CrystalLight
Level of Raspberry Feather
- Joined
- Jan 31, 2008
- Messages
- 15,940
- Points
- 0
Dear brother,
It's not that I have an issue with the things that you say. It's more or less summed up to the general lack of decency that you hold for someone that you share blood with. Of course it wasn't fun to have you hiding in places that you shouldn't have, popping out and pummeling the shit out of me.
I never much enjoyed that. But, it feels so good to write to you now, you know why? Because you're almost dead. Yeah, I get that it makes no sense and I get that you've got a long ways to go before death is even a thought in your head, but to me, you're almost dead. You know why, don't you?
Of course not. Let me refresh your memory a touch.
Do you remember when we were younger and the ideal punishment for our household was being dragged around by our necks? Or what about that one time I went without shoes and had my feet stomped on by construction boots, because going barefoot in the house wasn't allowed? You know what one punishment used to make you cry, even when you never showed it? When we weren't eating fast enough and had to remove our shirts and keep them off at the dinner table.
You really hated that one, didn't you? You hated that you had to expose your body and all of it's flaws. You hated him as much as I hated you. Is any of this making sense? Did you know what mom told me a few years ago?
She told me that our father never wanted another daughter and the potential of two of them coming was enough to drive him away. I guess it also didn't help that he had a super cool bowling league to join in California, that definitely held more precedence over raising a family. So, aside from our step-father that would have kinda put you in the position to help raise the family, ya know? Be the man? But, what is it that you'd have rather done, oh right, beat upon anything within your reach. Including your own mother.
Remember that purple bathrobe mom used to wear? I remember thinking how pretty she used to look and she always had this special scent to her, I can't quite put my name on what it was, but even when she smoked she never smelled like cigarettes. I'll never forget that bathrobe. That was the bathrobe she wore when she finally kicked your ass for slapping us around.
You were supposed to help make things easier for her when our father left, not turn into some radical piece of shit who thinks it's fun to slap your mother and punch your sister around. Did you know that I watched that day? I was only six, but even then I knew a beautiful moment when I saw one, even though I didn't get to see the whole thing as mom closed the door so I wouldn't have to look from my place, sitting on the floor in my doorway. Right where you had left me.
I did love you one time, though.
Remember the summer at school camp, when you held my hand and walked me down to the playground after we were dropped off? You had never held my hand before, so I knew I had done something right to earn that token from you. But wait, that's not the moment that I loved you. The moment that I really loved you lasted all of 2 minutes, when you told me you were going to run away and never come back. I really wish I had never asked you why because that was clearly reason enough for you to stay with us and continue to take a joy in inflicting pain.
I was so excited when mom bought me those toy chests. I finally had a place to put my Barbie clothes in one drawer and my matchbox cars in another, I never liked mixing the two, remember? Of course you do. But, I'm sure what you don't remember for whatever reason you have decided to come up with today; is the day mom put me down for a nap.
It was really nice that afternoon. Walking in the mall, having peanut butter and jelly sandwiches on ego waffles, watching TV and playing with my toys. Quite an eventful day for a kid, I bet. I was just getting settled, I remember the curtains were like a light tan color and it was very sunny that day, so some rays were peeking through. Other then that it was quiet and I was just drifting off when you jumped up from behind those prized toy chests that I had set up in the corner by the closet doors.
You worked fast. Remember, we didn't want mom to know that you liked hiding in your sisters bedroom and then punching her in just the right places where large markings won't always be prominent and if they are an excuse could be delivered for them, although at that time mom was getting to fucked up by your shit that she was beside herself. She wasn't eating, you know.
Remember how she would never eat dinner with us, but always had a bowl of cereal later at night? That's because she was so sick all the time because of your shit that she was unable to digest food properly. I'm sure you didn't know about that.
You know what's funny? All of these memories happened even before the fire. After the fire brought a whole new array of special moments. You don't remember those either, do you?
Of course not. Let me help, dear brother.
I was getting older and you were still interested in fighting. The fact that I now would hit back made things interesting and devastating as I soon realized that you were getting older as I was, but you were also getting stronger. That time in the hallway when you lifted me up by my throat and caused that cut on the back of my head is one I sure won't soon forget, dear brother.
You were taking your anger to school, dear brother. Remember when you fractured your wrist because you got mad at a teacher and punched the metal doors? Why didn't you punch her? I always wanted to ask you that. I didn't even want to go into your room that day after school when mom told me about what had happened. I had just made some friends and wanted to see them, but she told me to go talk to you because you were holed up in your room. See, she should have hated you.. but she didn't. You're so lucky she didn't hate you, because everyone else did.
