I’ve written about my older brother and how although not professionally diagnosed, has Asperger’s.
Every time that I try to write about this subject, I hit delete.
I am by no means an authority on the subject, yet I want to write about my experience living and growing up with a brother who has AS.
My brother is 3.5 years older than me. As a child, we played a lot together. He is my only sibling.
Instead of playing house or ball, we would play- act out shows (that we created) and there were even seasons and cliffhangers. We went all the way to the 4th season when I decided to quit “the business”. Our show was called “The Inventor” and it was about a man who was a wacky successful inventor and his crazy family. He had 8 kids, all with different personalities and several eccentric relatives. I played ALL the characters, while my brother played John the inventor. I loved taking on all those roles.
My dream as a child was to be on SNL.
We were quirky in that way, and we shared a passion for television. TV always made it better. I guess when you have an absentee father, and a controlling mother, TV becomes your best friend in many ways.
My brother was my best friend for the first 6 years of my life.
He was SO SMART. I remember I could ask him anything and he would know the answer. He still is a super smart cookie. He finds interest in one topic (right now it’s the Roman Empire) and learns EVERYTHING about it.
My brother was always an introvert, while I was the extrovert.
I don’t know if I *knew* something was wrong with him. I just knew we weren’t alike.
When there would be holidays and family gatherings he would stick around for the first 15 minutes and then go to his room.
He was done.
This would piss off my mother SO badly.
I would always stay to entertain the troops (dinner guests). I loved being surrounded by people. I loved attention.
Last year’s Passover Seder: after about 30 minutes in, he went to his old bedroom in my parents house. My mother took him aside and said
” Why are you leaving, it’s not that the family is often together. Come out”
He refused.
She later came back to the table and announced that the 2 cups of wine had gotten to him and he went to sleep.
Always excuses mom.
What my mother doesn’t understand is that he will never change.
This is normal to him.
You CANT try to change someone was AS, it’s futile.
I wish I would have known all of this years ago instead of judging him and his behavior as selfish.
Today, I just feel bad.
For years, I never quite understood why he could sit and talk to me about himself for hours, without so much as asking or caring about what I had to say. I couldn’t carry on a 2 sided conversation with him.
I always wished that I had an older brother who fit into the mold of whatever that means.
A protective older brother.
A brother who looked out for me.
A brother who would come visit me more than once in the hospital while I lay in bed for 6 weeks uncertain if my unborn children would be ok.
Oh, and the one time he did come? He left early because he had a “date”.
I was so deeply hurt.
My mother made excuses.
The story of my life.
My mother always treated my brother with kid gloves.
Whatever he wanted, he got.
However he wanted to act, regardless of behavior was ok.
I was the one that was put down, and lashed out at because I was the “healthy child” (whether my parents were conscious of it or not). My brother always got preferential treatment.
And I loathed it.
I resented my parents.
I resented my brother.
I hated living int hat household.
It was just so unhealthy.
I couldn’t wait to grow up and leave.
I’m not one of those people who misses her childhood, that wishes she could just go back and be a kid again.
That saddens me.
I couldn’t wait to start my own family.
Couldnt wait to live my own life, separate from my family’s.
He looks up to me in so many ways. My opinion matters the world to him.
And I hate that responsibility.
When my brother at the age of 31 decided to finally move out of my parents home.. I was so happy for him. He was finally making his way. This was a MAJOR step for him.
But of course he was adamant.
He was adamant to move into MY building.
So he did.
And for the year before I left , he was my neighbor.
My parents were no doubt relieved that he would be close by, so that I could continue to take care of him.
FUCK THEM.
No way was I going to do that.
I made myself PERFECTLY clear.
I had two toddlers. I was not taking on a brother.
I did help him shop and decorate his apartment. Let me tell you, I made it nicer than my own!
But not once did I get a genuine thank you. He kind of EXPECTED my husband and I to help him.
There was a promise of dinner and a movie that never happened.
But that’s OK.
It’s horrible to feel bad for your sibling.
I wish him nothing but the best.
I just can’t be someone who takes care of him.
And coddles him.
As much as my mother wishes I did.
He is so extremley high functioning that sometimes I forget.
And then I get a dose of reality when his lack of empathy shines bright.
And I hurt.
I hurt for me.
I hurt for him.
I hurt for my parents.
I hurt when he starts dating a girl, only for her to realize 3 dates in that something is a bit off.
And then he gets his heart broken.
Because I love him.
He is my older brother after all.
Even if I am the big sister.
