Typing this has been rough. It's hard for me to put down the bottle for long enough to focus. The way the glass presses against my lips is the only thing that comforts me anymore. I need the courage to write my thoughts down, and it doesn't matter what the source of that courage is.

For five minutes and twenty-eight seconds, my brother's heart stopped. That's what the doctors told me, anyway. It was a miracle they were able to resuscitate him at all. I remember the glimmer of hope sparkling within me as I heard the news. That feeling sunk beneath the depths of my stomach, however, and was replaced with guilt. I was the reason he almost died... what would he think of me? Would he understand that it was just an accident? How could he forgive me if I couldn't even forgive myself?

What a fucking joke.

Ultimately I don't know if he forgave me or not. I suppose at this point, it doesn't matter. When I saw him again for the first time since the incident, he didn't say a word to me. His lips never moved once. In fact, neither did his face. He had this... blank stare about him. It was as if he simply saw through everything he looked in the direction of.

I take a swig of my drink.

Occasionally, I would catch him talking to himself. From what I could tell, his words were mostly an incoherent jumble of noise. All that I could derive from what he was saying, was that he "missed" something. What this thing was, I did not know. More importantly, I didn't know where my brother went. It was like he was an entirely different person. I missed his smile. I missed his laughs. I missed his dumbass pranks. I missed my brother.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

Another swig. I need to keep it together.

He often wouldn't come out of his room. When I did go to check on him, I would simply find him slouched over on his bed, murmuring to himself. Other times he would simply sit in a fetal position in his room, rocking back and forth while staring ahead at the blank wall coated in white paint.

Another swig.

His eyes were as lifeless as they appeared while he laid unconscious on the beach. He ate. He slept. He drank. More than anything, he rambled on and on to himself about... about nonsense.

Another swig.

The embrace of the liquor provides me with the warmth I've missed. A white capsule bottle sits beside me. I keep reading the label on it over and over. It's so distracting.

There was a night that I remember. There was so much ear peircing screaming

Another swig.

I burst into hims room to find him clawing at his face. His nails were tearing into his ownskin. He was screaming so god damn much, but those eyes... those eyes remained soulless even as he duginto his own flesh.

Antothr swig

he stood there and just screamed and screamed and fucking screamed and he fucking screamed and just stared at me and would not stop staring at me while he screamed.

anthrr fucking swig

he bashedhis his god damn faceinto th fuckng wall so much and his screams stopped when he collapssed and godthere was so much fucking blood coating his faceandfinger s and

another swi

god this shit. Is almost fucking empty

the only tjing he left was a paper

"I need to goback." it read

its empty. The glass is empty. both of the bottles are empty.

five minutes and twtny eight fuckin second

what the fck did he see. what did yousee james? Whatdidyou seethat made you likethat. whatmade you so desprte to leav this world. whatmade you break when youcame back to us

i want to see it too james. I wanttoseeitwithyou