Dysfunction

Losing my sister to fentanyl in my early 20s shattered something deep inside me. It wasn’t just the pain of losing her, it was the grief of how I lost her. She struggled with addiction for so long, and I spent years watching her disappear slowly, even while she was still alive. I distanced myself to survive, to protect my own sanity. But now that she’s gone, I carry this heavy regret. I miss her. I miss the version of her that I grew up with. The sister who made me laugh, who felt like home. I hate that addiction took that version of her away, and I hate that it stole our chance to reconnect. There’s this permanent ache where she used to be, and sometimes I feel like no one fully understands how complicated it is. Grieving someone you loved so much, but also struggled to be close to. I wish I had told her more that I still loved her. That I didn’t hate her, just the sickness that changed her. I was so young, trying to navigate something way too big. And now I’m here, trying to carry her memory with love, even when it hurts like hell.