It's raining today. It's been almost two years since I've moved to a different state. Arizona's a whole new kind of experience. I'm not sad I'm here. I'm bummed I don't get to see my friends as often anymore, if at all. Family is all I see but at least now I'm seeing them more than ever. All it took was uprooting ourselves and moving over 300 miles away just to be within 20 minutes driving distance of each other.

Over the president's day weekend I went to Flagstaff for the snow. Absolutely worth it and breathtakingly beautiful. I went with my mom, my sister and her two kids, and, a surprising last minute addition due to his financial constraints, my brother too. We're already making plans to go next year.

My brother got shitfaced the first night, though. He likes to get philosophical, existential, nihilistic, all the fancy words when he's drunk. He told me he believes I could easily become a sociopath. He broke down when he told me he looked up to my father more so than his own. I think it bothered him that I didn't care about my dad as much as he did. I think it bothers him that I'm not angry or that I don't want to know more about him. Then he says he loves me.

But you called me a sociopath. You believed I would become a serial killer. You told me I would be the reason our family breaks apart because of my low tolerance for interacting with children.

I hate talking to him when he's drunk. I hate it so goddamned much. I'm never right since I'm so young, what I answers I do give he can write off with another meaningless question. Or even better, he laughs in my face. I told him before I don't like talking to him when he's drunk. He always has to ask why and never let it go.

I like to think I'm deeply intuitive. I self-reflect a lot. It's how I figured out how I would always play the victim card and how pointless it was to perpetuate it. It's how I figured out I'm not emotionally ready for intimate relationships. It's how I realized I may not being completely straight or even completely cis. There's something about my brother's introspective debates, however, that just evoke frustration and anxiety. He wants to get inside my head, to press my buttons, he's told me this himself. But if I start to express my anger or frustration with his incessant prodding, he back-peddles and says he's not trying to rile me up. And then I feel bad, which he says he doesn't want either.

How am I supposed to feel? I can only be true to myself and my feelings. Why must I adhere to your wants and needs so that you can feel vindicated, so that you don't have to worry about me becoming sociopathic, serial killing, family breaking scum?

I didn't mean for this to become a rant. I wanted to focus on all the positive things about the trip but I can see a portion of it is still leaving a sour taste in my mouth. The following morning I acted as though nothing happened. I think I was just prolonging the inevitable bitter rant I'm typing out now. It's a habit of mine, maybe a natural survival tactic or something. I put it off knowing that if I address it right then and there, I'll have an emotional breakdown. I let it stew for a while, or let it go long enough to dull the reaction, and then I spill it all on this. Speaking from experience, it's better than throwing things or screaming as I cry.

But I'm gonna try to end this positively. Mom and I drove through Sedona on our way back home. The contrast of the red rock against luscious green trees was dampened a bit by the snow but it was still gorgeous. The rock formations are absolutely unreal. The stone is such a beautiful color. Another trip there is definitely a must; pictures just don't do it justice.

I'm not going to dwell too long on what went on during the cabin trip that makes me unhappy. It'll just sour the whole experience for me. I'm not going to let him have that kind of power over me. But I'm going to think real hard about what my brother considers is love. If what he said to me, not just over the trip but over the course of several years, is what he genuinely feels then I don't think I can call that love. I don't know what I'd call it other than cruel.

I love my brother. I don't think he loves me the same way, if you could call it love. It must be why it hurts so much.

I'll be okay, though. I think I'm going to be okay.