The anniversary of my brothers death is approaching. I moved into his room after he died. I left most of things alone (his books, guitars, furniture) but I moved some of my stuff in (my books, clothes, notebooks, decorations). I keep looking at the date and time and I try to fathom what he was doing in his final days. And then I felt disgusting. I feel like I erased him.

I ripped up a bunch of my notebooks. I ripped up a load of my books. Broke decorations, tore up clothes. I feel like I need to rid of myself here. This was never my space.

I am depersonalizing so badly. None of this feels real. No one came when they heard the noise. I'm just too alone.