Oh Brother, Where Art Thou?

As some of you may know, I have a younger brother.  He is two-and-a-half years my junior and graduated from high school just last June.  I doubt he reads my blog, so I'm going to say a lot of honest things about him in this post.

Growing up, it was clear that my parents treated my brother and I differently.  I tended to get more praise -- I did well in school, I behaved well, so on.  My brother, meanwhile, got away with more things (for example, he could punch me, bite me, and pull my hair and it was no big deal; the moment I laid a finger on him it was game over) and got to do things at an earlier age than I did (watch The Godfather, for instance).  I don't know if this is part of what made us so different now, but I suspect it is.

When I went home for spring break my freshman year, about halfway through we discovered that my brother was a smoker.  I've said this many times and I will repeat it: I do not have anything personal against smokers; it annoys me to to no end when they throw cigarettes on the ground or smoke right outside a door (especially a restaurant -- I just ate, please don't smoke right there, it's gross), but I don't dislike them just because they are smokers.  My aunt, one of my favorite people, was a smoker.  My psychology professor, who I really like, is a smoker.

In any case, we (that is, Mom, Dad, and I) found out he was a smoker.  He'd been smoking for two years or so at that point (meaning that he began when he was fourteen).  I was absolutely devastated.  Smoking had a large hand in two of my grandparents' deaths, and was an unhelpful factor in my aunt's death at age thirty-nine.  I felt betrayed and angry.  I felt like my brother was being selfish.  I did research and found, unsurprisingly that people who have an existing anxiety disorder (like myself) can be further irritated and made more anxious by the presence of cigarette smoke or the smell.  My brother did not care.

He told us he quit and, based on his irritable attitude, it seemed he had.  But he hadn't.  I found out over Christmas that he had, in fact, never stopped.  He had also originally told us that he didn't smoke very frequently, just on occasion.  This, also, was not true.  He had been smoking about half a pack a day.  Given how much money he blew right after receiving his paycheck, I wasn't surprised.  But over Christmas, after a huge fight, (or, while trying to solve that fight), I tried really, really hard to use everything I had learned as an RA to have a heart-to-heart with my brother.  It seemed to work and, frustrated with my parents, he said he was willing to have a mediated discussion with them.  It never happened -- he would say it wasn't a good time every time I brought it up.

Recently he's been dating a girl with whom he's been close friends for a while.  There seems to be a lot of anger and drama in their relationship, though I only know what he posts on Facebook.  My brother tends to use Facebook as a venting service or a diary.  He posts long rants about whoever is "mistreating" him that day and typically ends the post with "hmu" or "dhmu" (hit me up, don't hit me up).  Today, he posted a really angry status that was written in a way that was unclear and misleading.  The way I (and others) read it was that he had been arrested for punching someone and was also on drugs.  I texted him to find out what was going on, and he got even angrier and defensive.  He was not on drugs, he told me, nor had he been arrested.

I don't know if I can believe him any more.  No matter how much I try to be there for him, he continues to lie to me.  He calls the "juggalo" group (that is, fans of Insane Clown Posse, other bands, and the bands themselves) his "family."  Yes, this is the family that turned him into someone I no longer recognize.  Someone I don't know I believe is related to me -- is my family.

I've tried so hard to be a good sister.  I realized recently that I do not know what it means to be a good sister.  Does it mean checking in with him?  Does it mean offering him advice?  Does it mean ignoring him and everything he does so he doesn't get angry when I ask him what's going on?

It's incredibly upsetting to know that the kid I shared a room with for twelve years is someone I no longer recognize and there's nothing I can do about it.  He turns to his friends and Facebook more than he ever comes to me or his parents, despite the fact that I've made it very clear that he can call me or text me anytime he needs someone.  He claims I won't understand, sometimes, but I don't see how that can be.  I'm hurt and he doesn't care.

Hi, my name is Abby, and I'm afraid I'm losing my brother.