Max

I lived with my mother and her various boyfriends until I was 11. Up to that point, I had been told I had siblings, and I’d also met them, but while my oldest and most frequently seen brother, Max, was the one I knew the most, he was 13 years older than me. We had a lot in common, and I believe a huge chunk of my interests were influenced entirely by him. He’s the one to introduce me to World of Warcraft.

When I was 8, I cut my hair in an attempt to look what I thought was a cooler style. It was my brother’s style, if I recall any semblance of idolization. He got me my first video games, and got me the holiday gifts I loved the most. Spiderman Heelies, and my mom and me our first computer. It had EV Supernova and Doom on it. He showed me how to play them. He taught me how to whistle, and to swim. I could sit for hours just thinking he was so cool as he wandered around WoW, killing monsters and players. The biggest – most elite quest – he gave me, was to not let his characters die while he was at work.

But as I grew older, I saw the world differently. My mom called him to give me a stern talking to when I misbehaved, and used that as a means of threats. I feared conversing with him, because every time we did, there was an ‘are you listening to mom?’ attached to it. I started dreading him. And his wife, she made me anxious in her own ways. Being a germophobic at the time, it was like walking on egg-shells.

Max and my mother became estranged, as her sickness worsened. I didn’t really speak or hear from him for a couple of years. But when we moved to Ramona, he wanted us to come to his wedding. We reconnected with him, and I received backhanded compliments. ‘You’re finally wearing a dress, but you need to grow your hair out. You look like a guy.’

And that was half of what he’d say to me for the next few years. When I was placed into foster care, I had a personality shift. I went from being bold, unafraid, and proud to an observer. I thought and rarely spoke. I found solitude to have an odd comfort, and authority? Rather than challenge my boundaries with those in charge, I did everything in my power to avoid making waves. People stepped on me much more than I should have kept silent about. And to my big brother Max, he saw that. He’d give me ‘advice’ that he might have thought would help at the time. You need to toughen up, stop crying. Grow your hair out, and people won’t mistake you for a boy. Is that what you want people to think you are? No? Then stop giving them the excuse to.

But that’s what he thought of it. It was my fault that people made that mistake. And to me, I knew it was as well. But the nuance he failed to see in me was not that I enjoyed or hated being called a boy. I simply did not care. I didn’t care if I was called a he, or given side-looks when I entered women’s restrooms. I knew I was a girl, and I didn’t feel the need to prove to anyone I was. He thought I didn’t know who I was, but I did.

And therein lies the fissure. Because, once I realized he was feeling embarassed to be around me, I felt dissappointed in him for not believing me. If he loved me, it was conditional. And I was not fullfilling those conditions. So, I did my best to try and make up for it. I got good grades in school, graduated in the top 10% of my class, got accepted at a university. And my first summer back, my hair had not lengthened. My clothing style had not changed. But my confidence improved, I still maintained good grades, and not strayed off a successful path. Never did drugs, never drank, my friends were good people, and I may have been a geek, but I was responsible and mature. By all means within myself, I held myself to high standards and values and was proud of myself to take my first steps into adulthood with grace.

But that first summer visit back ‘home’. Can you pay for my gas, since I had to pick you up from the airport? Did you get your license? Do you have a job? Do you have a boyfriend? Girlfriend? Why aren’t you growing out your hair? How long are you staying?

Then, I wouldn’t have a meaningful conversation with him for my whole stay until he’d drive me back to the airport. I hope you’re happy. It caught me off-guard, because I didn’t understand what decision I apparently made that he wasn’t fond of? And then he went on to describe how he didn’t know if I would ‘make it’ in the real world, because of how sensitive I was. And the reason he said that he hoped I’d be happy was because he didn’t think my happiness would last much longer. That I would have to wake up eventually.

But then I began to defend myself. I was happy. I don’t have regrets moving across state. And Max decided to give me the pep-talk of my life. I didn’t really earn my admittance, it was handed to me because I was in foster care. High school was easy, he’ll be proud of me when I graduate college.

Max was telling me my biggest achievement until that point was given to me out of pity. I couldn’t speak much more to him on that car ride, because I couldn’t believe my idol was telling me that. But not only that, but years later, it was always something. When will you get your license? And then, When will you get a car? When I gushed about my first job, it was ‘package processing at a fish factory? really?’ When I quit, it was ‘are you moving down here then?’ when I started at McDonalds, it was ‘are you going to do anything other than work at fast food?’ When I was promoted to manager, he switched it up with a GIF about a karen yelling at a MCD worker.

But those were all achievements. I never ever wanted to talk to him about mistakes I had made. I mentioned me thinking I needed an emotional support animal for my loneliness/depression. He said my landlord’ll be real pissed, and if I need something like that, just see a therapist. And I went out and got a letter and submitted it to our housing management. And our landowner was pissed. I understood the consequences if I went through with it. My cousins wanted to stay in their cushioned home, and I wanted out. I still want out. But I mentioned the situation without much weight to it. I knew what I had to do, and go make peace with the landowner.

Max made fun of me, and it hurt my feelings. Years of ridicule and griping about how I dressed, and after the hundreds of dollars I had given his wife to pay for their bills because he overspent on video games or whatever… It was the last straw. He and I barely spoke the last few years anyways, enough as enough. So, I told him I wasn’t interested in having a relationship with him because he is a toxic person. He said I was overreacting, but I still stand by my words. This was months ago. It felt liberating, to tell him that. For me to speak what I’d felt for years.

He was my favorite person as a kid, became a villain to flee as a teen, and now is merely a page in a blog he will only read when I am dead and there is no way for him try and make amends with his baby sister.