A Guide on How Not to Live Your Life

I despise you.

From the first second I caught hold of your screaming, whining tomato face, I knew you were a virus, a germ... something I had to get rid of. You were a parasite, draining the energy out of my parents while sucking out any and all attention that would've been directed towards me.

And I had to fix it. Like an exterminator, I had to get rid of the problem. YOU were the problem.

I remember the first time I told you I hated you. I was seven, and you were probably around 2 or 3 years old. I pulled your hair, and a singular strand popped out of your ugly shriveled scalp. I held it in my hands, a trophy, like Medusa's slivering head. I still have it, you know. A reminder of the small victories.

You screamed.
You screamed, you cried, telling mom I had hit you, punched you in the face, tried to break your arm. Your first lie. The first one directed toward me, at least. Who knew it would become pathological.

People told me it was normal, "sisters being sisters" they'd say. But just like the statement "boys being boys", this was no excuse for our relationship.

Because then, he was born.

And in that moment, I knew. I knew something about us just didn't fit, and something about me and him did.
He was everything. I had to protect him. I changed his diapers, cleaned his messes, cried and sobbed for days when I left him on the porch alone and he fell and hit his head. He was legally blind, too. I had to protect him, from this harsh world.

From monsters. Monsters like you.

You were only about four or five at the time, but I already knew how much of a problem you'd be. He needed to be safe from you. I did everything to get him to love me.
So why does he despise me, and beg you for your attention?

I want to be loved. I need love. I need him. You took everything from me. My parents, my family, friends. Him. You took my baby brother away.
I hate you. I hate your guts. I loathe you. You're the scum beneath my feet, and once I'm successful you'll be kissing my shoes, lying your ass off to get me to pity you.
You are the type of person who disgusts me.
Is it my fault you crave attention? You lie, and lie, and lie. You make fun of disabled kids, "they're so ugly it's cute" you'd say. You chew with your mouth open, like an elastic band snapping open and closed. You tell our parents- no, my parents, that I hit you. And yes, I would hit you, but you're a snitch so I've never gotten the chance to give you the punishment you truly deserve because you lie about everything. You treat people like shit. You're the type of person who made fun of me in elementary school. I hate you. I hate you, I hate you, I hate you, and death is not something I wish upon people often but not a tear would leave my eye if you dropped dead right here, right now.

You're ten years old, and I'm fifteen. You're only ten. Why? You're spoiled by my parents. Your fake laughs, your fake smiles, the baby voice you put on. You manipulate them, and I can do absolutely nothing about it.

I despise you, sister. I despise you.