My brother and I were fairly close till I was eight and he was eleven. He was approaching puberty, was immensely popular and came to see me as a liability and began to studiously avoid me. At home he began to beat me up regularly. Puberty transformed him into a violent monster and soon I was making every effort to avoid him.
We experienced a brief rapprochement when we both were living at my father's. He seemed to respect me as a peer (we were respectively seventeen and twenty then) and even enjoyed drinking sherry together before dinner and watching late movies. This respite lasted little more than a month and my father kicked me out so my brother could live more comfortably in his house.
After this he didn't want to know me. I eventually wearied of reaching out to him. Later in life I became more fully aware of the extent to which his abusive treatment traumatized me. I have since distanced myself completely from this person. I am in my late fifties, he in his early sixties. We will likely never see each other again. I have stopped caring.
Good riddance.
No comments:
Post a Comment