And Life Goes On...

Eleven years ago today, at this very moment, I was wondering how I was going to live my life without my mother. We were really close, and in some ways, that closeness crippled me. I never really thought I had to grow up, and then she died.

I realized how alone I was--I couldn't even talk to my brother about it, and he turned into even more of a predator. A greedy, worthless, piece of shit fuck of a predator.

And please, no sermons on how family is "precious". Family was great when my mom and dad were around. Now, the only family I have is an asshole brother who terrorized me as a child. His kids, whom I took to the park, swimming, shopping and generally entertaining them won't have anything to do with me.

To them, I'm nothing. If I ever become financially successful (hahahahahahahaha!) they'll come sucking around, wanting my money, claiming that I "owe" them. Fuck them. Fuck each and every one of them. I'll die before I ever help them out.

I still think about killing him. Never said I was a saint, was I? But there's only so much I can take. And taking a tire iron to my brother's head would give me so much pleasure.


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