Jealousy

You are an ugly bitch

My Granny used to tell me a story about when I was brought home from the hospital, and how my sister reacted to it.

Let’s just say it wasn’t pretty, and she was only three years old. According to my Granny, Sissy-dearest took one look at me and declared that they should take me back. She didn’t want me.

She then proceeded to go into the nursery and empty every drawer her tiny little hands could reach… onto the floor.

She tore at the crib sheets, threw pillows, spilled the powder and the diapers and generally had a toddler temper tantrum as only a petty, jealous three year old could. When she was done, she hid in the corner, under my crib and refused to come out. My Granny was 63 at the time, but, not in the greatest of health and was unable to reach her for several hours.

This was just the precursor of days to come.

My first day of first grade, I was so excited because I got to ride the city bus. My sister was instructed to take me to the bus stop and make sure I got on the right bus.

She did that. Just that. Then she turned around and left me, alone, on the bus — this was a NYC MTA bus. I was 5.

It is only because the bus driver was horrified by what she’d done, and took pity on me, that I made it to school at all. I had no idea where I was going, and I’d never been on a bus by myself before.

When I was in 4th grade, and my sister was in 7th, the report cards came home. My mother said to me later that she was puzzled because despite the fact that I had all A’s, my teacher requested she come in for a conference. My sister had C’s and D’s… no conference. Hmmm.

So my parents requested a conference with my sister’s teacher for the same evening as the one with mine.

They were told that Sissy-dearest was doing her best, and that it was understood that she would never be an A-student. When they went to see my teacher? She asked them what they did with me at home.

I can recall exactly what she was talking about… See? I remember having no difficulties understanding her lesson, doing the required work, and then looking around for something else to do. Sometimes, I’d go clean the chalkboard. Sometimes the erasers. Sometimes? I’d just do laps around the classroom because I was unable to sit still a moment longer. I guess I caused problems in her quiet little classroom.

When they got home, my parents told each of us what had transpired at the school. Sissy-dearest was praised for her efforts. I was sent to my room for being disruptive in the classroom. Sissy-dearest later came to my room and punched me in the belly for showing her up with my grades. I didn’t bother to tell my parents.

There are many more instances in my childhood like these, all centered around one theme.

My sister was jealous of my very existence and wanted me gone…

When sticking me on the bus didn’t work, she managed to make me invisible with all of the bullying she did. I retreated, as any victim of bullying would do… I hid in my room, drawing in my sketchbook (which I hid so no one could see my drawings) or even better..? Reading.

Reading let me escape. It let me know there was a better world out there where people wouldn’t treat me like I’d been accustomed to being treated.

When I ran through all of the children’s books at the local library, I was told I had to wait until I was 12 to read anything more from there. Wait..? WHAT? I was 7… I couldn’t wait 5 years for another book…!!!

Then I found The Encyclopedia Britannica. Whose size, according to Wiki:

“…has remained steady, with about 40 million words on half a million topics.”

There seemed an endless font of things in there to learn about. The librarian was a little dubious about my 7 year old self reading about wars and politics, but, I was determined.

And learn I did. I mourned it’s completion. I wanted MORE..!! Now what would I read?

When I was 9, my Granny had her first major heart attack. So? I read about the heart, what happens when you have a heart attack, and what to do if you’re in the company of someone who does. I heard she’d had Rheumatic Fever as a child, so I read about that and the damage it could cause. I got my hands on an Anatomy and Physiology book and devoured it. I was convinced I wanted to be a doctor when I grew up. I read about physiological diseases, mental illness — as best as I could find reading material that I was “allowed” to read, and then considered whether I should go into Psychology instead.

My family had no idea what I was specifically reading about, just that I always had a book in my hands, reading, while doing laundry, cooking for the family, and taking care of my littlest sister.

The best part, for me, was that I could completely shut out the world. The arguments, the screaming, the taunting… it all went away while I sat and explored the world on those pages. They could call my name and I wouldn’t hear it. My mother would literally have to put her hand between my eyes and the page in order for me to realize that she’d wanted my attention.

My sister eventually bored of trying to tease and taunt me when I had a book in my hands. She simply reserved that lovely past time of hers for when I was doing other things. Escaping into the pages of a book made it easier for me to ignore her taunts and to simply move along silently in my day.

Living with her jealousy also taught me how ugly jealousy really is. The damage it can do, on both sides... And it has made me a better person for having that knowledge. It has made me capable of setting boundaries for what I will allow in any relationship, and jealousy is NEVER allowed around me.

My sister is now a bitter old woman, and she’s only 57. And she blames everyone around her for her misfortunes. That jealousy that she harbors toward anyone with anything she wants? It’s eating her alive…

I feel sorry for her…