Self Piteous, ignore at a later date.

My brother is being better- he cleaned the house. He is making attempts at conversation. I hate what he did, and I don't think that he will change, so sorry is useless, and I hate what he is doing now, acting as if it never happened and getting me back on his side. I'm not on his side. I'm so angry about what he is doing. I want him to leave me well alone, or make more amends than cleaning the kitchen which is a daily job for me, done with far more vigour than he ever has. And he expects a commendation. Or a friendly word. I'll give him either when he stops shitting all over me and doing exactly what he likes without caring what I think. I couldn't care less about him.

That isn't really true, because I do care. I just can't let this go when he doesn't realise how much it's angered and annoyed me, and when he acts like this. Like he's served penance.

He had three people for a sleepover when I said he could have two, when I was working the next day and I thought three would be too noisy. Two was a compromise. But in these situations, he always oversteps the mark, and he never suffers for it. Tonight he bought another friend back. He asked me if he could. I should have said 'No'. Or 'Do you care what I think? You'll screw me over either way. You absolute shit'. Instead I said yes OK. Sometimes I just detest the passive aggressive, vindictive and spineless person that I am. Who would want me? No wonder it's noone. No wonder everyone flocks to him, the wunderkind, musical and gifted with all his wonderful friends. He isn't manipulative or unkind or strange, or spiteful. Those are my adjectives. I think they suit him too, but everyone tells me different. He's just a boy, that's from grandparents. There's always an illicit understanding that he is to be allowed certain things because he's male. I think it's infected my parents. That, or I simply didn't push the boundaries and I could have been every bit as rebellious as he was, had I had the chance or the friends.

He is just better than me.

I hate feeling like I don't measure up. But it's more and more frequent. I feel like I've wasted time and gotten nowhere and I'm not socially up to the mark, and I'm no aesthetic prize.

I just want to vomit, when I type things like this I have a lump in my throat. I've tried to be so good, at it all, I've tried so hard to measure up.

And I don't. Mediocrity is far worse than a failing.

I detest being blasted out of the water by a younger better model. Who'd have thought that I'd be writing this a decade and a half after I first felt it.