Anger is a feeling I have become very familiar with. For a time in my life, that was all I felt. I had been filled with a burning rage that eventually turned inward. There was no one specific to blame when Farrah disappeared. There was no one to blame when my mom and dad were murdered. I badly wanted- needed someone to blame. So I blamed myself.

There is one common factor in all tragedies of my life.

Me.

It seemed everyone I cared about suffered, and I was the one left standing. It must have been my karma. Maybe I sinned in a past life and now I'm facing the consequences.

I don't feel anger anymore. I don't feel much of anything. I've become numb to to the constant heartache I feel. Even my physical bruises have become a dull background pain.

I've pushed my pain so deep within myself in hopes of hurting less, and it works. Until it doesn't.

Like now.

You'd think that living with this level of grief would cause me to be used to the feeling. It would become less painful as time progresses, but days like this, it feels like it hurts worse than when I lost them.

Today is Farrah's birthday. She would have been twenty-one. A full adult in every aspect of the word. I miss her more than I could ever understand.

She was not only my sister but my best friend. We never fought like siblings usually do. I loved being around her because she always made me feel calm. She knew all the right things to say, to do. Farrah radiated peace. She would help me get ready for school and while she combed my hair she'd tell me inspiring words. It was the best part of my day.

She'd tell me I'm beautiful, tell me I'm smart, that I'm loved, tell me that I was bound for great things. And just before we said goodbye, she'd always say. "You are strong. Remember that."

If only she knew how weak I really am.

The pieces of my broken heart scatters more when I realized that her memory fades a little more each day. I was only nine when she disappeared. I don't even have a decade worth of memories with her.

My bed is overflowing with pictures of her. I study each one, drinking in her captured moments to preserve her within me. My heart clenches every time I would hear her laugh in the back of my mind or remember her bright smile. There is so much she had left behind and so much she should have been able to do.

I tell myself that she is somewhere happy. Somewhere peaceful and she doesn't worry about me. That she thinks our parents are still alive and that I'm happy. I don't know where she is, and I probably never will, but I'll let myself believe she's at peace.

Even if I never got a full lifetime with her, I was more than blessed to have gotten the time I had.