My sister and I are twins. (That's a partial joke). I had that epiphany tonight. I learned somewhat recently that my parents used in vitro fertilization to get pregnant. I don't know why my mother told me when she did tell me, or why she told me, but she made it seem like it was crucial that I keep it to myself. My sister's four years younger than me, but my mother tells me that we were fertilized at the same time and she was on ice (or whatever they use to preserve the embryo) for a few years. I find myself wondering if they used that extra embryo because they wanted to replace my dead twin, an actual twin, the one I shared the womb with, the one that didn't survive birth. I have the suspicion that this was the case, because my mother told me "don't tell your sister about this." I won't, but... if it's such a secret, why tell me at all, what difference does it make? Maybe she felt like it had been dishonest not to, but then why not tell my sister?
I can't quite vividly remember, but I seem to recall being told that my dead twin was a sister. Sometimes when I'm laying in bed or in the shower, I will passively wonder what that would have been like. Would we have been friends? Would we have hated each other? Would we both have been diagnosed with bipolar disorder, or just me? Would I have had a shoulder to cry on all my teenage years, or maybe someone to compete with? How different would my life be, who would I have become?
I remember being told as a child that a baby who dies in the womb goes to hell, and that abortion is wrong because it sends innocent people to hell. I wonder, who do you think is sending those babies to hell, if abortion is so unjust?
It's funny, how impermanent all my interpersonal relationships have been. The friends I thought in my late teens that I would have until I was dead, they're all gone now. I was never friends with my brother until very recently, and my sister I barely know at all. I have the feeling that I will rarely talk to my family if one of us moves far away, and the thought doesn't really bother me all that much, but it is a little sad. I feel like once I move I will have nothing and nobody, just internet friends and distant family, and I don't see marriage in my future because I am utterly repulsed at the thought of romance. I remember the fierce loyalty I felt toward one specific person when I was 19ish. I don't know if I'll ever feel that feeling again. I find myself wondering if maybe it's my fault. I let those relationships die, I don't talk to my family as much as I could, I haven't been proactive in seeking new friends. It's a little nauseating, but I don't see myself changing.
The longer I'm alive the more I find myself regarding everything with cold disgust. I don't want to be the person I'm becoming, but I don't know how to stop it. Everything I once held sacred feels meaningless.
In other news, I started reading Flowers in the Attic, one of those novels with a cult following. I know nothing about it, but I am 100/800 pages in and I can tell it's going to absolutely disgust me. I feel as though it will be disturbing in a way that will decrease my passive level of happiness for probably a couple of weeks, which is how I know a book is good.
I have more to write but the thought of continued introspection on my part makes me feel a little nauseated so this is all I have for tonight. Sorry. Thank you to whoever reads this for giving a shit.