.

I didn't stop crying that night.

I wish you had heard me.

I remember thinking how long things were going to be like this. The crying. And the silence. The school had provided counselling sessions and the teachers didn't mind if we didn't pay attention in lessons; they wanted things to be carried out how they usually were for a sense of routine. Apparently it was supposed to help.

The rest of that week was hell for all of us. Soon, though, people started recovering. They started to return to living their life normally. A week or so later people were laughing and smiling again, as if nothing had happened. I was jealous because I don't think I ever moved on; not fully anyway. I was jealous of how quickly their lives went back on track.

5 years. It's given me time to go over every moment we spent together, every conversation we had. But you were so good at acting, weren't you? I wasn't. I needed you to vent, to talk, to sit and hold hands. You probably did, too, but you were always so open about your feelings that I never thought there could be more, something deeper. You were so supportive. Something was bothering you but I was selfish. I wanted to talk about myself, about my small, trivial pain. Insignificant. Nothing compared to what you were going through.

What was it, Jules, that made you kill yourself?

Made you slit your wrists and bleed to death because you thought life wasn't worth living? When you were 15. Was it worth it? Was it worth being freed from the pain knowing that you would cause so much.

How long were you thinking about it for? Did you know that morning when you left home that that would be the last time you would say goodbye to mum and dad? Because they didn't. They thought it was a normal day with their two daughters leaving home to get the bus, not knowing that only one would come back.

Did you do it knowing that the last thing you ever said to me was that we were going to be late? Because we missed the bus. Jules, how long were you thinking about it for? How on earth did I not notice? Why was I so blind that I couldn't see my own sister going through so much pain?

I'm writing this knowing that the right person will never read it. That you will never be able to answer my questions. Yet some part of me, some small part, feels free. I'm still sending it to our place, Jules. The old park. I haven't been there in forever but I know that I'll never be able to pick up the courage and go there again. So I'm writing instead - sending my feelings to the post office knowing they'll be put in the pile with wrong addresses that can't be delivered to.

Love that I should've given to you before you died,

Tara