Shred Sisters

by Betsy Lerner

“Sometimes I wish I had mental illness, then I could do whatever I want.” “She doesn’t mean to hurt us,” I said. “She doesn’t mean to hurt anyone. That’s the problem.”

In the months and years after she died, I often saw the world through her eyes, as if I had inherited her mantle of judgment,

her scoreboard in the sky. Those were the times I missed her most.

“Some people don’t have the knack for being alone” is how she put it. “They’re not strong the way we are.” I never viewed my ability to be alone as a strength.