Okay, by far, I definitely would not say I have the perfect life.
Most people know by now that my dad is an Iraqi War Veteran. He spent eighteen months over seas, and the August before his return a road side bomb went off. Twice. Now because of that and everything else that happened over there, my dad has PTSD. He’s only like ten different medications to manage everything going on, and most people know what they can or can’t say to him. Basically, we all have to walk on eggshells around him, especially if he’s awaiting his medicine orders to come in, and he hasn’t had a few of his doses.
So, the other day, my oldest brother decided to drink. This, to begin with, wasn’t a good idea because he’s been told countless times that he can not handle alcohol. He’s like his own dad in that very way. He turns into a complete assh*le, no matter what the situation is, even after he’s only had two bottles in his system.
Now, what has me beginning to rant is the fact that I’ve kept this bottled up from everyone except my mother and my best friend. I finally just can not take anymore, so I need to write it out. I don’t care if I get judged by you people, I just need to get this off my chest.
It was either Saturday or Sunday, which I’m not sure because I wasn’t paying that much attention. My brother was home from work, relaxing with my aunt (who lives two houses down), her boyfriend and my cousin. Between him leaving my gram’s (where he lives, who lives a few streets over) and making his way to my aunt’s, he had a few drinks in his system already.
This whole story, by the way, is taken in to account that a month ago, my brother had come up to our house, drunk off his rocker and attempting to attack my dad. My dad, at that point in time, was well medicated and kept his cool. My gram and mom were also there to help me keep my dad and brother separated, and I do have to give it to my dad; he kept his cool.
For the passed week or so, my dad had not had his Welbuterin (I’m not sure how it’s exactly spelled), which keeps him from turning violent, nor did he have his medicine that blocks the affects of alcohol. He had a few drinks, as he always does when he gets home from work and starts working on this house, but he was feeling the alcohol.
It was about nine at night, and I was in a battleground on World of Warcraft (yes, I am back to playing that, but only because I’ve been bored out of my skull as of late, when I can’t seem to write). I had just got out of it, when my cousin, Cameron, ran into the house screaming that I needed to get outside and help him because my brother and dad were fighting.
Admittedly, I had heard yelling before hand, but I didn’t think anything of it. Sometimes my neighbors’ grandsons freak out, so I figured it was them. Much to my surprise, it wasn’t. By the time I rounded the corner in the kitchen, saw the front door wide open and Cameron standing on the porch, my puppy, Squirt had gotten lose. I spent five minutes trying to catch her, but she wanted to run through the back yard. At one point, I just said f*ck it because I heard something hit the ground, so I ran toward the noise.
My dad had my brother on the ground, and they were just throwing punches back and forth. I jumped over the little bit of hedges, scrapped up my left leg and literally tackled my dad to get him off my brother. My aunt was yelling at them, as was Cameron, and for the moment they stopped fighting completely. I took this time to get Squirt, who had run to the porch and fear and put her inside. When I got back out, my dad and brother were on the ground.
Cameron was standing back, hands in the air, saying, “Just let them fight it out!”
I looked at him directly, said, “Fuck that,” and proceeded to tackle them once again. I was trying to push my dad off of my brother because he had my brother in a headlock, and I could hear him start to wheeze.
Somewhere in the middle of all that, I got them apart and started pushing my dad away. I blacked out for most of it because I had a complete rush of adrenaline pumping through my system, and I was falling into a panic attack. I was shaking beyond belief, and my brother wanted to stand there and argue with me.
“Why are you protecting your assh*le of a father?” he kept asking, trying to step closer but ended up getting pushed back, “What the hell is it going to do?”
Eventually, I retorted with, “What the f*ck is fighting going to do?” I screamed it so loud that my throat turned raw and more than half the neighborhood could hear. At that point, I just didn’t care.
Cameron had to fight my brother down the road and back to his house, and I had to fight my dad up to our house. The moment I got inside, I called my mom at work. Where my mom works, all in-coming calls get recorded, therefore all her supervisors and what not heard me bawling.
Now, I honestly am telling you that this is a one hundred percent true story. I don’t think that even the most imaginative part of me could have made this up.
Basically, what it all boils down to is the fact that I just got off of Facebook. Much to my surprise, that same brother deleted me from his friends and family list. As much as this made my blood boil, it also made me laugh.
I find it completely pathetic and childish that he did this. Does he not realize that I saved him from being six feet under? Hell, if it hadn’t been for a few things my dad and uncle are dealing with, my dad may have snapped my brother’s neck on the spot. It just bewilders me that my brother would turn into this type of child at the age of twenty-four. Has he no shame, whatsoever?
By definition, the word “brother” means: a man or boy in relation to other sons and daughters of his parents. That, for me, is all he will ever be; just a boy in relation to me. It’s very sad to say, that out of three brothers, I can only, truly call one of them my actual brother, and he is still only a half-brother.
It’s Very Sad to Say, That Out of Three Brothers, I Can Only Call One of Them My Actual Brother
August 4th, 2011 at 02:31am