Two Sides of the Same Coin © - A Memoir

     I wondered if his name was real. I'd never met him, but I knew that he had a beard, that he loved to cook and that he had a beautiful wife who had been a Swedish model. Her name was Victoria and she had long hair. My sister loved to cook too and Merle showed her how to peel and chop garlic and then place the flat edge of the knife on the pieces and smash them with the side of your fist, to release the oils. My sister taught me to do this too and I still do.      She started hanging with them sometime after her break-up with her partner of 10 years. Reaching out and growing a wider circle, she called it. They're nice people she said, but for some reason not the kind of friends she'd invite me to meet. Merle this and Merle that. They were chill, she said and she needed chill after the nasty last few months of her relationship. I was already living in the Cariboo, a six hour drive away. I was in the throes of starting a new business, worried whether I cou...

     They say that siblings share 50% of their genes. We are equally related to our siblings, as we are to our parents. This is a story of how two sisters grew closer as addiction deepened, but our stories are very different. Warning: some content may be difficult to read. Some names have been changed.      Mine was a world of accountability, while hers hovered between the blurry landscapes of mental illness and addiction. Drawing on our sibling birthright my sister and I made a pact. This memoir shows that whatever happened, our relationship remained unsevered. Our bond wove a cardinal fabric through our lives.      I felt as if I was living part of my life in a dream. Anchored on the one hand by two young children and a husband, our marital relationship was precarious. My baby sister's battle was more visceral. Ultimately, she opted for addiction over mental illness. It carried less stigma and even now, in Canada, there are more resource...