I'm about to emotionally implode. I find myself so angry that I actually had to take thirty minutes for myself before writing this post. 

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This stream of thought could go on for so long. Sorry if it's all jumbled or I don't go into enough detail. I need to get some thoughts out.

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My whole life, I've wanted nothing more than to have an older brother. By "have" an older brother I mean have someone there to talk to, be supported by, learn from, etc. By this definition I've never had an older brother. Just someone that happens to be three years older than me living under the same roof under the title of "older brother. As a young anxious kid, he only fed to my neuroses, bullied me (physically and psychologically), and made me feel generally worthless. I don't believe I was destined to develop BPD but I believe he and my parents were heavy contributors. 

Often, not always intentionally, my parents were no better (minus the physical abuse). This has reached a breaking point and I can't believe I'm saying this out loud but it's true: I find myself wishing my "older brother" was dead in the most heated of emotional moments. I catch myself indifferent to imaginary images of him falling to his death or hurting himself. Completely numb. Until this previous summer, I've never felt this way. But I've taken on way too many burdens and I'm beginning to break. I'm sick of being told I'm a manipulative "piece of shit" who's out to "crusade against" his family. I'm often told that I'm a shit brother to Alden -- relentlessly. Despite evidence to the contrary (i.e. being told by Alden that I'm the *only one that understands him and really hears what he's saying).* My mind is racing even as I type this. After my latest spout with family, I told them I didn't want to celebrate Christmas with them or partake in any family activities again. I've run out of patience. **How much can one person bear?**

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When my little brother was born in 2001, I vowed to always be there for him. I wanted to be the older brother \*I\* longed for. I will never forget that day, September 26th, 2001...looking at my baby brother, thinking of all the emotional support I'd be able to offer him one day when he needed it, the love I already held for him -- looking at him for what was only the first time. 

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The relationship I've had with my "older brother" -- lets' call him Jason, due to his scary obsession with violent movies, video games and crazed serial killers in general -- has spiraled into chaos over the past few years. Over the summer, he went on a drunken rampage in which he verbally assaulted one of my close female friends while we were simply sitting in my room. Called her a cunt and told her to leave my house...I'll never get his tone and volume out of my head. My ears hurt physically from how loud he yelled. Over and over. All out of this bizarre, delusional jealousy. He didn't even know her. But she was one of my closest friends, in one of the most emotionally trying moments of my life. And he took that away from me. The next morning he profusely apologized, threatened to kill himself from guilt, same old same old. Blank apologies only aimed to make me feel like I did something wrong. He knows how to appeal to my better nature and I was, for some reason or another, still there to talk to him about what happened. As for me and the girl... we drifted apart, unfortunately. She was scared to even come over to my home. The thought of this makes my eyes well up with tears....Again, these stories are so cut down and I apologize. But they're already hurtful to recall as it is.

Sometimes I find myself in the midst of intense panic attacks, beginning to ask: **"What would you all care if I was gone?"**

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I don't really know what I'm asking for. Insight? Anything. Feel free to ask me questions as they come to you. I just needed to vent. But I need someone, something, to tell me I'm not crazy. 

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