I think the one thing that makes this all so much more cruel is that I have a brother that’s 2 years older than me.
So for the majority of my childhood, I thought I was just like him.
I fully expected to grow up just like him. I modelled myself in his image. I played his video games, I listened to his music, I read his books. I fucking idolised him, and I don’t know if he even knows that. He probably does, but doesn’t care. Or worse, he knows and hates me more for it. I’ve always idolised him. I’ve always wanted to be him, even now.
So growing up with this boy that I fucking adored, when puberty hit… it turned to envy. An extreme, soul-eating envy when I realised I was never going to be like him. I grew tits I didn’t ask for, and was the woe of all my friends, the first girl, age 11, ELEVEN, with this asshole of a body.
Everyone was telling me how PROUD I should be, so happy with my new breasts and my young development. I should wear them like a trophy, showing off my brand new body.
I hated it. It felt so wrong, even then, and I was just wishing and praying that I could trade off my breasts, get rid of them please, I never wanted them in the first place.But I had to squash that down and pretend that I liked it.
So, as I grew, my disparity with my brother grew. My hatred of myself, and in part, him, grew. We grew further apart and I resented him more and more. I was so insanely jealous, it felt so monumentally unfair that he was growing up perfect, and I wasn’t him.
So now, we don’t talk. Me and my brother are not close at all. When I first wrote this, he didn’t even know that I’m Trans. He knows now, but only heard it through his girlfriend, cause I didn’t know how to tell him to his face.
How do you explain to someone you’ve known your whole life that you hate them for showing me what I couldn’t be? For showing me that I was never going to be him. That you’ve taken everything out on him from sheer envy and misguided hatred. How could he forgive me for that, or understand any of it? How do I even have a conversation about any of this when we don’t talk about anything, let alone anything this deep.
I rattle off these facts to anyone I talk to about being trans, when they ask about siblings. I say it so dispassionately, so matter of fact, like me and my brother will never get on, never have a relationship, when really, (I hate to admit it), that’s all that I want. I should be as close to him as anything. He should feel something, some modicum of respect or understanding for me, when I know that’s laughable. How do you get an asshole to care? (Okay, now I’m just being mean)
And I feel kind of bad for my mum in all this. It isn’t really her fault that her other son is an emotionless bastard… again, being mean… It’s not her fault we’re not close. She’s tried to bring us together, even going as far as getting us gig tickets for a band we both liked, just us, to give us some, and I quote, “alone time to bond”. Which was a huge fail because he answered my questions/killed conversation in one-word answers and listened to music on the train ride, and ditched me halfway thru the concert. Mum, you tried. He didn’t.
In my brothers’ defence though, I don’t blame him for how he treats me. Who wouldn’t act the same? An irritating little sister who copies everything you do, clingy, won’t leave you alone or have anything that’s just yours and yours alone. We had to share everything – because I demanded it. His reaction to that is perfectly reasonable.
Plus, all of this a product of, let’s face it, me. My behaviour. My childhood. My issues. My mind and body and everything else that’s fucked up about me. Cut me out of the picture and you have a perfect family. I bet he wishes that too.
I can’t even look at photos of my brother. Because every time I look at him, I see myself. I see who I was meant to be, and it breaks my fucking heart over and over.
I love him, and I hate him.