Saturday, November 24, 2012

Cuz writing's cathartic... Right?

Sometime at the beginning of September my little brother called me crying. This really freaked me out because my brother DOES NOT cry. He’s a cocky little shit. Through a combination of his good looks, super genius intellect, and being the baby of the family, he has had to deal with very little adversity in his life. So yeah, him crying definitely raises some red flags for me.

Since our brother’s death (this is going to get confusing, since I had 2 brothers and am talking about both of them now. My little brother, who is gay like me, is Andy. My other brother was Alex), my mother has sought comfort in Jesus, which in turn brought her to husband number FIVE, the minister of her church. Together they have redoubled their efforts in their pursuit of super duper pious superiority. For a year my baby brother has been their little project and that entire time I had no idea. I left and I didn’t look back. All 3 of my sisters are away at college and my brother was left all by himself with my crazy ass mother and her preacher husband. I should’ve known better. 

When Andy called me he was defeated. I had just seen him a few weeks earlier at mine and Brad’s ceremony, he seemed a little off, but I was too caught up in my own stuff to even notice. He needed me and I wasn’t there for him. While Andy was talking to me I realized this year has been absolute hell and he’s been all alone. The strongest most confident boy I have ever known was telling me he wished he was dead. My heart felt like it was being ripped out through my back. Tears were pouring down my eyes but I refused to let that sadness and anger show through my voice. As calmly as I could, I told my little brother that I would be flying home on the next flight to LA and that he should leave my mother’s house immediately and stay with his friend until I come and pick him up. I told him I loved him, and then I made him promise he would leave as soon as we hung up the phones. 

I was pretty freaked out by how calm I was after I hung up the phone. Booking my flight and then packing a suitcase felt like an out of body experience. It wasn’t until Bradley got home, I finally allowed myself to completely fall apart. Just the thought of losing another brother made me hysterical. Not a day goes by where I don’t think about Alex and how much I miss him and love him; I can’t go through that again. Then Brad did what he always does, he made me feel like the strongest man in the world and made me believe I could do whatever I had to to make this better. I love this man so God damn much, its just crazy.

I had Johnny pick me up from the airport. His brother and Andy have been joined at the hip since kindergarten. So I knew Johnny would look out for him until I got there. My flight to LA gave me time to organize my thoughts and actually come up with a plan. I only have one brother left and my mother has no right to make him feel bad about himself about anything! Who the fuck gets married 5 times before the age of 43 and then feels like they have the right to call somebody else a sinner!? She’s a fucking hypocritical whore who needs to learn how to shut her cunt mouth.

I was ready to cause all sorts of trouble the second I stepped off that plane. I had gone passed the point of caring about how a reasonable adult responded in these situations and I just wanted to fuck shit up. Johnny recognized that in me immediately and pretty much just stopped me in my tracks. He knew that if he let me anywhere near my mother in the state i was in, no good could come of it.

The truth was that I had a plan already. I knew exactly what I had to do to achieve my goals and I knew the only thing that stood in my way was my need to make my mother feel a fraction of the pain and humiliation she inflicted on Andy. Before anything could happen, I needed to see my brother. On the way I called my mom to let her know Andy was with me, and that we needed to have a long discussion after I had some time to calm down. Then I called Andy’s dad to let him know what was going on, de didn’t answer. 

After Alex died, Andy’s dad pretty much checked out. He has never been a very stable person (as long as I have known him). He’s a veteran of “operation dessert storm” and has some serious PTSD problems. He’s a good person, but he has never been able to handle too much without dropping everything along the way. I wasn’t expecting much from him, but I was expecting more than what I got. 

When I finally saw Andy, I was so sad, hurt, angry, and absolutely devastated that I can’t even articulate it now. I wanted so much more for my brother than what he got. I never thought in a million years that he would be inheriting my same problems and I wouldn’t be there for him to guide him through it all. Comforting my baby brother, I finally found the resolve to do what I needed to in order to make sure Andy would be okay. 

I was surprised at how my mother gave in so easily when I told her how things were going to be from now on. I think that for a minute she finally realized how awful she actually is and this was her way to make amends. There was a moment where husband #5 tried to interject, but I calmly and politely informed him that I would BREAK HIS FUCKING FACE if he opened his mouth again. Just to be a dick I told him his marriage with my mom’s not even really official until I get in a fist fight with her husband and this would probably be his only chance. He shut the fuck up and was quiet as a church mouse after that. 

Andy and I stayed with Johnny for a month while I found us a place to live. It’s his Senior year in high school and I didn’t feel right moving him to New Orleans at this point in time. Andy’s seeing a psychologist once a week, and so am I, and occasionally we even see him together. Andy isn’t the same person he was a year ago and it breaks my heart. He's lost a lot of his confidence and he's so angry with everybody. When he gets depressed I feel so incredibly helpless that I can't even stand it. He didn’t deserve what his life became and I feel like I am going to live in shame for the rest of my life for the part I played in his sadness.