Deep Thoughts: Struggles

i feel like throwing stuff. breaking shit. making lotsa noise and venting. but, i can't. it would certainly draw not good attention from the people downstairs (mom and bro). she lives here. he just pretends he does.

although i don't equate my brother with my father in any way, this period of him being here all the time reminds me of when my mother and i first moved to this place.

she'd just divorced my father.

was my brother her emotional support throughout that ordeal. no. i was. i was the one who went to the diner and ate french toast with her at 3am on nights when sleeping wasn't an option.

i was the one who stood between my father and her when things would get ugly.

i was the one my father would sit down with in the wee hours of the morning on nights when she did sleep, and tell me how she was the bad one. not that i believed him. just made me dislike him more.

i was the one who had to catch her tears. because no one else was there to do it.

somewhere deep down inside, i've always believed she loves my brother more. he was the first. he's the good looking one. he's a man. she's old school. men are providers. and then there's all that guilt she has about letting my father kick him out of the house when he was seventeen.

he represents the union of herself and her true love. i represent the union of herself and the man who made her miserable for twenty years.

but you know what happened after we moved in here. after all that struggle. all that grief we went through to finally be free, she starts inviting him over here. he's spending the night. he's bossing everyone around again. and in general just being the insane control freak he is. he even had a freaking key to our house.

it was like everything i'd done for her meant nothing. maybe that is all it meant.

and the things i do everyday. and have done all these years - no different.

it always seems to work out that i'm the one coping and holding my tongue while the needs of others take prescedence.

just once i want to be the one people feel compelled to carry. instead of being the one carrying them.

yea, except i would never let them know about it. if i was unable to walk. i'd just crawl.