Dear Runt,
I remember when you were cute and chubby and lovable. You were the cutest baby to ever live, even if you had a few stumpy fingers where they'd been forced to amputate. Even if you were allergic to almost everything. Even if you took all of the attention away from the rest of us.
There are four siblings now, but before you were born, when I was the youngest and there were just two older kids, we were told that we'd still get attention after you were born. We were told that they'd love us still after you were born. After you were born sick, that whole plan changed a little. I was only 2, but even then I knew that we weren't going to get equal attention. We got "sleep over parties" with friends and family and hospital food lunches instead of getting to spend time with our parents and be at home with you. And when I was a spoiled 2 year old, I hated it. I understand now though. I understand that they thought you would die, and you were fighting for your life. I understand why mom is always so protective of you and I understand why sometimes you're a little asshole. But that doesn't mean I don't love you.
Life has given you a shit deal. You were bullied and allergic to everything, you suffer from mental illness and disabilities, and you try so hard to try and understand social norms. I wasn't surprised when you became depressed.
In fact, I became all too used to the idea. I'd been depressed for quite some time, but no one ever took me seriously. I never once tried to jump off the big playground toys in an attempt to end my life, while you tried almost every recess. I had become accustomed to being called to the principal's office, because they thought talking to me would make you stop. You were in the first grade.
I just wanted a normal childhood and instead they were talking to me about what you'd done. I'm not complaining, because without you I wouldn't have grown into the sort of strong young lady I am today. But to be clear, I was perfectly used to the whole idea of depression and suicide from the time I was very young.
Now we're older and I've been there done that. I've been depressed and I've felt suicidal and I've had an eating disorder and I've had millions of panic attacks. I'm well seasoned in the way of mental illness. I've jumped so many hurtles. But you're still in pain. Last night you texted mom telling her you wanted to kill yourself. Today I'm going to tell you why you shouldn't.
The first reason is that I don't have anything to wear. I don't have a dress suitable for that of my 15 year old brother's funeral, and there is no way that I am going out to buy a shiny new funeral dress before I graduate high school.
The next reason is that there are only four of us. Mom and dad won't know who to focus on if you're gone. That means no more staying out all week. They'll want me home. Like all the time. Don't do that to me, Runt.
Okay, now on to a more serious reason.
Even though you're annoying, even though you can be rude and obnoxious and uncomfortable you are my little brother and I love you. I've never told you because I was never in a place where I could tell you that. But I'm here now and I'm trying. I don't think I could survive without having a little brother to pick on, and boys in the neighborhood to beat up when they pick on you. So yes, I'd have to be home all the time and I'd have to go shopping if you were to die. But I'd also be so heart broken and so lost, I wouldn't know what to do.
So yeah, Runt, I love you. And I don't want you to kill yourself. So please don't.
Love,
Your Big Sister
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