It's almost been a year since my brother died. And I am having trouble grasping that it still actually happened. Sometimes I wake up, words on the tip of my tongue that I want to go share with him, only to realize he is no longer there. That he will never be here again. When he died, half of me died too, I think. I used to be braver. Now, I'm not so brave.

He was older than me by a little less than a year. He was my best friend. He was the one who named me, his name was my first word. As we grew, nothing changed. Where he went, I would follow. I learned so much from him. I learned to love the world, to love myself. During my first panic attack he didn't run away scared. He reached out his hand for mine and sat there with me until I calmed down.

The day he died, I woke up to hearing my mom yell to a paramedic "HE IS MENTALLY ILL". He was already dead. He was already gone. The last glimpse I had of him was when I waved goodnight to him. I didn't even say it. He just smiled like he knew he wouldn't be here that much longer. And he was happy with the time he had.

I feel like I am never going to recover. Days and weeks will pass where I am numb to everything. I don't feel any affections that people offer. I feel like I am suffocating and that I am being dragged behind this reality I am too scared to be apart of. How do I live without him now? How do I accept that I am going to grow older than my brother? In August I will have out lived my brother. My big brother. And that's terrifying.

I can't bear the thought of it. I don't know how to handle it. I just feel like I am imploding and I can't catch those pieces of myself anymore. I struggle to see beauty now. I struggle to see the point in relationships, in love. I struggle just to live. I am just so scared and so alone now. I wish it never happened. I wish I would have said "goodnight".