Just spent close to an hour searching online for anything about my sister and found two accounts of her, one on Instagram and it's private, and one on Twitter and there is only one post and it says, "New life" in Russian and with a smiley and it's posted later same year when I came out publicly about our father abusing me and my sister telling me I'm crazy and ending all ties with me online and deleting all her accounts. I'm sure she blocked me everywhere she could as I can't find her on Facebook or anywhere else, and it's no use asking my step-mom how I can find her because she tells me she doesn't want to talk to me and so I should leave her alone, and so I do, but damn, for some reason it's really hard. I called my step-mom yesterday to wish her happy birthday and found out that my sister is drawing comics and selling them, and I got so excited and then I got so depressed and I'm still wallowing in it today. I wish I could see what she is making. I wish I could tell her she is awesome. I wish I could share it with you all. I wish I could read her comics. I wish I wish I wish.  

I don't know if I'll ever see her again? I hope I do. I really miss her, and it makes me heartbroken and angry at the same time at our father who broke up a family with his violence and who doesn't give a shit about my pains and never had, and so I pour it all into Janna. I get so mad when I write it, I get mad at all men I just want to kill them all, AND IT SCARES ME, THESE THOUGHTS, I think, "What kind of a monster am I?" and then I get mad again, mad at how in patriarchy men who see themselves as superior make us women police ourselves for the crimes THEY MEN HAVE COMMITTED and we women then hurt each other, and those men walk around without any consequences. I'm mad because when I was looking for my sister, from those two little icons that I saw I glimpsed how fragile she is and how terrifying it must have been for her when I dropped all my pain online, with all its gory guts, for everyone to see, and I'm mad I was driven to this in order to survive, it was either throw it in everyone's face or kill myself, and I'm mad that I'm still in so much pain and so she must be too, if she doesn't want to talk to me, and this madness eats me like poison. I have no choice but to write it out or I will hurt myself and that won't do anyone any good. Because miraculously I'm not a murderer, haven't been fucked up enough to become one, so I became a writer.

I'm mad I was born a woman. I'm mad I was fooled I didn't have a choice but to endure and bear and keep quiet and excuse the abuse for necessary discipline like something was wrong with me and not with my father. I'm mad I can do nothing for my sister because for her I'm now a reminder of pain we went through and I'll never know what her pain was apart from the episodes of him slapping her behind very hard with a full swing of his arm and yelling his head off. She got very good at jerking her hips to the side to avoid it, I remember that.  

I'm mad typing this, I'm shaking. I'm mad I was never allowed to be mad, I was taught to keep it in, and even today when I simply want to be mad, even typing this, I know it will make someone shake their head and say, "Yeah, she is one crazy bitch, overly emotional and overly dramatical and overly this and overly that." 

I'm mad I have to write this to feel better. It actually just left me. I have experienced a real physical sensation. It has just left me, this madness and this anger and all that's left is depression. I'm mad at my having to write my pain out because I wish I could express it by shouting it out, but I was taught be quiet, and so that is why I'm a writer. It's easier for me to express my emotions by writing them out. Royce is slowly teaching me that it's okay to cry really loud and to slobber all over my face and to shout if I feel like it and to simply be sad for no reason and to laugh and jump up and down if I'm excited. It's all new for me. I'm used to doing it all in my head, and so it's very easy to create all these characters and then play around with them on paper. After all, it's what I've been doing all my life, and I'm quite good at it, I just didn't know I could put it into words and now I do and that's what I'm doing every day. 

I try to pretend that my sister doesn't exist and that of course is futile. It's just not working. And so it erupts here and there, like after calling my step-mom and finding out that she's also making stories, like me, but then I know that to give her love I need to leave her alone. I'm sure she's not reading my blog, I'm sure it's a trigger if she did and I'm sure she avoids it, and I don't know if she reads in English but I assume she does. I just hope she will reach out to me one day and we can talk about our childhood together and share stories. Until then I will stop this search for her when she doesn't want me to find her.  

Polinochka, I know you're not reading this, but I'll tell you anyway. I love you. I miss you. I hope to see you again. I hope you're happy. I'm so excited to hear you're drawing comics! I imagine they are fantastic. I remember your drawings, they were so good. Keep creating, and I will keep creating, and who knows, maybe at some point in time and space our creations will find a way to speak to each other, and so will we.  

With love, your sister Ksenia.