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.