As Jeff drifts off to sleep in the room above mine to the sounds of the mix tapes his Phil Collins-loving girlfriends compile for him, I lay beneath him torn, beckoned by the outsider persona I wanted to identify with and enraptured with the person my brother seems to see in me, the person who is in it with him, the one who simply needs to dust herself off, hit reset, get in shape and become invested in cheering on a noble cause to join the ranks of the healthy and stable. I don't worry over his intentions. I don't consider whether he's trying to fashion me into something I'm not out of a sense of shame or rivalry. Upstairs on Jeff's boombox Lady in Red may be dancing away, shining so bright, but down here I've got one awkward foot stuck in the zone of wanting to make the spirit squad and the other in yearning for the courage to turn my back on the entire endeavor, be Sinead O'Connor.    →