That day I arrived I could see it in your eyes. It was pure impurity. You hated me. I stepped into your world, ripped down all of the walls and took the attention you held. I didn’t mean to though. It was the first time that I had met him. Your Dad was now mine. The man that had guarded you for twelve years, the man that had invested his entire spirit into your upbringing, he was now mine. I call upon the moment you denied such a reality, the morning you forced me to the ground. At first it was your eyes which nested your anguish, but now… it was your fists. Day by day you diminished my body. Each punch gave birth to new emotions. I didn’t think it was possible for a boy of my age to hold the feelings I held. You changed all of that. One punch… I question my wrongdoings, two punches… tears saturate my pillow and three punches… I turn on myself. I often thought about fleeing but I knew that I couldn’t. Nobody else wanted me.
Now that I think about it, it wasn’t fair. I was eight. I deserved the childhood that I saw in those around me. For hours I would sit there and watch. The children laughing innocent, embracing the moment and not worrying about tomorrow. Yet I couldn’t come close to such a life. You constructed a barrier between me and normality. I wasn’t a normal child… I’m not normal. Every day you would bruise me with that fact. I just had to accept it.
Seven years on and I still can’t look at you. I don’t have the ability to treat you as my brother. What angers me is that you act like you did nothing wrong. Continually you question why I fail to meet the obligations of a sibling but you failed way before me; the times you drew the blood from my body, the times you marked me as black as night and the times you sent me running from home. That was the moment I no longer classed you as family. You became an outsider knocking on the front door.
They side with you too. You have taken the only family that I have left and fed them from your very palms. Every day I receive texts and phone calls all with one common purpose. “Just get over yourself.” “It’s in the past.” “You’re over exaggerating.” Not only have you pulled me away from myself, you’ve pulled me away from my family. They don’t understand what I went through; the nights that dragged on and the tears that went unnoticed.
So you stand there, appear without guilt and plead for my love. Go on, no one’s going to stop you but I’m not going to answer. Throughout the years you have morphed me into another. If I had never been thrown onto your doorstep then I wouldn’t be who I am today. You made me like this.
I hate you. I truly do. However on the other hand I wish to forgive. Having such emotion loom within yourself is painful. Happiness doesn’t exist and each smile is nothing more than a symbol of raw pain. Come to think of it, that’s the one thing I miss. I miss smiling and meaning it. A smile should display true happiness, so why do I misuse it every day? I’m frightened that people will begin to know the real me and when they do, they will leave. Nobody likes a downer.
I want this feeling of bitterness to be gone but you have to be the one to take it. If I let go of the past I am normalising your actions, telling you that it’s okay to not recognise what you have done. How can that be right? Until the day that you can truly admit to your wrongdoings and apologise then we will never be brothers. I will never love you.