When I was younger, my little brother would often steal my stuff. He’d usually just hide it, but sometimes he would also break it. This went on for years. I don’t remember if I told my parents; if I did, they never did anything about it (that’s a story for another day). Eventually I learned that, if one of my things was missing, it was probably because my brother took it. I started just asking him out right to give me my stuff back, or I would just search his room on my own. It worked. Fast forward about ten years later, and I’m still suspicious when my things go missing. I’ve gotten better at it, but when my stuff goes missing (especially at home), my knee-jerk reaction is that someone took it. I get angry and I have to stop and tell myself that no one took my stuff, that I’m not a kid anymore, that my younger brother isn’t there (and that he doesn’t steal my things anymore).
But this should tell you all something. I’ve made other posts about how I think I was abused by my younger brother, but I don’t think I’ve ever talked about this stuff. This – him stealing my things, and causing me to be suspicious and angry whenever my stuff goes missing – it’s not from abuse, but it’s not from a normal sibling relationship either. Sure, siblings fight and sometimes take each other things (and break them), but they don’t leave lasting impressions on each other the way my brother left one on me. And I know my brother is autistic (I learned that this summer) and he has bipolar and that the stuff he did wasn’t all his fault but sometimes I just want to hate him. Because he (and indirectly my parents; again, a story for another time) fucked me up in so many small ways that I’m going to be picking up the pieces and following the trail of breadcrumbs for the rest of my life, trying to figure out what’s normal and what isn’t.
But, you, know. It’s just sibling rivalry, right?
