Family Portrait Blurred…

Well it’s brother-related World War III again on the home front. God, I’m getting so tired of saying-er -writing that. I really am. I don’t get it. I mean, if he despises us all so much, then there’s the door. Get the hell out. It’s not as if any of would stop him. Ugh. I swear, sometimes I really can’t believe that we’re related, let alone that we’re brother and sister. I just can’t understand why or how, for that matter, he got to be the person and the way he is, I really can’t. I mean, we all grew up in the same house and we’re raised the same way…but my sister and I aren’t like him. At all.

I don’t know when or how he got to be so cruel. I mean, he wasn’t always like this. He wasn’t always this much of a jerk. He used to be nice. When we were little–believe it or not–we were all really close. We played together, took off on adventures for hours together…we had fun. Hell, there were even times when I actually looked up to him. Yes, I was one of those annoying little sisters…the kind that would follow him and his friends around, wanting to do all the cool things that he’d done. With our dad out of the picture, he’s the one who taught me how to ride a bike and how to drive a go-cart, as well as how to build an awesome fort in the woods behind our house. There was a time when he looked out for me–his little baby sister–and had my back, no matter what. I don’t really know when exactly that all changed, or what caused it. All I know is that somewhere along the way, something happened…something that made him stop being my brother, turning him instead into someone that I don’t even recognize or know anymore.

Maybe it was peer pressure and hanging around the wrong type of crowd. Maybe it had to do with not having a father/male figure around. Or maybe it’s even simpler than that–and maybe it really was just the alcohol and drugs that changed him and nothing else. I don’t know. All I know is that he changed and was no longer the brother I once knew. I dont’ look up to him anymore…and haven’t for a really long time now. He definitely hasn’t given me a reason to, especially lately. I despise him and yes, part of me even hates him. However, for the most part, I just pity and feel sorry for him. I really do.

I don’t get him. I don’t understand how he can do what he’s done and be the way that he is when he has three kids who think the world of him and look up to him. I don’t understand how he can be so selfish and so unappreciative of what he’s been given and has. I don’t understand how he could just not care. I mean, he of all people should know that what he’s doing is wrong. He knows what it’s like to not have a father in his life. That said, you’d think he’d do anything to not let history repeat itself…to put his own kids through that. You would think. Also, you would think he’d grown the hell up by now…but he hasn’t. He wants everything handed to him…without having to work or earn anything. But it doesn’t work like that. But of course, good luck in telling him that. He doesn’t care about anyone other than himself. He never has and if my instincts are right, he never will.

According to him tonight, I’m a good-for-nothing whore. Actually, he said we all were, but yeah. I really wish he’d come up with some new material to insult me with because this whole “whore” bit is getting old. Seriously. As I’ve said before though, it doesn’t bother me. I don’t care what he thinks or says because I know the truth of what I am and I’m not a whore. I’m not even close. I don’t sleep around like he accuses me of doing. The best part of his little tantrums is when he brings up the other one from a few years ago. I’m not sure where the hell he gets his facts from, but he might want to find himself a more reliable source of information. I’m accused to have supposedly slept with everyone from that particular bar…patrons and staff alike. I’m not too selective, I guess. Hmm…interesting to know. Is it true? Of course it isn’t. But if that’s the trash he wants to spew around to make himself feel better, then all the more power to him, I say. He, like some of my other family members, loves to harp on the situation with the other one…He thinks it bothers me when he throws it in my face that I was hooking with some married guy who just used me for sex like some cheap slut. Again with his inaccurate facts! For starters, he wasn’t married when I was involved with him. Secondly, I’m well aware that I was being used and what I was being used FOR.It’s not like I’m just finding that information out or anything. It’s old news, brother-dearest. After all this time, who the hell cares? I don’t. I’m sooo past that, it’s not even funny. I hate to burst his little bubble, but I moved on. It doesn’t bother me. Hell, it really doesn’t even hurt anymore…so his insults and accusations are worthless. Sucks for him, I guess. Boo hoo, big brother. Guess you’ll have to find something else to hold over my head.

I know it’s a horrible thing to say as he is my brother after all, but sometimes…sometimes I just wish they’d lock him up and throw away the key, you know? I just can’t take it anymore..none of us can. All the fighting and the yelling. All the verbal abuse and the name-calling and the threats. Or any of it. . It’s just too much and has gone on for too damn long. It needs to stop. We shouldn’t have to deal with or take his crap, simply because he wants to be childish and has to throw a tantrum if he doesn’t get whatever he wants, WHEN he wants it. It’s not fair, especially when we’ve never done a damn thing to him. We don’t deserve to be treated the way he does. We just don’t. And we shouldn’t have to. The kids shouldn’t have to either. Especially the kids. They shouldn’t have to hear the fighting or the despicable things he says. They shouldn’t have to be stuck in this World War III hell-hole, but they are. They may not have a choice, but us adults do. For the kids’ sake, we need to do something about it–before they grow up to be as “dark and twisted” as the rest of us. Either way, thus stops here. It’s done. In the end, it’s his grave he’s digging. Not ours.



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