Tomorrow afternoon I’m meeting my sisters for drinks at our local Waitrose.
I haven’t seen them since about February this year, I think. I have texted all three of them a couple of times and I’ve had four or so letters from my youngest sister … to my shame I haven’t replied to one of those letters.

So last week my youngest sister texted and asked for us to meet. Tomorrow is the day they chose. 5pm. So it’s not going to be a long meeting. L gets off work (just across the road where I’m meeting my sisters) at 5:30, so he will join us then. We’ll need to get a bus home abbot before 6pm. A definite finish time has got to be good, right? I wish it felt like it.
L doesn’t trust my sisters. He doesn’t really want me to meet them. I don’t blame him. I get it. I do. He wants to protect me from the pain he knows from experience will come from me meeting with my sisters. I kind of want the same thing. But I can’t do it.
I can’t say no to meeting them! If I say no to them asking to meet me, then the responsibility of a relationship break down is mine … right? I worked so hard and worried myself into a hospital bed trying to keep my relationship with my sisters – my school mates, my best friends, my playmates, my confidants, my buddies, my partners-in-crime, the ones who believed me when I told stupid stories, the ones who were beside me when we besieged foreign lands, the ones who shadow-boxed with me in my underwear, who cried on my shoulder when we were all hurt, who confided their deepest fears, who came for cuddles when they needed them and I wrote silly poems for when they were sad … So I can’t be the one to break off any kind of relationship we still have left …
No matter how much it hurts. No matter how anxious I get. No matter how many tears I cry. No matter how many drinks I have. No matter the pain, the stress, the worry … because they’re all the good I have left from the first 21 years of my life.
And that’s a flipping load to give up when you don’t have much else from over half your lifetime.

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