the opposite of sibling rivalry

My brother and I have always got along pretty well. Part of this is because I'm eight years older than him. We've never been in the same school at the same time. Our interests, while often being similar, have diverged enough that we were never fighting over the same material resources, other than one or two huge exceptions. So, instead of having a competitive relationship with my little brother, it has been something more protective.

In a lot of ways, I feel like I'm the person who best knows my brother in all the world. When he was young, I spent lots and lots of time with him, somehow never getting bored with his childish company. I delighted in his mental growth, especially when he grew in ways that were congruent to my own interests. As he grew, I introduced him to my favourite book series, I encouraged him to write recreationally, I shared with him my favourite tv shows. And for the most part, we've grown together really well.

There's only one minor problem. he's better than I am. At almost everything. it's hard enough to have a perfect older brother when you are not yourself perfect. When you are disappointed and dissatisfied with your own life. It is harder still when the brother is younger than you. You can't tell yourself his perfection is something you could grow into because you're older than him. And yes, I know he's not perfect. Put away your platitudes. Sometimes, though, he does feel a little too much so. My brother is the type of person who, it seems, things always come easy to. I was never very good in school. While I loved learning, I never got the grades that would keep my parents happy. From the moment my little brother started school, he excelled. He excelled through elementary and high school and I have no doubt he will excel in university as well. And he's always been better at fitting in socially than I could ever be. I spent most of my childhood and teen years alone and devoid of friends. somehow, even though at heart he is so much like me, my little brother has never had trouble making friends.

I love my little brother. I love that he can play the keyboard (the one which was supposed to be mine but they gave to him instead since he was so much better at it than I) and the guitar and that he taught himself  how to play them by ear. I used to make him listen to a song and then figure out how to play it, it was so much fun watching him unravel it. I love giving him books to read or games to play. I encourage him to be the best he can be at everything and, when he does well, his accomplishments warm me as if I had done them myself.

I love him incredibly. I only hate him a little. Mostly I hate myself. because it isn't his fault I'm a mess, just because he's not. It's not his fault that I'm directionless and alone and slightly pathetic. So I don't hate him for it. But it hurts because I wish he could look up to me but i don't feel as if it's something he would ever do.