Today was his birthday. He would have been 30. I have been thinking about him today. I wish that I could have made a difference, and that he could have realized that he did have options in life.

Just over a week ago, my T was telling me that my "pseudopsychosis" is not organic, and I'm not crazy. I could easily let go of my grip on reality if I chose to, but T says I couldn't stay there for long. Even though my brother was diagnosed schizophrenic, I don't think that his psychosis was any more organic than my own. He didn't have to be limited in life, the way he was. Mom wanted us all to be so impaired that we would always need her. I managed somehow to break free (sort of), but Brent didn't. She got to him, and convinced him that he had no future. She didn't mean for him to die, but she kept him from having a life of his own. He could have been helped, and nobody helped him. My T never met him, but she also said he probably could have recovered. He could have had the same choices in life that anyone does. But it is too late for him now.