My brother is the type of person that sits on the edge of his seat and peppers you with hope as you speak.

He has a special way with words that makes you feel understood, heard, special and this is not just seen in person but carries over to his overcomers blog as well.

But when I look at my brother my eyes drift from his beaming smile to his empty eyes that are alarming, struggling, and dark, and I look at this kid that I have known my whole life, I don’t recognize him

I feel him slowly slipping away as the hospital visits frequent and there is no trace left of him in the house except for his cold room. His untouched bed and his yellow sticky notes, placed carefully on his bedroom door with reasons to stay alive.

My brother has my grandfather's nose, my mothers heart of pure gold and his ancestors' mind.

A mind that changes the lense he views life with and plagues his thoughts. A mind that tricks him into manic episodes and
oh no, the room is spinning
1,2,3,4.1,2,3,4.
4 counts in, 4 counts out. He sees a paramedic, he hears beeping, and he feels his heart rate slow down

Now here I am, writing this at his grave and religiously taking my meds so that my mind doesn't take over me next.