That was actually when therapy started. Remember that? Remember all those wasted hours sitting in a room and trying to figure out what made you so fucked up in the first place? And then I had to go in your place because you just couldn't do it any longer and mom was now convinced that I was going to be permanently scarred from your bullshit?
And then I had to sit there and stare at some guy with glasses and curly hair..what was his name? Canter. Dr. Canter, that's right. I hated sitting in his waiting room but I always enjoyed his office. Did you know he told me to write everything down? I hated doing that because it made me think about it more. I filled 4 journals though. I think they are still at mom's house.
I've been meaning to ask you, dear brother. Why did you cry when we found out that our father had died? It's not like he was ever around and the only thing he left behind was the temperament that you developed and administered. I mean, you never spoke to him much and when I did, I thought it was awesome. Until mom told me that I should have never called him and he wanted to not have to speak to me again, which kind've sucked, but made it a whole lot easier not to cry when he finally died.
Have you ever heard of the term, "parting is such sweet sorrow" ? Of course you have. That, however wasn't the case when you finally left. It had been 17 years of constant with you and I thought you were never going to leave. You made sure to leave with a bang, dear brother. I remember when I first started learning internet code and was so enthralled in figuring it out, but I couldn't focus because you were screaming at mom so loud. You know what I instantly thought about?
That purple bathrobe. I almost wished when I went running up those stairs that you could have been as young as you were then so kicking your ass for screaming at mom like that would've been a hell of a lot easier. But, you weren't. You were a 6ft 2inch man, thin before you got fat. That was our best fight, wasn't it? The living room was trashed and we were both bleeding.
Remember when I had come running upstairs with the computer speaker cord wrapped around my hand? I was going to choke you if you hadn't ripped the cord away from me. You must have known then, dear brother.
Do I feel bad for making mom cry? Yes, I do.
Do I feel bad for finally returning a series of pummels with my own unto you? No. No, I don't.
You bled heavily that day. That was your last day. That was the day you almost died when you finally walked out of that door. You might have left that day, dear brother. But you haven't completely disappeared.
I hope that once you finally do, all the heartache you have caused mom will finally vanish and she can manage to regain some type of sanity back.
You killed mom years ago.
And for that, you should really never come back here, dear brother.
I never did love you.
It's not that I have an issue with the things that you say. It's more or less summed up to the general lack of decency that you hold for someone that you share blood with. Of course it wasn't fun to have you hiding in places that you shouldn't have, popping out and pummeling the shit out of me.
I never much enjoyed that. But, it feels so good to write to you now, you know why? Because you're almost dead. Yeah, I get that it makes no sense and I get that you've got a long ways to go before death is even a thought in your head, but to me, you're almost dead. You know why, don't you?
Of course not. Let me refresh your memory a touch.
Do you remember when we were younger and the ideal punishment for our household was being dragged around by our necks? Or what about that one time I went without shoes and had my feet stomped on by construction boots, because going barefoot in the house wasn't allowed? You know what one punishment used to make you cry, even when you never showed it? When we weren't eating fast enough and had to remove our shirts and keep them off at the dinner table.
You really hated that one, didn't you? You hated that you had to expose your body and all of it's flaws. You hated him as much as I hated you. Is any of this making sense? Did you know what mom told me a few years ago?
She told me that our father never wanted another daughter and the potential of two of them coming was enough to drive him away. I guess it also didn't help that he had a super cool bowling league to join in California, that definitely held more precedence over raising a family. So, aside from our step-father that would have kinda put you in the position to help raise the family, ya know? Be the man? But, what is it that you'd have rather done, oh right, beat upon anything within your reach. Including your own mother.
Remember that purple bathrobe mom used to wear? I remember thinking how pretty she used to look and she always had this special scent to her, I can't quite put my name on what it was, but even when she smoked she never smelled like cigarettes. I'll never forget that bathrobe. That was the bathrobe she wore when she finally kicked your ass for slapping us around.
You were supposed to help make things easier for her when our father left, not turn into some radical piece of shit who thinks it's fun to slap your mother and punch your sister around. Did you know that I watched that day? I was only six, but even then I knew a beautiful moment when I saw one, even though I didn't get to see the whole thing as mom closed the door so I wouldn't have to look from my place, sitting on the floor in my doorway. Right where you had left me.
I did love you one time, though.
