Madness of Two- MorMor + Severich

come together, come apart

Sebastian told me about a time once when he and Severin were young, when they were playing tag near their pool (the Morans have always been rich. Sebby grew up in a mansion. Emotional wealth is another story all together). They were virtually indistinguishable when they were young: identical hair cuts, identical height, eyes, face, identical number of fingers, legs, their only scars being scuffs on their knees. Anyway, I digress. Seb was it, chasing after his brother with vigour, overexcited, as kids are, so when he finally caught up with Sev, the 'tap' was actually an almighty shove, sending Sev flying. He whacked his head on his plunge into the pool, an ominously quiet splash, according to Seb's memory. At first, he was convinced his brother was just pretending, as he floated there. So he laughed, told him to get back out. Then he started to sink, the water around his head clouding with blood.

As I hope you've guessed, Severin was okay. It was scary for both of them, but Seb jumped in and pulled his drowning brother out, screaming for help. It seems Sebastian is disproportionately practiced at thinking his brother is dead. That was number one, number two was their war experience, and number three was the heroin overdose. He told me that the first one was the worst because he was directly responsible, because if Sev had died, it would have been his push that had done it, however unintentional. Given mine and Richard's unusual experiences, I was in a unique position to know exactly how Sebastian felt. Now, it's easy to argue that maybe I don't, especially the first time, because I didn't stuff Richard full of drugs, I didn't slit his wrists, but there's something odd about being an older sibling when you have to step in as a parental figure because your parents are dead or you wish them to be, something that forces you to step in as a parent. There's something odd, by extension, about being a parental figure: you feel the weight of responsibility in relation to anything bad that happens to them. I should've prevented it. I should've been there to stop it happening. I should've looked after them better.

That was how it always was. Whenever Richard got hurt by someone, whenever our father gave him a black eye, whenever someone tripped him over at school, it was my fault because I didn't protect him. It got worse the older we got, the more power I gained, yet I was still powerless to protect him, especially from himself.

Once, when we were 12, we were walking along some cliffs on a beach. It was viciously windy, each particularly strong gust of wind sending us stumbling. The cliffs along the shoreline of Ireland aren't always the most stable, so one unfortunate footing decision and a blow of wind pushed him over. He was too shocked to scream, just wide eyes, arms flapping, teetering over the edge of a drop to certain death. It was a panicked instinct on my behalf- a hand shooting out, grabbing his, pulling him back towards me so we collapsed on one another- that stopped him from dying. Even though I did my job as a protective older brother that time, I still spent hundreds of sleepless nights imagining what would've happened if I'd failed, and every time he got hurt, I blamed myself, for not reaching out and grabbing his hand in time. My shining moment of doing some good for him was constantly overshadowed by my many other failures. It's enough to make me want to shoot myself, only that would leave him alone, and who would be there to at least try to grab his hand? At least if I'm here, there's a chance. A slim one, but there's a chance. And I live for that chance.

So much of my childhood was intertwined with Rich. It was always him. I think everyone believes your soulmate has to be the person you fall in love and marry, have kids with, grow old and die together. Sometimes, your soulmate is the person you shared a womb with, shared trauma with, shared nightmares, fears, tears, and hurt with. Most of the time I wonder if I'm alive for myself at all, because the only reason I do anything is to protect him. In that sense, Rich has done a much better job at keeping me alive that I have of doing the same for him. I hope he knows I try. I hope somebody knows how hard I try. It's just never enough. Is that my fault? I'd say yes. I've never gotten a second opinion, because there's no one else to ask. I can't ask Sebby; he's wonderful, but telling him about what it was like growing up, how much I worry about Richard, would be betraying Richie. I'd be divulging his darkest secrets to someone. I could never do that to him. So yes, it's my fault, and no one can tell me otherwise because no one else knows shit about what we've been through. Sorry, Tiger, I know how badly you want to know what's going on in my head, how you want to help, but I can never let you know. That doesn't mean I love you any less. I just love my brother more.