I have always suffered from Stigma.

But on one occasion this happened to my sister.


To my eternal regret, my sister and I got into the habit of spending a lot of time together in public.

People knew we were sisters, which they would never have known unless we told them.

We look so different.


At this time I began to pick up stigma again, the old enemy.  I knew the signs.


But my main worry was my sister.


I told my Mother, but she refused to believe that I suffered stigma, or my sister would.


A year began of sustained abuse levelled at my sister.

I watched in horror as she endured the worst insults.  She went downhill, withdrew, and became suicidal.

I tried to get my Mother to listen, and intervene, but she steadfastly refused to believe me.

Eventually, we arranged for my sister to go away for a while, and she began to recover.


After this, I had learned my lesson.  I avoid my sister in public, and we never again went about together.

Her only sin was to have a sister with mental illness.  She had done nothing wrong, and she was not to blame.





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