LJ Idol - Break Week: Jantelagen
This is an entry for the
therealljidol. If you'd like to read any of the other entries added during this Break Week, you can do so here!
Quick warning: This has been a particularly miserable period for me, so skip this one if you're not feeling quite as you should. Stay as happy and healthy as you can make yourself.
I debated not posting this, and so far it's out just as a fictionalised diary attempt. Still debating sharing it with the competition.
DECK THE HALLS WITH BOUGHS OF HOLLY
I arrived at the airport at a time convenient for my father, not so early that he couldn't have his mid-morning coffee before coming, but just before lunch so we could have it together and he wouldn't get home too late in the evening.
My brother was due to arrive at 8:30 pm, but thanks to delays it was 9:45 before he strolled leisurely out of arrivals.
It takes two hours to get home from the airport.
He doesn't say hello, doesn't give me a hug.
The ride back is mostly silent.
The first rule of living with my brother: You're not to think you are anything special.
Two weeks before my birthday, back in September, my brother blew up at me over the phone.
I had called to see how he was settling in at his new job, with his new housemates.
He accused me of being bossy, a bitch, told me he hoped I would die. He hasn't spoken to me since.
My father doesn't really understand why I won't be the first one to talk to him, why I can't just apologise.
I do not feel any longer that I should apologise after every fight, especially when I have done nothing wrong.
TIS THE SEASON TO BE JOLLY
The second rule of living with my brother: You're not to think you are as good as I am.
When my mother was alive, I felt like I could at least talk to her about it.
My father doesn't know how to cope with the hatred that radiates off my brother in my direction, my uncharacteristic silence, and sadness.
The third rule of living with my brother: You're not to think you are smarter than I am.
My brother thinks he is a genius.
He grew up with anger management issues, and the need to feel special, and was sometimes bullied.
I grew up by myself, making sure I was out as often as possile.
Monday I tutored, Tuesday was choir, Wednesday was either rehearsal for a show or more tutoring, Thursday was volleyball and I spent Friday with my band or my friends. The weekends were rehearsals or outings. If I was at home, I was in my room.
He had therapy, and my parents, and the space to do whatever he wanted. I was never home, so how could I get in the way?
They got him a laptop to use at school, to help him focus. According to his therapist at the time, he's too intelligent to focus otherwise.
In other words, he, like every other person on the planet, finds it difficult to concentrate.
The fourth and fifth rules of living with my brother: You're not to convince yourself that you are better than I am. You're not to think you know more than I do.
I have two degrees. I started earning my own money at age 14. I make friends, I try to be nice, compassionate, caring and supportive.
Yet and still, I will never be as clever as him in his eyes, and possibly the eyes of my father.
I have some wonderful, lovely people in my life, but parental approval is important, and even gentle conversation with my brother would be ok.
DON WE NOW OUR GAY APPAREL
Sixth rule: You're not to think you are more important than I am.
Even when I came out to my parents, individually, years apart, as bisexual (which is a whole other kettle of fish at the moment), my brother managed to come out on top on both those small occasions.
I did it in person, quietly, in front of the television or with a cup of tea, but he somehow managed to get an e-mail from a lecturer or the cousins or something to come in and interrupt, to make it about him.
The most invasive thing I have done this year to him is use a hairbrush that was in our communal bathroom.
The most invasive or angry thing he has done is threaten me with kitchen knives.
Seventh rule of living with my brother: You're not to think you are good at anything.
So I am keeping quiet, away, in my room, or silently around my father.
There is not a day this holiday so far that I have not been miserable enough to cry.
I have not sobbed like this since my mother died, and it's a circle of depressing thoughts from there.
Rule number eight: You're not to laugh at me.
He was bullied for a few years. I am very aware. This is a fact, not a judgement.
For the years we shared the same playground, I tried to stop it. I did help some, but there was nothing I could do when either of us were in class.
Five years is enough of a difference for a siblingship to be difficult even without other issues.
TROLL THE ANCIENT YULETIDE CAROL
The knives have come at me as a threat for years, usually while he's thinking about it, so while cutting bread or laying the table. It's my best friend's most vivid memory of him - him setting the table as we cooked, laughing to ourselves, and he wasn't paying attention to us until I snorted.
He assumed we were laughing at him and came up to me with a steak knife, just breaking skin.
Maybe if he had gone through with the threat we would both be happier.
The ninth rule of living with my brother: You're not to think anyone cares about you.
The best way to punish me is to be silent.
He has not initiated conversation since he blew up at me in September.
On my birthday, at the end of that month, I didn't even get a text from him. To be fair to him, my father forgot as well.
My mother would have been appalled.
She hasn't been gone two years, and both of the men she loved managed to forget me.
Rule number ten: You're not to think you can teach me anything.
Whatever. I don't see the point in trying to change things any more.
He leaves in 5 days. I can survive 5 more days like this, as I have survived the 5 so far.
Maybe I should stay in London next year.
FALALALALA LALA LA LA