when I was 18 and my little brother was 12, 14 years ago, he stole my keys (or said he did to annoy me). unable to control my anger, I briefly put my hands around his throat, but caught myself and stopped, horrified, before anything else could happen. I don’t remember for certain if I even apologized or not; I think I did, but that could just be my memory filling in gaps later. from then on, I just shut myself out from him completely, consumed by my guilt and shame convinced that that was the best course of action.

only two things allow me to feel like I deserve to live and be more than this: the fact I never actually physically harmed him, and that he has somehow forgiven me. he’s said that I don’t have to avoid him on a few occasions, and he helped dispose of my old bed when I moved to another town last year. I have no idea how he got over it, and I know I don’t deserve that and it doesn’t erase what I did, but it is the straw I cling to so I can feel like I deserve to be around people.