Incurable wounds

When they called me telling me that my brother had died, I went blank, I didn't understand what had happened, a part of me wanted to believe it was a lie, but seeing him in the coffin with that pale face and that motionless body made me know that it was true. . Since he died my mind never understood him because he cried inconsolably every day. And still I feel in constant grief, in deep agony and in great despair. I am disappointed in myself and frustrated at the same time, because the cruelty with which they planned to take his life took my life too. Sometimes I couldn't cry because my body was worn out from doing it so much, so I blamed myself for “having forgotten so easily”.

I felt completely worthless and hopeless, I felt useless to be aware of everything that was happening to me and that no one or nothing could stop it. I felt guilty for feeling this way and for my mind torturing me in every possible way. I can't take it anymore, I'm tired of feeling like this but I can't stop it. I feel stupid for being aware of the hours of sleep that my body needs, but still not getting any sleep since I have the delusional idea that I will be able to recover my being, that my hands will be able to write even if it's a word.

I struggled with this all the time, I wanted to feel something more, to remember something else, I hated feeling empty all day, as if I lacked his presence, his hugs, his smile and his love. I didn't feel in control of my own body, I wished I was dead and I was ashamed to have those kinds of thoughts. I felt alone, I felt constant fear when I heard and saw things, and I hallucinated several nights due to lack of sleep. I spent hours crying and trembling lying on the floor without being able to ask for help, because I was drowning in agony.

I was immersed in my own sadness, in a weak and vulnerable being. I lost myself completely, I lost my dreams and hopes because I did not see anything good in the fact of living, life and routine weighed on me, all I wanted was a farewell, a hug from my brother to make me rest from all that pain but he knew that was impossible. His absence hurts me, I could not find joy in this world, I was no longer satisfied with writing, I no longer liked seeing myself in the mirror because I saw him, going for a walk did not clear my mind, I simply no longer found a reason to stay here .

I felt that it was too late, too late to protect him, help him, accompany him, or give him a hug and express my love to him, let him know that he was never alone, just as he did with me at some point. Today I continue to visit his grave and I continue to cry, because it hurts me to love him, it hurts me so much to have to leave some small flowers on a tombstone with his name, that lost being who seeks the comfort he needs, knowing that he it's not here anymore.