Mar. 22nd, 2017

officemonkey: field (Default)
I should have written this yesterday, but my body took the opportunity to remind me who's *really* in charge here and I was laid low for the day. One more in the series of learning to write by writing about my life. 

Yesterday was my brother's birthday. He would be 43 this year.

If I knew where the fuck he was.

See, around abouts 19 years ago, my brother went and did something monumentally stupid. What it was, not really important. It wasn't cruel, wasn't evil - just Stupid. Capital-S Stupid. Hold my beer Stupid. He got caught, got spooked at the prospect of going (back) to jail, and took to the road. Showed up at my place one night, had a really long and strange conversation with me about how he was concerned about *my* life choices, then just left. If I'd known at the time, I might have recognized the paranoid, disjointed beginnings of schizophrenia rooting themselves in his mind. I might have stopped him or called the cops or something. But I was also young and stupid, did not see such things - just a brother that was scared and bitching out on me when I needed him most. I never saw him again. 

Over the years my attitude towards the whole thing, towards him, has changed many times. I've been through denial, I've been through anger - a few times - bargaining, depression. Back to anger. Depression again. Little bit of bargaining just to shake things up. Took a short stop-over in "am i losing it? did he ever exist in the first place?" on my way back around to - you guessed it - anger. 

Wondering when I'll ever get to acceptance. If 

Wondering when I'll stop watching people on the street and wondering if that guy might look just enough like you to warrant going up and talking to him. Asking to see his shoulder. Checking for the tattoo - at least the one I know about. 

Wondering when I'll stop seeing this date on the calendar and idly googling his name, diving for clues about what might have happened. Drifting across missing persons and found corpses websites. Wondering when I'll finally get to "it happened, he was here, now he's not and I'm ok with that." 

No - fuck that. 

Hey, asshole. Yeah, you. Turn yourself in. Stop killing me slowly. Either walk into a police precinct and turn yourself in or finally float to the top of the river you got dumped in. Just - stop being nowhere. Be somewhere. 

I'll take the corpse if that's all I get. I'll take the dusty bones, the crushed leftovers of your life. Whatever there is, I'll take it. 

You owe me this much. 







officemonkey: field (Default)

March 2017

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