Remember the summer at school camp, when you held my hand and walked me down to the playground after we were dropped off? You had never held my hand before, so I knew I had done something right to earn that token from you. But wait, that's not the moment that I loved you. The moment that I really loved you lasted all of 2 minutes, when you told me you were going to run away and never come back. I really wish I had never asked you why because that was clearly reason enough for you to stay with us and continue to take a joy in inflicting pain.
I was so excited when mom bought me those toy chests. I finally had a place to put my Barbie clothes in one drawer and my matchbox cars in another, I never liked mixing the two, remember? Of course you do. But, I'm sure what you don't remember for whatever reason you have decided to come up with today; is the day mom put me down for a nap.
It was really nice that afternoon. Walking in the mall, having peanut butter and jelly sandwiches on ego waffles, watching TV and playing with my toys. Quite an eventful day for a kid, I bet. I was just getting settled, I remember the curtains were like a light tan color and it was very sunny that day, so some rays were peeking through. Other then that it was quiet and I was just drifting off when you jumped up from behind those prized toy chests that I had set up in the corner by the closet doors.
You worked fast. Remember, we didn't want mom to know that you liked hiding in your sisters bedroom and then punching her in just the right places where large markings won't always be prominent and if they are an excuse could be delivered for them, although at that time mom was getting to fucked up by your shit that she was beside herself. She wasn't eating, you know.
Remember how she would never eat dinner with us, but always had a bowl of cereal later at night? That's because she was so sick all the time because of your shit that she was unable to digest food properly. I'm sure you didn't know about that.
You know what's funny? All of these memories happened even before the fire. After the fire brought a whole new array of special moments. You don't remember those either, do you?
Of course not. Let me help, dear brother.
I was getting older and you were still interested in fighting. The fact that I now would hit back made things interesting and devastating as I soon realized that you were getting older as I was, but you were also getting stronger. That time in the hallway when you lifted me up by my throat and caused that cut on the back of my head is one I sure won't soon forget, dear brother.
You were taking your anger to school, dear brother. Remember when you fractured your wrist because you got mad at a teacher and punched the metal doors? Why didn't you punch her? I always wanted to ask you that. I didn't even want to go into your room that day after school when mom told me about what had happened. I had just made some friends and wanted to see them, but she told me to go talk to you because you were holed up in your room. See, she should have hated you.. but she didn't. You're so lucky she didn't hate you, because everyone else did.
That was actually when therapy started. Remember that? Remember all those wasted hours sitting in a room and trying to figure out what made you so fucked up in the first place? And then I had to go in your place because you just couldn't do it any longer and mom was now convinced that I was going to be permanently scarred from your bullshit?
And then I had to sit there and stare at some guy with glasses and curly hair..what was his name? Canter. Dr. Canter, that's right. I hated sitting in his waiting room but I always enjoyed his office. Did you know he told me to write everything down? I hated doing that because it made me think about it more. I filled 4 journals though. I think they are still at mom's house.
I've been meaning to ask you, dear brother. Why did you cry when we found out that our father had died? It's not like he was ever around and the only thing he left behind was the temperament that you developed and administered. I mean, you never spoke to him much and when I did, I thought it was awesome. Until mom told me that I should have never called him and he wanted to not have to speak to me again, which kind've sucked, but made it a whole lot easier not to cry when he finally died.
Have you ever heard of the term, "parting is such sweet sorrow" ? Of course you have. That, however wasn't the case when you finally left. It had been 17 years of constant with you and I thought you were never going to leave. You made sure to leave with a bang, dear brother. I remember when I first started learning internet code and was so enthralled in figuring it out, but I couldn't focus because you were screaming at mom so loud. You know what I instantly thought about?
That purple bathrobe. I almost wished when I went running up those stairs that you could have been as young as you were then so kicking your ass for screaming at mom like that would've been a hell of a lot easier. But, you weren't. You were a 6ft 2inch man, thin before you got fat. That was our best fight, wasn't it? The living room was trashed and we were both bleeding.
Remember when I had come running upstairs with the computer speaker cord wrapped around my hand? I was going to choke you if you hadn't ripped the cord away from me. You must have known then, dear brother.
Do I feel bad for making mom cry? Yes, I do.
Do I feel bad for finally returning a series of pummels with my own unto you? No. No, I don't.
You bled heavily that day. That was your last day. That was the day you almost died when you finally walked out of that door. You might have left that day, dear brother. But you haven't completely disappeared.
I hope that once you finally do, all the heartache you have caused mom will finally vanish and she can manage to regain some type of sanity back.
You killed mom years ago.
And for that, you should really never come back here, dear brother.
I never did love you.
this gave me chills.
