And Then My Brother Called

Carol and I get home on Sunday night, Father's Day night, and I am sitting in my recliner in natural happiness.

I enjoyed the day so much. I was relaxed and content.

And then my brother called. I am very uncomfortable with my brother. My fault, not his.

He called to wish me a happy father's day. He is very considerate like that; he often calls just to check in with me, to see how I am doing. I never call him like that.

He has replaced my parents as the phone call that makes me nervous. It is fucking ridiculous, but I haven't figured out how to deal with it yet. When I talk to him I am not myself. I hear it in my voice. I say things I would not normally say, and I say things in ways I would not normally say them.

I feel like my life is paper thin compared to what he has dealt with. I have no right to complain about anything to him. I also feel that it is quite obvious I have done nothing with my life, while he keeps moving forward and finding ways to succeed and to enjoy himself.

I want to get off the phone as fast as possible.

This has to stop. I love my brother. My respect for him is enormous. I have to stop feeling like I have something to prove to him; I have something to prove only to myself. But, of course, it is not that simple.

I am painfully aware of my lack of accomplishment, and tortured with clarity over the strength and success he has shown.

The contrast between how beautiful Father's Day made me feel, and the discomfort of that phone call, was jarring. Knocked me off balance for a while.

I got work to do. Truth is I will never feel good about myself until I do something with my life.

Tick, tick, tick.

Until then I have to find ways to minimize the way I poison important relationships.