From intriguing bath markers, crayons and balms, to eating animal crackers in the church nursery, she was my best friend. From playing house under the pine tree to waiting for mom to pick us up from the school cafeteria, she was my best friend. From cops and robbers with jump ropes to arguing over who asked dad for ice cream, she was my best friend. From moving three and half hours from our home to sharing our first days at the new school, she was my best friend. From trying to embarrass her in front of the neighborhood kids to planning her surprise party, she was my best friend. From jumping into a journey of leadership with her to letting her go on her first date, ever, she was my best friend. From the first time I invited myself to hang out with her friends and little defiance was given to Ben and Jerry’s dates, she was my best friend. In fights and in sheer happiness. In anger and in excitement. In frustration and in overflowing love. In disrespect and in loyalty. In anxiety and in togetherness. She is my best friend.

I was asked to write about my three stages of hell. This assignment was given about six days ago. It started out slow, ideas were deemed worthy and then thrown out, some not even making it that far. Ideas were moved around and manipulated, moved from level one of my personal hell, to level three and back down. When this idea came to mind, there was no hesitation, no manipulation, no tossing the idea, no question which stage it was. This is level three of my personal hell. That above is the background story.

Two sisters, in the same group chat. Two sisters, two years apart. Two sister, with the same friends. Two sisters, with corresponding agendas. Two sisters, two years apart. Two sisters, that hang out.  Two sisters, that get along 51 weeks of the year... well 50 this year. Two sisters, in the same group chat.

Having an older sibling is like having a third parent, excessive, unneeded but impossible to get rid of. With the anxiety portrayed in level two, it is easy to conclude I have learned independence. Independence -- the need to be given a task and left alone to do it; the strong desire to be without attachment especially in the decision-making process. Independence with a confident, dominating personality does not accompany that third parent tendency, of an older sibling. I attacked, irrationally but end of the end of the rope with it all. She needed to be told how I felt, so I told her. I told her while I was infuriated and venous in approach. Two sisters, two years apart. I’m a sophomore making her a senior, which in turns means I lose that best friend in five months.

***Caution***
when fighting with someone who is about to leave, NEVER MENTION THE FACT THAT THEY WILL BE LEAVING.

My final circle of my personal hell is my sister thinking I’m ready for her to leave. That I’m tired of her controlling me and stepping into my friendships and that means I want her two and half hours away. Two and half hours away, where she can’t touch me because she’ll be out of touch with my life. My final circle of my personal hell is being misunderstood. The thought of my sister leaving sends me into thirty minutes of shower-streaming tears, followed by chest pains, headaches and simultaneous, never ending panic. My sister, my best friend, thinks that her living in a white-walled box, two and half hours away is what I want. In my personal hell, the thing that keeps me up till sunrise, gazing blankly into the single crink in the lilac purple drywall, stained black by the darkness.