Selfish rant of a selfish girl.

Let me rant here for a bit:


My brother (as some of you may know from reading older posts), has been living with my mom and I since October the 8th because he got fucked up on drugs again, got wasted as hell, head-butted his now ex-fiancé and apparently said he was going to commit suicide all in the same night. His current location is in my tv room because his ex-fiancé got a restraining order against him and is currently living in their trailer. She's planning on moving out very soon.

Now, my brother is 24. Five years older than I, and he has always gotten all the attention, all the sympathy, all the money, all the care, all the second chances, all the everything.

It's always about him.

When we were a family, dinner would consist of my mom yelling at him for not trying in school. Weekends would consist of going to his hockey games and my dad talking about how he's going to, "go far". Later on in his high school career, he decided he wanted to be a rock star. My dad immediately bought him a brand new electric guitar and was really excited because he's going to, "go far". He used his guitar for about two weeks. From the age of 5-13 all I wanted to do was sing and act. And nothing. No help, no interest, nothing.

Sometimes though, my brother can be evil. He has made my mom's eyes pop out with anger, I swear I've seen her spit with rage, chasing him through the kitchen; fists almost pounding through the door my brother and I were behind (he knew it would make her insane). Sometimes when I'd be trying to sleep him and my father would be fist-fighting about something outside my door. That's when my mom and I would leave. That's when my dad left us, and took my brother with him; my father loves my brother. He doesn't love me. I was ten back then.

My brother has forged my mother's signature on the cheques he stole from her, leaving her and I unable to pay the bills. He was seventeen. And yet my mom, and my dad have always given him money, 20 dollars here, 50 dollars there, you know. I've never received a penny from my father, never felt deserving enough to ask money from my mother. If I did/do receive money from either, it's expected to be paid back, and of course, I pay it back. When my brother is expected to pay it back, he, of course, doesn't.

My brother also likes to party. He likes having fun, and not being bored. When he's bored he drinks, if he's still bored, he does drugs. He has no mental illness, he's just bored with a lot of money and time.

My mom knows this, but because she loves him, she wants to help my poor, poor brother. When he first moved in she talked to him about maybe seeing a psychologist, he agreed, but when my mom did the research and got an appointment for him, he was too busy hanging out with friends.

But tomorrow, my brother's going to a counselor because he found out that he can miss a whole day of work but still get paid because, union.

My dad phones the house quite often to "make sure he's doing okay", when my brother gets off the phone (if he's actually at home and not with friends) he bitches about how annoying it is to have to talk to him.

My mom, has been giving my brother lots of money because instaloans keeps taking his money from his bank account because they're fed up. My brother spends his money on gas and booze when he goes to the bar with his friends. So, she gives him more money. More and more and more.

And then there's me. Running around cleaning the floors because there's huge paw prints and wads of fur everywhere from my brother's GIANT dog, cleaning the kitchen multiple times a day because apparently my brother can't clean up after himself, and stealing food from the deli and making bread everyday all so that my mom can be less stressed. Today she told me that I should try doing something around the house for a change.

Excuse me? I don't understand why no one notices me. I really don't.

I'm taking five courses per semester by correspondents; working a part time job to save for food, housing, schooling, and my car; and now since the 8th, I've been the housewife of this household too.

Why does no one realize that I'm busting at the seams? Why does no one realize that the only thing I've been taking from the fridge is soup? Why does no one realize that my fake smile has disappeared?

I just don't get it. Why continually catch someone who has used you, spat on you, stolen from you, crushed you, destroyed you, for 25 years? Why?

Whenever I go out in public lately, I can't look anyone in the eye, I'm anxious and feel like I'm taking up the whole room, and I'm greedy for taking up the whole room. I constantly want to slice open my stomach and rip everything out. I want to hack at my arm until there's nothing left.

I'm in deep, and no one even cares enough to peak down the hole I've tumbled into.

Earlier today I was sitting lifeless on the stool in the kitchen, waiting for my mom to heat up her meal.

"You've been looking prettier lately." she says, glancing over.
"You always say I look pretty when I'm incredibly depressed. Remember when I was about to move out for uni last year?" I replied without thinking.
She laughs, "Yeah, I remember that! Wait," she looks at me, her mind catching up with the conversation, "you're depressed?"

When am I not depressed? When am I not talking to her, telling her about how I hate people, how I hate life, how life is pointless? Does she block that all out? Does she listen at all?

My poor poor brother wants to ask his counselor about his dreams. Last night he woke up at 2 in the morning, screaming. He hoped that he didn't wake up mom and I.

He didn't, because I wasn't sleeping. I didn't sleep at all last night because I was feeling emptier than ever, because I was imagining slicing my stomach open, hacking my arm off. I was wanting to sleep forever because I didn't want to face today. I didn't want to have to be a person and parade my fat self at work.

He also didn't wake me up because he didn't scream. His room is right below mine, and he didn't scream. Poor, poor brother.