The older brother I never had

So it looks like the era of 1180 is over for me. My roommate / former bandmate who holds the agreement for the room we were in just took back his keys and destroyed the band. I don’t know what he expected to gain from this move, but I think I’m soon going to need to find another apartment and move in the winter again! My emotional reaction to the news was, well, emotional and pretty full of rage and anger as he destroyed something I’d been investing a lot of time and money in.

He criticizies me far too much and has for a very long time now. I realize I need to get myself away from this guy. I must question his mental health on this one, especially since we’ve been like brothers and roommates through three apartments and ten years! The main reason that I’d channeled my artistry in a musical direction was because he wanted a band. Other friends have noticed this and have been telling me to get rid of him for quite some time now.

For several years I defended him. He was the older brother I’d never had. Neither of our actual families could understand this. I’m pretty sure that some of my relatives and likely some of his thought it was some kind of sick homosexual relationship, and while it’s true that he often acts in a very feminine manner, it’s generally when it comes to being annoying/fighting/being irritatated. Insofar as I know, neither of us are gay. I don’t judge negatively against those who have made that choice, but it’s simply not me. I strongly believe in live and let live, but he doesn’t. Neither do many of my relatives. I can’t speak for his.

I know he trained as an actor. He was good as an actor too, but he had to struggle to get anything going and most people didn’t like his directatorial style. In fact, he was quite the totalitarian on set and like a cocker-spaniel puppy, I was his yes man. I realize now that this is how the other people in the group saw me and I also realize that that was a big part of why I didn’t get any through running it.

He uses his acting against me all the time. I believe he is mentally unstable and histrionic to boot. He’s always screaming at me, yelling at me, or brooding at me in a corner somewhere. If he had a bad day at work, suddenly it’s my fault and I get yelled at as if I were the person he was talking about. A few times I even caught him calling the other person by my name during the explanation of whatever it was that he didn’t like and I would get an earful whether or not I wanted it.

I make him sound abusive. Verbally he can be. At least I know he would never hit me outside a boxing ring. He also knows I might not win the fight, but if he fights against me, he will lose, whoever wins the fight.

Now, having said all of that, I know I will recover. As a musician, I admit that I really suckand should stick to painting, but at least I know what an “A chord” is!   Yesterday I was painting and my painting was too loud for him. I was in the soundproofed room, without music or anything, but the canvas hitting the wall as I ran the brushes over it.

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  • A very bold entry. I’m sure this took a lot of swallowing of inhibitions and still holds much weight. I could easily imagine being in the same position and knowing that I have to get somehing off my chest even if it means driving a wedge between myself and someone I’m very close to. Just be aware that opinions on your musical talent are varied and wide-ranging; you might not identify yourself primarily as a musician but your musical intuition surpasses that of many people I know who are sure of their calling. Just know what yours is; Alien AWOL is not the be-all and end-all of Laurence’s musical life.

  • Oh man, that must have taken a lot to write. Abusive relationships are just plain wrong, and it’s awesome that you recognize it. No one deserves to be yelled at for anything, ESPECIALLY someone who calls themselves your friend. That guy sounds like he looks forward to having something to put you down with (umm, you’re painting too loud?!?!) You weren’t put on this earth to be someone’s lap-dog.

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