I’m not one to write twice in a week, but I think that will be the only way for me to get out of this darkness. Having just shared my blog with one of my young and beautiful colleagues, I watched her look at me with such shock and such grace. Her reaction mimicked those of so many who learn my story, perplexed how this person who shows up to life with energy and zeal is, in reality, so completely severed. The person and the vicissitude do not match up.

Today would be my dad’s 91st birthday, and, as I have written before, my life wouldn’t look like it does if my dad had been around. My dad was a warrior, not a coward; a peacekeeper, not an agitator. So aware of Jay’s gaslighting, even as the Alzheimer’s progressed with unsolicited velocity, I often wondered if he knew how much my sister hated me.

My birth announcement was a notecard, and on the front of the notecard, it said, “Lisa Has a Sister.” My name and information about me were on the inside, but, even back then, I didn’t have an identity. My parents’ world was completely about my sister and her feelings, and they willingly laid the lifelong path of eggshells on which they would walk around her.

It is not hyperbolic when I write that there was only one picture of me from when I was a baby. Growing up, it was customary to enlarge a baby picture for one’s Sweet Sixteen, as the guests would sign it and share their affectionate best wishes. Going through the pictures with my mother, it was a symphony of, “No, that’s Lisa. No, that’s your sister. Oh, here. Nope, that’s your sister again.” I have no idea if the one we did find is even me, but it looks so very much like my Zack that I’ll have to keep the faith that it is me.

My mother used to tell me how sickly I was as a baby, that I was yellow and needed gamma globulin shots. Who knows? Maybe that’s why there were no pictures of me, either that or because they didn’t want to upset Lisa.

Gosh, how Lisa would love when I got in trouble! Probably her happiest moments were when the belt would come for me, yet I would cringe when she would get in trouble. I would try to protect and defend her. She was my sister, and when the neighborhood kids picked on her, I was up in their faces, with my chubby hands on my chubby hips, imploring them to get away from her.

I can’t remember if I was 17 or 19, but my parents were away on vacation with another couple. It was summertime, Lisa was watching me, and we were both temping in the city. On the bus home, I had, what I didn’t know at the time, was a panic attack. I couldn’t breathe, and I felt like the walls were literally closing in on me. I told Lisa, and she took me to the hospital. Immediately confirming that it was indeed a panic attack, Lisa asked them to drug test me. She was so proud of herself for doing so, telling my parents the minute they got home. How disappointed she was when the test came back clean! I had never even done drugs, and still don’t, but she so desperately wanted to tell my parents that I had.

There is so much more to write about Lisa, and I will. From her hateful and harmful relationship with Jay, to the merging of their black souls in their effort to destroy me, I’ll write it. Her post at Rebecca’s college graduation, which was captioned, “So glad the whole family is here,” when I wasn’t there, immediately identifies who Lisa is. She never wanted me to succeed, to be happy, to have any of my parents’ attention (or money, but we’ll save that for another day).

For now, as the new year begins and Jewish people around the world head to synagogue to ask G-d to inscribe them in the Book of Life for another year, I’m doing it my way. I haven’t wronged anybody this year, and I really don’t need to apologize, and all of the magic of the holiday sadly no longer exists for me. But, for the first time in my life, I am standing up for myself, ready to begin sharing my book and my story. It’s the only way that I’ll be around to hopefully ask G-d in the traditional way to inscribe me in his book next year.

Shana Tova!