"Move dust through the light, to fide your name."

Ah, reflections. That point in a person's life where they must sit back in a stiff, old computer chair like myself and just remember, think. I do it too much for my own good, whether in writing or plain thought. Sometimes I wish that I could write actual pieces of literature rather than the sputtering of my ordinary, ridiculous life. I haven't written anything real in a long while. I'm sure it's one of those really bothersome and frustrating slumps that some writers experience once and a while. But one this long? Anyway, all of these recent entries in my blog haven't been submitted without great distress. I haven't been feeling well lately. Mentally, I mean. My head is fuzzy, dull, fatigued, weighed down. After years of practice, I've been quite good at subduing this pain to a dull hum. But other times it gets the best of me and before I know it I've let it escape and my chest begins to rip in half as if it's imploding. If I die from anything it'll be from Broken Heart Syndrome- a fitting disease for someone who is capable of feeling so much that they experience physical pain. Lucky me. Other people don't know that someone with a quality such as caring isn't all good. If you let it consume you too much, it controls you, and you end up worrying and having anxiety attacks until it exhausts the crap out of you. I wish I could worry about something simplistic. It always has to be complicated with me I guess. Sometimes I wish the circuits worked differently in my brain, so that I didn't have to worry or be sad about something all the time. And you know what? It wasn't until just now that I realized what I've been so sad about. I miss my baby sister. The one I went out to play in a snow storm with last year. I had to beg her just to come out with me. The one I constructed a robot costume out of foil with for three hours on Halloween. I miss longboarding with her and going to the mall with her. I miss being able to talk to her all the time about anything and she wouldn't get mad. I miss her hugs and her showing me the next amazing art project she made. I miss laughing with her and singing loudly with her like idiots. I miss exchanging new bands we've found. I miss going to the movies or just watching movies at home with her. I miss hanging out in my room with her and just talking and playing music on our computers. I miss taking pictures with her. I miss reminiscing with her. But the person who lives in that house with my parents is not my sister. She's someone else I don't recognize. She's rude and hateful to me, and she won't let me be her big sister. She snaps at me and pushes me away. She doesn't need me, she doesn't love me, she doesn't care about me. And knowing that it might always be this way hurts more than she will ever know.