I have always been proud of my family.
Being a Lloyd has made me who I am. The big family fun, and the sharing and fights between siblings. My upbringing has taught me to be patient, be kind and try to put others first, as much as I can.
It's such a strange feeling to love a member of your family but hate them at the same time.
My brother has always been the star. The athlete, the Olympian, the funny one, the cool older brother. I admired him, I wanted to be like him, I wanted people to know who he was.
I used to tell my friends stories of things he had done or said because I thought he was the coolest older brother ever and I was so lucky to have him as one of my siblings.
It's funny how over time everything can change.
My first instance of hating him was one night when I was seventeen. I went to a party with my friends and we got incredibly drunk – we couldn't handle our alcohol at that age – and we thought it would be fun to invite him and his friend to drink with us. In hindsight, it sounds like a recipe for disaster. But at the time I thought, there's no way this night could get better. My two friends wanted him there, older boys coming out with us was incredibly exciting. I wanted him there.
I woke up the next morning passed out on my bed with one of my brother's friends passed out next to me on my bed. I had no recollection of getting home.
In the room next to me, his room, I heard the noise of my best friend giggling. She came into my room and I went into his. "What went on last night I don't remember anything?" I asked, still half drunk, with a cut on my nose where I'd apparently hit it into a wall.
"I had sex with Bella last night", he said with half a smirk on his face, looking apologetic in a sheepish way rather than a truly sorry way. His friend turned around and said, "I had sex with Megan last night".
That was the first time I knew what it felt like to feel that no one cares about you at all.
Whilst I was drunkenly being sick and passing out in my room, my two best friends were losing their virginities to the coolest brother in the world and his disgusting friend.
I realised then that no one thought of me that whole evening.
To my friends it was fun to hang out with older boys. To my brother it was just a fun night of drinking. To me it was the worst night of my life.
I felt as though my innocence weakened that night. This was a slap in the face of the harshness of adulthood and I learnt that not everything was just fun and love.
I had never been kissed. Not soberly, anyway. I have never had the cute first kiss story, or first date or 'young love' experience, and that was just fine, I always had other things to fill that gap. I had a wall of great friends and a great family. But when something happens that takes this wall and rips it into confetti in front of your eyes, how are you supposed to keep strong?
Everything was bad for a year or so. I couldn't look at my best friend or my brother without feeling such a surge of anger that I felt sick. I lost the idolisation that I had felt my whole life. I felt that I was worthless, I couldn't focus in school, my self-confidence was the lowest it has ever been. I couldn't see him as a cool superstar any more, I saw him as a selfish, weak boy.
My second instance of hating him was dealing with the rumours and gossip about his reputation. Having sex with lots of girls is nothing to brag about really: but to him it was. He counts them, as if they are countries, and is proud of how many he has conquered. There's no love there, no respect.
I started to hear of people I knew who slept with him, or kissed him, or spoke to him. And I started to dread hearing any news about him. I didn't want to know that he had a threesome with a girl in my year. But I had to. Everyone talked about it. Everyone judged.
That is the hardest thing to deal with. Everyone knowing.
Every time I thought about the fact that people had these judgements about a member of my family I felt sick. I wondered to myself, does he not care about his reputation? Does he not mind that people think he is disgusting? That people think he has no shame?
I suppose they are right, he has no shame.
Nevertheless, I loved him. He was my brother, he was kind at heart and I knew he cared about me even if he did stupid things sometimes. I stuck up for him, I tried to show people that he was a good person. I told no one of how I felt about him because I wanted to keep my wall up, I wanted it to stop from crumbling in front of me. If my faith in my love for my family was unwavering, then I could withstand anything.
Then one day it happened. He did something so bad that I no longer felt that I knew him. That I understood him. That he had any humanity at all.
Slowly over the last few months my heart has been left open, and hate fills it slowly, like a bath filling with soapy water. Except there is nothing clean there. It is dark hate, dark resentment and dark shame.
I no longer want to stick up for him. I no longer want people to know that he is my family. I am no longer proud of him.
I dread that anyone finds out that he is my brother, I panic every time someone mentions his name. Having your personal life spread across newspapers and the knowledge that everyone has read it, leaves you feeling in a way that I cannot quite describe. It's embarrassment, shame, anger, hurt and grief all wrapped into one.
I didn't speak of it. I didn't talk to him about it. I didn't want to talk to him about it. He was warped into this selfish monster right in front of my eyes, and even if I wanted to forget it I couldn't. My Mum cried for a week, and my Dad came to me to talk but all I wanted to do was close my eyes and block it all out. I started to dread spending time at home, I did everything I could do make my days at university last longer.
It's funny the whole country had read about it, yet no one really knew anything.
And now everything he does is tainted. I am always on edge, waiting for him to do something else. Kick more bricks out of my wall with his selfish boots. Leave me with gaps that can no longer be filled with faith or hope or even just ignorance. I can no longer hide from it. I can no longer pretend that he is someone he is not.
Why should I? He doesn't care about us at all. He doesn't care about how everything he does now leaves us worried or upset. He has wrecked our family and he just doesn't care. He is so selfish it blinds me.
So yes, I know what it feels like to hate someone that you should love. And it's messy, and confusing, and upsetting. And I hate every second that I hate him, but I can't stop it any more. My childish expectations of goodness have been shattered and that's taught me a lot.
I focus on myself. I study. I will have a successful career as a solicitor, and I won't do anything to mess it up. I will make my parents proud. I will do everything I can to salvage what is left.
Maybe I'm hoping that posting this online will be a form of therapy. That it will help me feel better. That someone knows about my feelings, that someone cares how I feel.
Maybe I just want someone to understand.