I hoped that my parents would treat me better, now that their “golden child” was gone. I had always been the outcast, the one who never quite fit in. But now, with my brother gone, I was all they had left.
I was relieved when my brother died, though I never showed it. I was tired of living in his shadow, and I knew that his death would bring me more attention from my parents. I was wrong.
My parents were devastated. They mourned for days, and I felt guilty for not joining them. I wanted to cry and show my sorrow, but the tears wouldn’t come. I was ashamed of myself for not being able to mourn my brother’s death.
I tried to make up for it by being the perfect daughter. I did all of the chores around the house, I got good grades in school, and I was always on my best behavior. But nothing seemed to be enough. My parents still looked at me with disappointment in their eyes.
I was a monster for not mourning my brother’s death, and I felt like I was never going to be able to make it up to my parents. I wanted to be the daughter they wanted me to be, but it seemed like an impossible task. I was broken, and I didn’t know how to fix it.