More of a rant than anything...

Over the past few years it's been said by many people that I'm hard to help. Because I don't ask for help. because I don't accept help. Why? I'm going to blame the bulk of this issue on my family. This is a short (believe it or not) explanation of why. Those of you close to me know the story runs deeper and there are many other  issues between my parents and I, both traumatic, and trivial. But here's my basic overview. This is also very much on my mind because the end of the story leads right up to present day.

Phase One: I suppose I've always had somewhat of a vendetta against my brother. There's typical sibling rivalry we all feel at a young age. "I can run faster than you!" "My slice of cake is bigger than yours!" "I broke the big side of the wishbone!" "Dad loves ME more!" And countless other competitions throughout the years as we grow older and find new things we want to win at. Being three years younger than my brother I endured a  nice long eight or nine year losing streak. He could argue better. He knew more. And he was of course bigger, stronger, faster and in most ways just more advanced then I was. These first years of constant failure, I can let go of.

Welcome to the world younger sibling. Better get used to it.

Phase Two: Entering our adolescence was, as it is for all teenagers, a strange and painful experience. Soon after my brother entered high school he stumbled upon this new phase of delinquency. Drinking, fighting, smoking, drugs, and general mayhem. I watched my little family struggle through this ordeal as I assume most families do. Disobedience leading to punishment. Punishment evoking further acts of rebellion retorted with more discipline and so and and so forth.

As I entered the same years I distinctly remember feeling shorted on the whole ordeal. Were our parents more strict on me than they had been on him? Did he seem to get away with a lot more than I did? I wondered, even then, if it was all in my head. I realize now with what I see as a fairly objective stance, despite my biases, that no, it was no delusion. My parents had seen what adolescence had done to my brother so they in turn tightened their grip on me. I didn't get into too much trouble really. Yes, I drank some alcohol (first handed to me by my brother.) I smoked some marijuana (handed to me by my brother.) I attended a few parties (usually hosted or co-hosted by my brother.) But looking back, I wasn't a bad kid in the grand scheme of things. My grades faltered as I began to suffer from depression. But no one really looked at the cause of the issue. They just saw the report card. However it always seemed to me that precious Aarons' feelings and state of well being was closely monitored. The second phase of our rivalry left a bad taste in my mouth that no future parental praise or bottle upon bottle of mouthwash could dilute.

Phase Three: Soon after high school graduation I moved out of my parents house, leaving parents and brother behind. "Why don't you call more?" "Why can't we stop by?" Because I'm a bitter, angry, disdainful person with a chip on my shoulder the size and awkward shape of Mt. Rushmore. I had been on my own for a good year and a half before my brother finally got a place that wasn't in Mommy and Daddy's house. *Keep in mind he's three years older than me.* Eventually I had to move back into my parents place because my roommate stopped being able to pay rent and I needed a place to crash until I found a new place. Feeling my upper hand loosening I was desperate to once again be on my own.

My parents decided to take a year traveling in the states. They agreed I was the one who could be trusted to look after their house and entitled me with all the authority I could ask for. If I didn't want Aaron around I could kick him out. If he gave me serious trouble I could even change the locks. The idea of having a full house to myself sounded great. Until I realized electric bills plus gas to get out there every day really wasn't saving me any money at all. I was just doing my family a favor. And I was okay with that. Until my brother lost yet another job and in turn lost his apartment. No where to go I agreed to let him stay with me for a while. Not long after that I caught him stealing my money from me. I kicked him out. ... Correction, I tried to kick him out. My parents wouldn't hear of it and insisted I let my thief brother stay with me.

Because they were scared where he'd end up they flew him down to Nevada and put him up for a few months. I was only slightly put off by this. They were supporting him. Buying him food, giving him a free place to live, all that good stuff while I was up in Alaska struggling to make ends meet. "Do I get caught up on electric bill? Pay off my dentist or go to a chiropractor?" But he was out of my hair, so I was, for the most part, content. Until they decided to send him back to me, again insisting he stay with me.  At this time they also threw out my rule of not letting his creepy friends come to the house. All my power thrown away for my brothers comfort.

Just as I began to think my bitterness had reached it's peak, Aaron told me what he had in his bank account. The amount stated being more than three times the amount I have to my name. When he's been out of work for months and I've been working as much as possible since I turned sixteen. How is it I strive to be completely self sufficient, work hard for everything I have, budget my funds like a motherfucker and I still come out financially behind my deadbeat, lazy-ass brother who's been out of work for months and can't hold down a job to save his life even when he does have one?

Conclusion: On a moral and ethical standing of the battle of the Boreckis, I've clearly won. Hands down. After all of this I know I've come out a better person because of it all. I have possibly too much pride and piles of self-assurance. But does it stop me from being angry as hell at the injustice of my entire family dynamics? No.

And this (along with so many other, smaller reasons) is why I have such a hard time asking for help. I have been working on it but I'm not sure if I'll ever shake the feeling of always having something to prove.