Friday 7th

Is it bad that I don't feel like I'm strong enough to deal with everything that went on?

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Sunday 2nd

Hey.

I saw a photo of our brothers yesterday. I guess they're both older than you were now huh..
They look like you.







Who ever thought I'd be giving advice to someone about grieving?
I guess because I didn't do it right I have some idea of what people should be doing to help themselves.

I always heard "there's no right or wrong way to grieve".
That's not correct. There is a wrong way.
To feel like everything is your fault.
To feel like you can't talk to anyone about what you're going through because it'll look like you're weak -and you've had it hammered into you all your life not to show any weakness.
To feel like you can't talk to anyone about what you're going through because they're dealing with stuff too.
To lock it up and never address it. It only comes up to stab you in the heart and then you push it down again.
To not demand the same support network everyone else has -you have a right to be helped and not go through it alone.

That is the wrong way to grieve.

I tell people to sit down and have long talks with the people in their life.
If there are people going through the same thing as them and treating them badly, I tell them that they don't mean it. They are trying to process it too. They need help too.

Do I believe my own words?
Well I certainly place hope in them.
I hope that our family treated me the way they did when you were sick and after you were gone because they were angry and upset about what happened to you.

They shouldn't have done it. At all, but especially because I was young, and I had done so much for you and our parents and brothers, and even our extended family at times.

While you were in the hospital the first time, I spent a lot of time alone -there was never anybody home.
Do you remember when you came home but you were still hooked up to the machine? I wasn't allowed to close the window between my room and yours so that I could hear if your tubes got blocked and the alarm went off.
I was, what, eleven?
But I guess I shouldn't complain, right? At least when you were home there were people in the house and meals were made. I didn't have to go to the supermarket by myself anymore.

When you were in hospital the second time I basically had a parent role. While trying to sort out the fact that you were sick again when you were totally clear of relapse. While trying to study. At sixteen.

Before you were taken off life support, and after you were gone. Staying tough so that our parents hearts wouldn't break any further and so our other brothers had something strong to hold onto.

In the process I became invisible. I was forgotten.
I was the punching bag in the basement.
Our family came and found me when they needed to get their feelings out.
None of them ever asked if I was ok. None of them ever sat down to talk with me -except I guess that one time when they told me I should stop taking my anti depressants and that what was going on was nothing to do with me and I should stop trying to get attention (attention = taking antidepressants apparently).
None of them ever apologised for the things they'd said to me.

I can't sit back and let someone end up like me.

I don't like that so many of the important lessons I've learned are because I've been treated the wrong way. I know the things not to do.

We need to teach people the right things to do.



Our brothers are getting older. I don't know what to do with that. You never did. You just disappeared.
I see you in them.
I don't know if I can ever say that to our mum. She probably sees you too.

It's too late to fix everything for me now. There's a piece I can never get back now. I can only try and put it all behind me.

But if I can help someone fix what's going on before it's too late... I'll relive it as many times as it takes so that other people, even complete strangers, don't have to.

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Monday 13th

Maybe it's because I'm sick, brother.. it usually takes longer than this for me to break down.

...

I'm still in CanTeen, brother. I go to the odd thing now and then.
When you had the septic shock, there was so much going on for them as well, and I was left behind by everybody.
I still feel angry and upset about that. For several years I don't think I went to anything.
I didn't feel like anyone cared. Like anyone wanted to care.
Did anyone know what had happened? How it all happened?
Surely if they did they would've made more of an effort, right?
But what if they did know and just didn't bother?
Did I just slip through the cracks?
One of those people again.

Anyway.
They have this programme called "REAL". It's supposed to help you "to be Rejuventated, feel Empowered, gain Awareness, and Let Go."
I thought it was maybe something I should go on.
I have one year left. I am trying to get my shit together.
..But I don't want to talk to anyone about you.
They don't know you. They don't know anything about you.
They don't know what happened. What it was like. All of it.

I tried a couple of times years ago, you know?
It's like a stab in the heart when you tell a professional your life and they say things that you make feel even worse about what happened.
Not things like it was your fault or whatever, but.. like they're in disbelief that these things could've happened to you. That you were burdened with these things when nobody should be -let alone at the age you were forced to carry things.

You getting sick wasn't right. You getting sick twice wasn't right. You going into septic shock after you had beaten the cancer again was not right. You getting sick in that hospital past the point of return was not right.
Me being left alone at the age of ten was not right. Nor was learning to cook noodles by myself on the stove because I was sick of sandwiches. Waking up to an empty house before school, and coming home to one. Biking across town to buy groceries. Dealing with my own illnesses.
Me being second mother at sixteen was not right. Having to drop my education to take care of our brothers. Being neglected again. Slipping through all of the cracks. Not getting any help.
Coming home to an empty house after a series of mysterious texts. The neighbour telling me that everybody had left and flown up north. Nobody telling me what was going on. Nobody trying to get me up there too.
Signing up to a new school by myself, at sixteen. Having to tell the principal that I don't know when my parents will be back, I don't know when they can sign the form.
...Having to carry the entire family. Having to look after my cousins like it wasn't all killing me inside.
.......getting that stupid group text on my birthday. Saying you were gone.
Abuse from my family. Being made to feel like it was my fault. Hearing that it should have been me.
It isn't right that certain people that should know exactly what happened still don't realise.. and still don't realise how it affected me.

It isn't right that people expect me to be over it by now.

I think I need to go to this thing. I am sick of crying for you all of the time, brother.
Me crying for you less does not mean I love you less. Does not mean I miss you less.
I can't keep having all of this sitting on my shoulders and weighing me down.
It's not you weighing me down, it's the experience. It was a really really shitty one.
Everyone had this massive support network supporting them except me.
There was only one person on my side, and unfortunately she alone wasn't enough to pull me out of the giant hole I found myself in, so I let go and fell further in.

Apart from the fact that I dont want to talk to people about you, where it's held is also where your funeral was, brother.
The psychologist I saw for my anxiety would probably tell me it's the perfect place to address my issues haha!
But I'm not sure I could deal with two days out there on my own without M and without my things. My comfort zone. It's a long way out. I wouldn't be able to just go back if I had a breakdown.

I don't know what to do, brother.
If our parents were still here I would ask them to take me in and bring me back at the start and end of each day.
I feel like I could cope with that.
But they're not. I don't know who else realises that it's important enough that it'd be worth doing.

I don't want to forget you, I never will, I just want to not feel the effects from what happened every day.

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Sunday 5th

I went to the market yesterday, brother.
My allergies are slowly but surely getting worse. Adding more things to the list every month it seems!

I almost cried before sleep the night before again. I like to try to not give in to it.
I had started thinking about the market, because of course I can't go and do anything without my mind picking it to pieces beforehand.. of course within a short time I arrived at the thought about you missing out on things like the market.

Would you have gone to the market? Or would you sleep in every Saturday and refuse to rise until noon?
You would be 18 now. And it'll be seven years in less than two months. When I turn another year older, it'll be another year. Seven years. It doesn't seem like it's been that long.

Would you have stayed here, or would you have moved back to our home town with our parents and brothers?
Would you be flatting? Would you be dating someone? Would you go to lots of parties?

I'm sure you'd have lots of people around you.

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