Reflections from the Abyss

He has always burned brighter than me. From the moment we met, he moved through the world with the kind of self-assurance that made people follow him without question. He didn’t doubt, didn’t hesitate. He saw what he wanted and took it—jobs, admiration, attention, success. I watched him do it again and again. And I told myself I admired him. But admiration, in my world, is never clean. Because the truth is, I didn’t just admire him. I wanted to be him. Every morning, I watched him wake up with purpose while I curled deeper into my own inertia. He’d sip his coffee and rattle off plans and goals while I sat there, nodding, smiling, proud. Proud and furious. Jealous. Sickened by my own passivity. But I knew how to cope—I praised him. I lifted him, fed him compliments, encouragements, affirmations. I became his mirror, polished and obedient. I made sure he never saw the decay behind the smile. Because if he was admired, and I was close to him, then I mattered too. If he succeeded, I felt e...