stillness is the move

I may have mentioned before that I have two siblings. My sister Karleigh is 20 and my brother Mike is 36. I may also have mentioned that because of my sister’s developmental disabilities and the age difference with my brother, I’ve always felt somewhat of an only child. Somewhat because I do in fact have siblings–I have to call and check up on them, buy them birthday and Christmas gifts, and other sisterly things. Karleigh and I have always gotten along in a combative but friendly way. Mike and I used to be really tight up until I was about 18. Eighteen is the age at which I learned (or chose to see) about a few personality flaws in him.

Before I go further, I must state that I absolutely love my brother. I simply do not like him most of the time.

I’ve been having a hard time living with Mike but am reluctant to admit it, especially to him. Because he is my half-brother, we only share half a set of genetics. And the other halves of our respective DNAs are polar opposites. I’m pretty laid back about everything. And I mean everything. But in order to get to this laid back state, I need to process every emotion, impulse, action and inaction. I process by talking about everything to my family and friends. Seriously, I can tell my dirtiest secrets to my uncle and aunt knowing they have my back and love me regardless. My best friends and I talk for at least a couple hours per week about the minutiae of our lives. It’s how we do. I revel in discovering new things about myself. I love to analyze books, movies, people, and just about everything else. Lit major for life. But as much as I need and love people, I am an introvert. You wouldn’t know it to see me at a club drinking and dancing with friends and shamelessly going home with some guy. On the other hand, I spent all weekend inside, save for a 9pm showing of Away We Go. I was absolutely content reading news blogs, watching mindless TV, and making elaborate breakfasts for myself. I had two dogs and a cat for company.

[This is where I make Mike sound bad.] I was as happy as can be when the fam came back from their overnight camping trip, only to encounter Mike, who asked with a hint of disdain, “So did you leave the house at all this weekend?” My pithy 3 hours outside of the house suddenly seemed inadequate. I felt like I had failed without knowing there was a test or minimum criteria I had to meet. All this and he hadn’t even set down his bag yet. I wanted to run upstairs and smoke, which I’d been putting off so as to stay lucid for the day.

It has been difficult to put into words how I feel about my brother. He’s gone through an emotional rollercoaster in the last six months. I’ve seen him cry, seen him drugged out of his mind, seen him angry at life. He’s a man who loves to control every aspect of his life. He’s very particular when it comes to decorating, clothing, and renovating. He’s a strict parent to the point where I question whether he ever wanted to be a father. There’s no doubt that he loves his kids, but they seem a bother to him most of the time, and he is among the most impatient people I have ever met. He’s frivolous with money and feels entitled to a life better than the one he has. His mother left when he was two and took her life when he was 25. For this he feels he is owed something by the world, for dealing him such a shitty hand. Having a stoma and ileostomy bag attached to his abdomen doesn’t help much either.

To put it bluntly, we are not connecting. Being around him brings out my quiet, submissive side. I suppose I just don’t want to anger him or put him through any more stress. Even when we were “tight” we wouldn’t talk much. We sat in his room, he remodeling or cleaning his bird cages, me playing quietly on the floor. That was us connecting. He used to take me to Morro Bay to the aquarium with only four seals–nothing else–in captivity and we fed them $1 worth of chopped up fish. Then we would get clam chowder and cokes at the Flying Dutchman. On the way home we would stop and look around a house on a hill being built. I fondly remember doing things like this together. But what works for a 5 year old does not work for a 23-year old.

I think I am yearning for a relationship with my brother that has never existed and may never be possible because of who he is and who I am. So we continue the only way we know how. During mornings when the kids are at camp, he drinks tea and watches The West Wing. I drink tea and clean up the kitchen/house. We acknowledge each other’s existence, with grumblings about when our 6-pack of Morning Thunder will arrive and periodic comments about how much he loves this fucking show. He is 18 and I am five. I still want his approval more than anything. And he remains oblivious.