I hate that I told him to “do something good for yourself today!” on his birthday. 

I hate that I wanted a brother so bad.

I hate that I had one who hated me so much.

I hate that I tried so hard to be around someone who told others I wasn’t even his sister. We look like identical male/female twins. 
 

I hate that even after the countless verbal fights, name callings , physical fights, and degradations, I tried to fix and maintain any form of relationship I could with the brother that secretly hated and envied me.

I hate that I offered support that was blatantly ignored on a regular basis. 
 

I hate how he used my profession as a trainer as a basis to mock my intellect and even more that I let it work.

I hate that I told him to “do something good for yourself today!” On his birthday. 
not because I wish ill on him, because I don’t. 
I hate it because that’s the day he killed our father. 

I don’t hate him. I wanted a brother who wanted me around. I didn’t get that until shortly before he took away my daddy. And then the hate came back. 
The crude remarks; the lack of empathy; the threats; the utter disdain for all those who don’t know how to feel about him right now. He cares nothing for our healing or his, as he refuses to get help because “therapists are full of sh!t”. 
 

I don’t hate my brother. I hate the monster that lives inside of him that he keeps feeding. 
I have to let the monster go, even if it has my brother. 

I’ve had too many rope burns from this relationship or lack there of. He pulls stronger and my hands tear into shreds. I can’t hold on to it anymore. I have to choose myself and my mother. 

I just plain hate this. 
And I miss my Dad. ❤️‍🩹🖤