I've learned to hold myself since my brother was diagnosed. I was eight years old. The world suddenly wasn't the rainbow I expected. My parents fought endlessly, my mother screaming and her nails digging into the back of my father. My brother swayed silently in his crib, an expressionless face, his eyes blank. I hid in my room, under the sheets, imagining myself far, far away. I remember packing my backpack and being ready to venture out of my complicated home, but I saw my brother cry. I saw my mom with her eyes red and my father with his broken heart. I changed my brothers heart, learned to give him a bath, make my own lunch. I held my brother in my small arms and let him hide with me when my parents fought. Looking in his eyes, I said I promise, I'll never let you go.I had a troubled home from the beginning. I learned when to keep silent, which became more and more often than I'd liked. I never asked for toys, except for the occassional ones I'd get at a birthday. I held inside me years of a surpressed little girl, who grew up to be awkward. I wasn't very popular in highschool, and often I created an imaginary facade to be what everyone expected me to be.I'm an adult now. I cry under my sheets still, this time 16,000 miles away from home. I always wished I could go away, and in a very bitter way, God gave me what I wanted.I wish I could explain what it's like living in a world which isn't your own. I can't explain how it hurts when I can't hold my brother when I need him. I can't explain what it is like to be a stranger in a world which isn't my own. I can't even tell you where I belong, because I don't know where I am.

1 Comment
  1. ancientgeekcrone 9 years ago

     I am truly sorry. It sounds bad indeed.

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