In my observation, it’s taken me a long time to figure out how to get this down on “paper”.
My brother’s been with me a lot lately. Yesterday, he told me to start wearing my bracelet again.
I had to stop wearing it for a minute.
My bracelet contains his ashes. I was so sad and so fucking angry that I couldn’t look at it for a very long time — let alone wear it on my body.
But yesterday, he told me to put it back on. I listened. It’s on my wrist right now.
I feel like, in the grand scheme of things, I’ve lived a very charmed life and been through hell and back at the same time.
I was independent as fuck when I was young.
- I got my first job at 16 — on my own.
- I was raped at 16. I only told one person. (I would do that differently if I could.)
- I went to college during high school and finished my first year of undergrad while I was still a high school student.
- I lost my dad at 19.
- I figured it out, made friends, got jobs, and did things.
- I had distance in my family.
- I moved to Denver to start over.
- I ruffled feathers.
- I watched shit happen from afar.
- I lost my brother at 40.
- I watched my entire world fall apart.
So, it is with this, that I must speak to Scotty B. and ask him what the fuck he left me with.
My only few voicemails I saved are saved out of anger; I saved them so I could remember not to answer the phone if I ever saw your name on my screen. Because Sober Scott was not the same as Late-Life Scott, and I was the asshole who had to take the brunt of the damage. I let you name-call me and tell me what a terrible piece of shit I am. I let you belittle me for being less-than in a world that’s tried to kill me since the day I was born. I let you be better than me because, as it goes, you are my big brother.
And, God help me, I let you continually tell me what a terrible daughter I am to our mother. Over and over again.
The only voicemails I have from you are so sad. You make it so clear that I’m a child nobody would ever want. Isn’t it ironic that **I** was the one who was forced to deal with your aftermath once you left? Isn’t it ironic that the red-headed stepchild of the family had to step up and be the one who cared about the things you cared about when you couldn’t care about me in your later years?
I’m so fucking angry about it.
And even worse? You got treated like a prince a thousand times over while my boyfriend’s not even allowed to stay in your mom’s house. I’m in a tough position in life right now — different from yours, but you know, we all go through shit.
Jesus, Scott. What did you leave behind?
Shame on you for shaming me, and shame on everyone who’s supposed to help me through this for shaming me, too.
I thought I had more to say. I’m sure I do, but this was enough for now. Best wishes to the universe.