The Day I Knew He Would Die
I was in an emergency room with electrodes hooked up all over my body. I was terrified. I thought I was dying. And it took EVERYTHING…every-fucking-thing to not lose my mind. When you believe you’re dying, your sanity is first to go. My heart was beating violently. I couldn’t breathe. I was crying inside, but I was silent. I didn’t want to die. I was boiling over with shame. I felt emasculated. My jaw was clamped so tight I thought I may break my teeth, but that’s what it took to remain stoic while every part of my being was falling apart. My vision was fuzzy and my brain was pulsating. Breath…breathe Brad…just breathe…just fucking breathe! Overwhelmed, confused, almost wanting to die. The lights were blinding and the noises were brutally loud. I was crawling out of my skin.
This was the night I knew my younger brother was going to die. My body was keeping score and decided to fight back. I was compartmentalizing a fear that no brother should feel. I was playing a game that I didn’t know the rules to. I was living in hell and didn’t know it. My life would never be the same. Everything changed, and almost all of it for the worse. I was entering a downward spiral that would manifest in the loneliest corners of my mind. My subconscious was exposed. I was naked. I had no idea what was going on. I was petrified looking at the machines connected to my torso. I dissolved into a puddle of exhaustion and humiliation.
It was panic. And I didn’t know what that meant. Nor did I know I’d be prescribed drugs that would scramble my neurochemistry for years to come. I’d cry a lot. I’d live in fear for over a decade. My soul would scream terrifyingly loud. I’d lose everything and myself. I’d find solace in places no man wants to. I was so scared for so long. My heart would never mend. I’d remove everyone close to me. I’d become angry and mean and cynical. I’d become the worst version of myself. I’d become crippled with darkness. I’d get lost in the oddest of ways and it was only to make it through the day.
The pain would eventually become physical. I’d want to die more often than I wanted to live. And I’d keep it inside until it would violently erupt. I wanted to scream until the blood vessels in my neck exploded. I wanted to punch anything until my knuckles were shattered. I wanted to … I had to feel pain. It was all that I could understand.
My soul changed, and it was just another level of hell to descend into. I found myself overwhelmed with empathy and didn’t know what it was.
And these days…almost two decades later…all I want to do is love people…love the people who hurt the most…the quiet ones…the helpless ones…the ones who are screaming inside but are dead silent to the world. My heart breaks every day. My heart aches for the forgotten. I have this well of love that is a million miles deep. My heart wants to hold everyone who hurts. I’ve turned into a puddle of empathy. But goddammit I want my brother back.
9/14/24: “The moment you have in your heart this extraordinary thing called love and feel the depth, the delight, the ecstasy of it, you will discover that for you the world is transformed.” - Jiddu Krishnamurti
