Tonight I'm swimming to my favorite island, and I don't want to see you swimming behind.

She approached me in the kitchen as I was baking cupcakes for a friend.

"You should apologize to me Katie. You need to apologize for running away."

I stopped mixing the batter. I looked my little sister in the eyes. "I didn't run away, Em."

"You did too!" She shrieked. "You did, you ran away from me and mom and dad. You hurt me, you hurt all of us. Do you even know how terrible it was?! Why did you come back? Why did you leave and then come back?"

"Do you not want me here, Emmy?"

"Well now that you're here..." She trailed off, looked away.

I closed my eyes. Took a breath. Tried to remember the words the counselor had said. "I'm sorry that I hurt you Emmy. It doesn't matter why I did what I did, only that it wasn't my intention to hurt you, I wasn't trying to run away from you. I hope someday you can understand why I acted the way I did and I hope you can learn to forgive me."

"I will never understand! I will never forgive you! You hurt me! You ran away!

I started crying at that point- crying tears of frustration.

"I'm sorry Emmy. I'm sorry."

She left me in the kitchen, crying in to the mixing bowl. Slammed the door of her bedroom, turned on her music.



And as I sit here typing out the words of this exchange, I realize that to some extent Emmy and my mother are the critical voices I hear in my head. All the negativity swirling around in my mind originated with them.

I don't feel at peace in this house. I feel like an intruder, an unwelcome house guest who has stayed far too long. Why is it that I feel more happy, calm, and welcome in my aunt's sister's daughter's cousin's home than in the home of my parents and sister?

Part of me, an ever-growing part of me, wants more than anything to just drive forever until I am far enough away that everyone in my former life will have forgotten me. Then I can live or die in utter peace and alone-ness and nothing I do will even matter.

Last week my sadness drove me down Hwy 1 towards San Francisco. Stopped in a quiet parking lot just past Ano Nuevo Island. I imagined swimming out there; living in that dilapidated 18th century lighthouse with just the elephant seals and gulls. Sun and salt and ocean sunsets and dead fish smell and bird poop and seaweed and animal rituals and alone-ness and quiet and no more words.