I Am Cain
It started small. So did she. When she was born she ruined my life. I had everything I could have wanted. I suppose I was the most selfish and demanding child on earth, but the cap on that was three years and karma sent another child overnight delivery. It was then that I realized that everyone loved her more. I guessed they didn’t love me at all, now that they had a point of comparison they had come to their senses and moved me to the outer bounds of importance. There I loitered, alone, and contemplated the reasons why I was no longer the number one, the ruler, the best, “the baby.”
It must have had to do with this other little being. High yellow with stringy brown hair and googly eyes. Why the hell did they prefer her? Was it because she would actually go to bed on time? Was it because she was nicer, sweeter, more gentle? Of course. I was old news. A washed up three year old. I needed a new act.
At first I did it just to prove to them that she was selfish. I denied myself things. When she reached for two handfuls of candy I only took one, when she begged for toys in the story, I demanded none. I suppose this was my way of showing that I was a mature, sophisticated four year old but it backfired.
After a while I was just saying no to things I plain wanted. And Jasmine was then taking advantage of the fact I had written myself out of the script. At some point this knot-head befriended me and I began to give up things of my own free will. I wanted to teach myself that material things were meaningless.
I guess I became meaningless because whenever I wanted something I would feel guilty and when she couldn’t have something it was my fault.
Now after a self-sacrificing eighteen years I realize that at three I made a huge mistake. I should have never been kind. There is nothing rewarding or important about self-denial. No one will ever thank you for it.
Jasmine got a car yesterday. I laughed and said that she had it easier than me because I had to learn how to drive stick and beg for a car when hers was handed over without any struggle, automatic included. She sternly said that it was my own fault I had to learn to drive a stick and I had the chance to get an automatic so I’m the one to blame.
I hated her.
It was so hard for me to learn to drive. I couldn’t ask them to take the car back after they had started paying insurance on it and mom had been pressuring me for years to go to school and get a scholarship because we didn’t have enough money to pay for college.
Meanwhile Jasmine got new Jordans, Jasmine got new clothes, Jasmine got a laptop, a CD player, a hundred fitted hats. I’m still wearing clothes from the fifth grade as pajamas and I feel guilty buying things even if I want them and they’re on sale.
I don’t even have enough dress clothes to go to church every Sunday of the month and not wear the same clothes twice. I don’t own a good pair of high-heeled shoes and the business suits I do have are the only professional attire I own.
I resent her.
She writes of my sacrifices as if they were nothing. All the while standing in the bathroom she’s converted into a vanity, while spraying her $80 hairdoo and smiling at herself.
I can’t swear in this house. I can’t tell her to go fuck herself. I can just say that she is a bitch. Plain and simple. Because she will never see the things I gave up or turned down so that she wouldn’t have to do the same thing.
One time she had to give up something… one time… and she cried. I told her I do that all the time and she laughed.
Moral: Don’t do good for people. They won’t thank you for it.
**I wrote this when I was angry and that was last night, I'm over it now. Soon I'll update about work! Mwha!
It must have had to do with this other little being. High yellow with stringy brown hair and googly eyes. Why the hell did they prefer her? Was it because she would actually go to bed on time? Was it because she was nicer, sweeter, more gentle? Of course. I was old news. A washed up three year old. I needed a new act.
At first I did it just to prove to them that she was selfish. I denied myself things. When she reached for two handfuls of candy I only took one, when she begged for toys in the story, I demanded none. I suppose this was my way of showing that I was a mature, sophisticated four year old but it backfired.
After a while I was just saying no to things I plain wanted. And Jasmine was then taking advantage of the fact I had written myself out of the script. At some point this knot-head befriended me and I began to give up things of my own free will. I wanted to teach myself that material things were meaningless.
I guess I became meaningless because whenever I wanted something I would feel guilty and when she couldn’t have something it was my fault.
Now after a self-sacrificing eighteen years I realize that at three I made a huge mistake. I should have never been kind. There is nothing rewarding or important about self-denial. No one will ever thank you for it.
Jasmine got a car yesterday. I laughed and said that she had it easier than me because I had to learn how to drive stick and beg for a car when hers was handed over without any struggle, automatic included. She sternly said that it was my own fault I had to learn to drive a stick and I had the chance to get an automatic so I’m the one to blame.
I hated her.
It was so hard for me to learn to drive. I couldn’t ask them to take the car back after they had started paying insurance on it and mom had been pressuring me for years to go to school and get a scholarship because we didn’t have enough money to pay for college.
Meanwhile Jasmine got new Jordans, Jasmine got new clothes, Jasmine got a laptop, a CD player, a hundred fitted hats. I’m still wearing clothes from the fifth grade as pajamas and I feel guilty buying things even if I want them and they’re on sale.
I don’t even have enough dress clothes to go to church every Sunday of the month and not wear the same clothes twice. I don’t own a good pair of high-heeled shoes and the business suits I do have are the only professional attire I own.
I resent her.
She writes of my sacrifices as if they were nothing. All the while standing in the bathroom she’s converted into a vanity, while spraying her $80 hairdoo and smiling at herself.
I can’t swear in this house. I can’t tell her to go fuck herself. I can just say that she is a bitch. Plain and simple. Because she will never see the things I gave up or turned down so that she wouldn’t have to do the same thing.
One time she had to give up something… one time… and she cried. I told her I do that all the time and she laughed.
Moral: Don’t do good for people. They won’t thank you for it.
**I wrote this when I was angry and that was last night, I'm over it now. Soon I'll update about work! Mwha!