Originally Posted: November 12, 2015
He was supposed to be my brother, you know. We shared a womb and I’ve never known a life without him. I was hoping he’d be my best friend forever. I think everyone was expecting him to be. Clearly, he wasn’t.
It took me a very long time to admit that he wasn’t just—you know—strange. Finally, I had to admit to myself that he was properly evil. I didn’t want to admit that I knew the truth…that he had killed, that he would kill again. It took me too long to admit that he had to be stopped.
And even still, I can’t do it. I can help them, I can give them information and point them in the right direction—but I can’t face my brother myself. It’s too hard to look him in the eye and think that I should kill him—that he should die. Because my heart still wants him to live. My heart still wants me to figure out what’s wrong and fix him, to make him right again.
But my head knows that isn’t possible. There is no fixing him—there is no redemption for the things that he’s done. He needs to die. I know that. I accept that. I have to come to terms with the inevitability of that. I will help in any way I can to make that become a reality.
But I can’t be the one to pull the trigger. I know that’s a weakness, but I’m not willing to overcome it. I can’t be the one to kill my brother. And I don’t think that is too much to ask.