My friends, this is going to be a post full of pure hatred. ..

My friends, this is going to be a post full of pure hatred. I sincerely hate my older brother. I can’t fathom how someone can grow up to be such a spineless, shameless creature who completely changes his personality depending on the woman he’s dating, while being such a vain attention-seeker who thrives on validation from incompetent people. It infuriates me that he went to a “gentle” kindergarten where he didn’t even want to leave because he felt so comfortable. Meanwhile, I was in a kindergarten where they wouldn’t let us go to the bathroom during nap time, and those who misbehaved were publicly humiliated by having their underwear pulled down in front of everyone.

He went to a regular school with project weeks, shorter days, lenient and kind teachers, where getting a grade of 6 (on a ten-point scale) was considered amazing. I, on the other hand, went to a school with 8 -9 lessons a day where teachers mocked you in front of the entire class if you got an 8. My brother did whatever he wanted—skipping classes, trying new hobbies, hanging out with friends, playing computer games. My every step was controlled by our parents. My free time was taken up by tutors hired to pull my grades from 8 to 9, and the rest of the time I did homework. I skipped school only once in 12 years.

Then my brother entered medical school, where students had endless chances to pass exams, and even there he managed to drink, do drugs, throw wild parties in the apartment our parents bought for us, and get married to his first wife, who also started living completely at our parents’ expense. Yet, he had the audacity to blame our parents for not giving him enough.

When I finished school, I also moved into that apartment, but it was a disaster—a literal trash heap. I couldn’t even live there and returned to my hometown, where I enrolled in biology. After my brother finally vacated the apartment, I moved in and entered the same medical school. By then, the university had become much stricter—only three attempts for each test, more material, and a much harder program. I dove into the material and got excellent results, all while dealing with the slow, painful death of my grandfather and my drug-addict father finding a new woman. All of it crushed me, and I ended up with clinical depression, even though I had never planned to take a break from my studies.

Now, I’m lying upstairs feeling bitter. I can hear SpongeBob blasting at full volume downstairs because my brother and his 1.5-year-old daughter showed up unannounced again. Neither my mom nor I have the nerve to just kick him out. Unfortunately, the men in my family have no sense of tact or ability to think ahead; they only care about themselves. My brother doesn’t consider that my mom worked all week—he doesn’t care. He’ll bring his kid whenever he wants, and if she dares to ask him to schedule visits in advance, he gets offended and starts a real drama. For context, this “man” is over 30 years old.

He destroys everything around him. The guest room where I usually take photos is trashed, and he doesn’t even have the decency to make the bed properly when he leaves. And as a doctor? He’s brilliant—he literally wrote on Instagram that he cured his depression by plunging into cold water (I doubt someone without a brain can even have depression). Once, while talking to a patient on the phone, instead of answering her question about side effects, he said, “Well, life has side effects.”

This guy can barely name a couple of neurotransmitters, his first wife wrote his thesis for him, yet he’s a wildly popular doctor. Why? Because he’s a tall, well-built man with a beard who spouts meaningless but grandiose statements. WTF?

I usually try not to think about this, but still—how? Call me hysterical or jealous if you want—this is my page, and I have every right—but he doesn’t deserve anything he has. His success is a mix of luck, good timing, people who carried him, and pathological narcissism. Meanwhile, I work so hard, and my achievements feel like tiny steps forward. Most of the time, I crumble under the weight of how much I do and how much I care about doing it well and qualitatively.

I know none of this makes sense, and the world often forgives negligence in favor of attractive traits, but I can’t help it. I envy my brother. I wish I could be like him. I wish I could feel 100% confident in any idiotic thing I say. I wish I could believe the world owes me everything. I wish I could throw tantrums and guilt-trip people for not giving me what I want.

That’s the recipe for success.

Why am I not like that? Why am I the failure?