I just realized something. Writing that about my brother.
Of all the things I carry. Of all the pain and anger at myself I carry.
My brother is why I hate myself. Nothing else compares, and it never dawned on me till now.
I was terrible. Terrible, terrible to him. I treated him so poorly. His childhood was ruined beacaue I didn’t help him out when he asked. Because I left him alone when he needed me. I was hateful to him. I took out all my frustrations on him. It made him hateful, anti-socila and just angry about everything. And even then, I’d only get mad at him for being that way.
I treated him so terribly. My own Brother. My Mom was right. “Friends come and go, but at the end of the day you and Kyle are all you’re going to have.”
She told me that a hundred times at the very least and I never listened. Wrapped up in my own little world, bringing everyone down with me.
Kyle, if you ever read this I’m really sorry. I love you. I’m so very proud of you and what you’ve become. With help from nobody. You’re a strong person, and I’m so God damn proud of you.
