I read a bunch of my sister's blog entries today. Another thing I never did while she was alive because I was far too busy.
Post-mortem, I've discovered quite a bit about Amanda. I'd always had little brother syndrome with her. She was always the big one: The one with the talent, that hung out with the cool kids, that was never trying to overcompensate for her shortcomings. It didn't even appear that she had any.
But that wasn't who Amanda was. Amanda was scared, I just like I am. She felt unsuccessful and lonely. She thought she was uncool and had trouble staying motivated. Her regiment of writing every day seemed impossible to keep up with, and she was frequently discouraged by setbacks taking time and productivity out of her. When she thought (and wrote) about the setbacks, she was always careful to point out that they were a poor excuse - no excuse, for her shortcomings. She took responsibility, but was never sure how to succeed.
We were so exactly the same. We went through the same struggles and fought the same insecurities. We'd been doing them at the same time for at least ten years.
And yet, one never noticed the failures of the other. There was a mutual admiration with a slight edge of jealousy between us. It was never a negative jealousy, so much a motivational one. It was as if we were both thoroughly in awe of the others abilities, and wondered how come we didn't get them.
I keep hunting for words she wrote, and I devour them when I find them. A dead girl's words to me still feel like a conversation.
