It’s a weird thing to say, huh? Hey. Like you never even left. I must tell you, that you made yourself die, but you left me here dead. I think I’m part alive part dead since you’re gone and I don’t know how to heal. I’m so hurt, and so HOLLOW, I don’t even know if I have anything left in me. Some days are okay, and some are awful. I don’t know how to cope with it, how to handle it, how to calm down, nothing. I’m so angry, but so sad at the same time that it makes the appearance that I don’t care. I think our mother is angry because I haven’t been at your grave for months I think. I hope you are not angry, but I just can’t go. People would think that since your suicide is a year and a half ago, things would be better now, but they’re not. NOT A LITTLE BETTER. Sometimes worse I think. And I’m angry and I’m disappointed and sad and horrified and scared and empty and depressive and hollow. Just hollow. I know it’s not okay, but I can’t help it. I don’t know how to help myself and no one else helps me. You see, you left, and my mother, our mother, is left without a son. And she is heart broken. But I…I sometimes have the feeling that I lost a brother and a mother. I know she is trying her best, but things are just not working. How could you break our hearts like that? I know I judge you too much, but what are you expecting? You, who are my older brother, who should protect me my whole life, who should spent the most of time in my life with me, left me, and broke my heart the most from all the people that ever broke my heart. And I’m angry because I know that I could have helped you. We all could. You left a group of people who admire you behind you, and we all could have helped.
People say that they feel their near dead ones with them, that they feel that they are present and that they are watching over you. I don’t feel that. Where are you? You said you loved me, yet….I don’t feel you. Or maybe I don’t let you near? Because I’m too angry and I can’t forgive you.
No one ever asks me how I’m doing, you know. Everyone says ”How’s your mother? Take good care of her, she’s hurting now, having a hard time.” Of course I will take care of her, because my broken heart doesn’t matter. I’m just your sister, right? I can’t be that hurt, right? But I am. I am broken and I am torn to pieces. I’m a shadow of what once used to be a human and guess what? No one even cares, because I’m just your sister.