Promises Made or Promises Kept...?

June 7, 2010
By Anonymous

Promises made aren’t always promises kept. Best friends aren’t always best friends forever. In my case, this was true. Yes, Jamie is still my sister, but she is not nearly my best friend. The promise, the pact we made, pinky swear and all, never carried through. Everything that held us together just shattered in moments. I thought she was the one who would be next to me all of high school, both us, keeping our one promise. This wasn’t true, not even a little bit. And I say with all my heart that I would give anything to go back to how it was before, because right now, everything is wrong. No one understands how I feel right now, they all tell me not to worry about it. Yet, one question, if your sister’s life was on the line, would you be worried? I’m sick of telling lies, of being scared, of trying to stay out of the house, of pretending I don’t care. I’m sick of crying myself to sleep, of begging her to stop, of the constant fighting in my house. Yet, as sick as I am of everything, I will never, ever, take the easy way out how she did or escape my problems how she did. I trust the situation to get better in time, and for right now, I’ll stick it out.

Jamie had been through a lot. Her boyfriend of two years broke up with her during the summer of 2009. When she finally snapped back into reality, all of her old friends weren’t there. They had drifted away during the time she was totally head over heels for her now ex-boyfriend. Jamie found herself in a new crowd; which evidently ended up being the wrong crowd. Her new “friends” taught her this “escape” of all her bottled up emotions; resentment, fury, hate. The strength of our pinky promise was outweighed by the pressure in her new found crowd. With one sip of alcohol, our pinky promise broke. The one thing we always promised was shattered in less than seconds. Everything we promised, gone, in seconds. Yet, the effects, they were everlasting. Since that day, she has broken our promise everyday.

She hid it from the whole family for awhile. Then, I found out. She came home drunk, yet my parents didn’t know, only me. All this pressure was on me. I had this huge secret, and if I told my mom, I basically broke my sister’s trust forevermore. It’s difficult not to tell anyone, though, when your sister has her own car, and always drives drunk. With one wrong steer in the wheel, she could be dead. All this anxiety built inside of me. My biggest regret: Not telling my mom. She spiraled out of control. My mom found out when she found about twenty bottles of vodka under her bed. I had lied for my older sister for the past two months, and let me tell you, this took a certain toll on me. Yet, guess what? Did I take her escape? No, I fought through, and had faith it would all soon end. But let me tell you, it did not end soon, it only got worse.

Pot, Marijuana. Okay, Jamie, we never made a promise about this, but I mean seriously, isn’t that a given? Don’t you understand that your life is more important than a plant that grows out of the ground? Clearly she didn’t. When Jamie picked me up from my high school track practice, she was high and drunk, take my word, I was holding on for dear life. She was swerving around the road, and I finally got home. Safe. This one time, at least. There were many more times this happened, but guess who never told her mom? Me, Alexandra. Crying myself to sleep many nights a week, I prayed she would make it home safe. I held the rosary in my hands many nights and fell asleep with it to my chest. Blessed I am, because she is still alive today. I lied for her, I gave her money, I helped her go downhill. Why? I honestly couldn’t tell you.

She would tell my mom she’s taking me to the book store, then go “smoke up” with me right next to her. Jamie would ask me if I wanted to smoke. Since then, I say no like it’s my job. She would constantly discuss with her friends their plans for the night. For example, “Okay I’ll get you at eight. We’ll get the alcohol from John, then go light up with Alyssa. I have to be home at eleven.” I heard all of these dreadful words everyday, every single day for about four months. I can’t tell you how much that damage med, and made me worry. It took all my strength to do what I was about to do.

I finally told my mom. I let it empty out and trusted everything to mend itself. I finally came to realize one thing. No matter what, no matter how much I worry myself about her, I cannot control what happens tomorrow, or what happened in the past. I just have to believe, have faith that through all this, some solution will come. I do know one thing for sure; alcohol will not be any part of my life. Ever. No matter what though, her “escape” isn’t an option for solving my problems. Fight through it all, and never, ever lose hope. I’ll stick it out to the end.

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