Seventeen years ago I was five years old, my sister was two and a half. We had bathed together many times, mostly with supervision but sometimes not. My mother was a low income single parent with a new baby and two jobs. Sometimes she needed to quickly run off and take care of the baby. Yes, irresponsible to leave kids in the bath alone but 99% of the time it would be just fine, it was only ever for a couple minutes and hindsight is 20/20.

I knew that I had to not let her head go under the water, my mother carefully explained to me that she wasn't to get her head or face in the water because she could drown and that meant that she would be gone forever.

Well on this day we were bathing as normal, only today I was really mad at my sister because she had ripped up a book that I liked. Our mother was cooking dinner, she'd come home late from work and we were well behind schedule. I don't remember these details but I've been to therapy with my mother many times and we've discussed every minute of this night.

So I'm in the bath with my sister. I had that irrational hatred that little kids feel when they're too young to understand consequences. I wasn't thinking rationally, I wasn't in a forgiving mood, I wasn't looking at my baby sister and seeing this little girl that I loved so much. I wasn't remembering how much we played together and how much I loved her, and how happy I was to be a big sister. At that moment I just hated her so much. I remember thinking that I wish my sister would just go away so she couldn't wreck my stuff and then I remembered that if her head went under water she would be gone forever. I reached out with one hand and just held it on her head and looked at her face, I was so angry with her and she was so stupid she didn't even care that she had wrecked my book and upset me. I would be so much happier if she was gone forever. I pulled my hand and her head forward pushing her face first into the bath water briefly and she pulled it back out and coughed and made a little spluttery whimper sound. I seen she was shocked and scared by what I did which just made me happy. Shouldn't have wrecked my book. So I did it again. I held her head with both hands and I pulled her face down into the water between my knees. She flailed about and tried to push up but she was so little and there was nothing she could do. In what felt like only seconds she completely stopped resisting or moving at all. It felt like I had only held her down for about ten seconds, but it was certainly longer. I let her go and she didn't move. I waited for her to sit up, I wanted her to look scared and upset again, it was my revenge for her breaking my stuff. I lifted her up and shook her. I thought she was just pretending to hurt me and it made me even more mad. I didn't know what I had done. I didn't really want her gone forever, not really. I just wanted to make her sorry for wrecking my stuff. I tried opening her eyes with my fingers and I was asking her to stop doing this. I begged her to stop doing this and just look at me. I wasn't mad anymore, I was scared and I was worried. I was crying and screaming at her. I made enough noise that our mother came running in and I told her what I had done and how I had just totally fucking destroyed her entire life.

Seventeen years ago today. Ambulance came but there was nothing they could do. Our mother tried to do CPR but she didn't know how, so it wasn't successful. I didn't get in any trouble because I was so young, but I was taken out of home for a while and I had to see a lot of therapists over the years. My mother got in a lot of trouble, but I'm not entirely sure how much. I told the police everything and they treated me like I wasn't a filthy murdering piece of shit. They were kind and they sat with me and I was picked up from the police station that same day by a couple who were also really nice to me. They treated me as if I was some sweet innocent child who had been hurt instead of some monster who killed a baby. Nobody ever treated me the way I felt I deserved. Well, except my grandparents who won't speak to us at all. They haven't said a single word to me since that day, and they verbally abused my mother heavily at my sister's funeral. They haven't spoken to any of us since that day, even my little brother who was just a baby too young to even remember he had another sister. I don't know what they said to her but I've heard her talk about it in therapy.

I moved back in with my mother a few months later and I still live with her today. She won't talk to me directly about what happened. She won't tell me what happened to her afterwards, or how people treated her over this. Instead she will only focus on me. She blames herself and she tries so hard to do what is right and look out for me and my mental health, but what I did permanently broke her. I honestly cannot think of a single time since that day that I've seen her happy or even smile. She always looks on the edge of a breakdown, and she doesn't look me in the face for more than brief glimpses. She can't talk to me for long before she goes all quiet and eventually starts to cry.

Myself, like I said I've had to see a lot of therapists over the years. Pretty much non stop since it happened. I've been in and out of various places often for suicide watch. I've had quite a few attempts. Medication is not a reliable suicide method, and I've caused serious internal damage finding this out the hard way. I haven't tried anything for a while but the thoughts are constantly there. The reason I stopped is because I overheard my mother and her friend on the phone and heard how much nearly losing another daughter was destroying her. I was hurting her even more than I have already and was too concerned with myself to even notice it.

I still live with my mother which has to be just awful for her, but she doesn't want me move in to my own house because of my history of suicide attempts and therapists agree so I'm not able to move out. I'm checked on constantly. I'm such a burden to her and I don't know what I can do to stop. I don't do drugs or alcohol mostly because I just didn't really have a chance in my younger years because I was watched too closely. I've never been able to connect with anyone long enough to start a relationship and I've never really felt deserving of love or happiness so I've not really had much to do with boys or even friends.

My current therapist wants me to discuss this with strangers but I don't want to look in the eyes of strangers and see pity or forgiveness. I don't deserve it, I don't wan't to be forgiven. I don't want to forget. What I did was not okay. I would trade places with her in a heartbeat if I could. She was so young and so small and always laughed and was so happy and she gave the best cuddles. She used to sit next to me while we watched TV and would just reach over and hug me tight. She laughed at my silly dances and funny voices and she just made the whole world a happier place and I fucking ruined all of that because she tore a book I liked that I don't even remember the name of.

I don't want forgiveness. I don't want absolution. I want people to know what I did, but I don't want it to affect my mother anymore than it has. She's gone through hell with this.