
GroundControl
Can you hear me, Major Tom?
- Feb 3, 2024
- 45
To my brother, who will never read this,
It was twenty-first birthday. Possibly my last. I invited you because I love my brothers, and I've always loved y'all. You're my favorite people. I just wanted you around again.
I was crying and venting to you, to our mom and stepdad, and yeah it was about the same stuff as usual. About my dad and his alcoholism and all the shitty things he did. But did you really, really have to say what you said?
"How long are you gonna talk about your dad? Why are we even talking about this dude?"
You yelled it across the fucking beach, dude. Heads turned. You groaned, actually threw your head back, and lamented the fact that I was opening up. I never open up. I bottle it and bottle it and everyone tells me to talk and asks why I don't talk. But then I talk and you make fun of me? Mock me? What the fuck?
I just don't understand. You were terrible that entire weekend. I wanted to spend time with you. It was THE most important birthday of mine and you fucked it up by being a drunk asshole. I don't know why I do this. You always make fun of me and yell at me and make me feel so small. So stupid. And every time I'm like. Oh, it's just a big brother thing!
I can't keep fooling myself. You don't give a fuck, do you? Not about me, or my problems. I should've known. I DID know. Nobody cares. But I consistently gaslight myself into thinking that "maybe it'll be different this time!"
Not again. I'm done inviting you to things. I'm done trying to talk. I'm done. You don't want to listen, and soon enough, I won't be around to talk anyways. Never fucking mattered.
Anyways.
I love you I guess.
What's the point of this??
It was twenty-first birthday. Possibly my last. I invited you because I love my brothers, and I've always loved y'all. You're my favorite people. I just wanted you around again.
I was crying and venting to you, to our mom and stepdad, and yeah it was about the same stuff as usual. About my dad and his alcoholism and all the shitty things he did. But did you really, really have to say what you said?
"How long are you gonna talk about your dad? Why are we even talking about this dude?"
You yelled it across the fucking beach, dude. Heads turned. You groaned, actually threw your head back, and lamented the fact that I was opening up. I never open up. I bottle it and bottle it and everyone tells me to talk and asks why I don't talk. But then I talk and you make fun of me? Mock me? What the fuck?
I just don't understand. You were terrible that entire weekend. I wanted to spend time with you. It was THE most important birthday of mine and you fucked it up by being a drunk asshole. I don't know why I do this. You always make fun of me and yell at me and make me feel so small. So stupid. And every time I'm like. Oh, it's just a big brother thing!
I can't keep fooling myself. You don't give a fuck, do you? Not about me, or my problems. I should've known. I DID know. Nobody cares. But I consistently gaslight myself into thinking that "maybe it'll be different this time!"
Not again. I'm done inviting you to things. I'm done trying to talk. I'm done. You don't want to listen, and soon enough, I won't be around to talk anyways. Never fucking mattered.
Anyways.
I love you I guess.
What's the point of this??