The battle to the sky.

May or may not have graphic and triggering scenes, have not decided yet but will add a warning if one comes up.
This is the story of my life told by 18 year old me. Please think of this story as a living organism, constantly growing and changing just like me.

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1. 1.

I like to think I have a good life, I'm not starving in Africa, or being given up for adoption because of my gender in China, and I'm not in a war torn town in Syria, therefore realistically I have nothing to really complain about. There's always food in the fridge, I am not being stopped from having an education, and I always have shoes on my feet. Usually you'll find me with a smile of my face, being centre of attention and making everyone else laugh. But when I'm alone in my bed late at night I somehow find myself thinking about my life and all that's gone wrong in it. Most people see me and only find this beautifully constructed mask that I find myself wearing on a daily basis regardless of who's looking. When I take off the mask and I am alone with my thoughts I begin to think about all the horrific things that have happened to me despite being so lucky to live where I live. Am I allowed to be depressed when millions of people have to go without food? Am I allowed to cut the pain out of my legs when people are having theirs blown off in defence of their country? Am I allowed to be suicidal when there are people being told they have weeks to live? That's the thing with the human species, people will always have it worse than you, there will always be a person with a sadder story but that does not make your suffering any less painful or your struggle any less difficult, all it does is add guilt because you are feeling that way.

I don't particularly know where to start with my story, because if I start at the beginning I don't believe that tells the truth of my life, because I truly did have a good childhood, but as everyone knows, the clouds always cover the sky no matter how bright the sun is. So no matter how perfect my childhood was, it will always be tainted with bullies and the feeling of inadequacy.

My brother is severely autistic, so for me that's a pretty "normal" thing. It was always the case that James was different and that is okay. The temple Grandin quote "different not less" springs to mind, a quote that my family has forever lived by and something I have always wanted tattooed onto my inner wrist. For me, James has always been a glistening beacon of light in my life. I'd love to be able to say that I have never wavered from adoring my baby brother, but unfortunately I have had moments of Unfathomable jealously and hatred toward him, something I shall regret until the day I die. Growing up with a disabled brother has given me a unique perspective on life, it was kind of like growing up as an only child, because I was the only one who had to wash the dishes or tidy their room, yet I got lumped with the responsibility of a younger sibling. Now that I'm older I am filled with constant adoration for james. Who despite being 6 foot 1 and able to pick me up with one hand shall always be my baby brother. The only thing that bothers me slightly is that I have been burdened with the responsibility of caring for him. To be perfectly morbid, my parents will die. Which leaves me as his sole carer and provider, therefore my plans are not my own. My future is not my own, and as much as my parents want me to spread my wings and make my mark on the world, I will always be stuck in this small village in the English countryside, because I shall have to care for my brother. Which leaves me to be completely selfless for the rest of my life. When I was younger I think the hatred stemmed from feeling like I could never live up to the legacy of him, always living in the cold harsh shadows of someone who could never do wrong. Despite me understanding that james had different needs to me and required a lot more attention there was something my child's mind just could not grasp. I understood that james needed someone with him at all times, and that he had to be sang to sleep every night and that he would always get priority on the last doughnut, and I knew it was because of his autism, but I was always hurt when my parents played with James for hours but didn't want to play monopoly with me. I was always hurt when we would go to every performance at james' school but they would miss my dance show because of work. Now I understand, but at the time, the main obstacle between myself and my parents undivided attention was him. I drowned in the loneliness of the life of an only child but received none of the affection and adoration that should accompany it.

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