My brother is a an ass. Fact. He lashes out when he's hurt. Fact. He projects. Fact. I hate him.
We give people we love way too much power over ourselves. Enough to sway our emotions and cloud or judgement. Sometimes that can be a good thing. Give us the reflection we need to scrutinize things we aught to fix. A lot of the times though it can be a self destructive mess. My brother plants bombs and doesn't even realize it half the time. When they explode they can be devastating, but most the time they feel like snipper shots to my self esteem. Really well placed shots from a man shooting blind. Or maybe at himself. I don't know. He used to be on this path going nowhere and now he's somewhere, out the woods but still feeling like something's missing.
Sometimes I look at him and all he has and where he can go and can't help but feel envious. But maybe I shouldn't. Because even though it looks like he has a lot he still winds up back home, a place he vowed never to return to; like he's searching for something. Like he's missing a key ingredient to his happiness. Maybe that's why he keeps trying to show my dad all these things they have in common: a love of guns, sports, and hatred of humanity. My brother was never like that. Well, yes he has always had a love of guns, sports, and an inability to tolerate stupid people for any span of time, but this quest with my dad…it's never ending. I thought he gave up long ago.
Anyway he says things. Hurtful things and he doesn't even know it. Things like "I'll take care of her after your gone." Things like "she has no fire." Didn't seem like it was all that long ago when he didn't have any fire either. Maybe he still doesn't. He got his lottery draw and it seems to be fixing most of his problems. I can't help but wonder if it's fixed the ones that really matter. Who knows. I'm still wandering my dark and spooky forest but maybe it's like he says, I enjoy it just a little too much. And that's what hurts.