The nothing

I watched my brother die & i watched him take his last breath. But I didn’t cry, I was too exhausted trying to stop the bleeding from his decaying body. I was in shock. When his friends, close to our family came, to witness his dead body I suppose, I just sat there and watched them all cry. I suppose they thought I hated him. That, indeed, my brother had been right when he called me a bitch and heartless. But I was the one there at 3am desperately trying to keep him alive, for a miracle to happen, which never did. I was all out of tears when everyone else came around.
I watched my sister die as well, but I wasn’t the one to find her dead. Her poison, heroin. Her only true love. I had seen her sober many times and the contrast was vast. But you forget, and I can’t believe I forgot, but it happened to me, and she was poisoning herself until this time no one was there to save her. I’m sure she longed for death, though I don’t think it’s our human nature, but only in death can we realize that. Maybe if she’d seen the look in brothers eyes when he died. He was scared. My father found my sister, his baby girl, cold & shriveled. Her room remains the same, still “my sisters” room. The bed made, never touched from the last day she made it herself. I wear my sisters things with a kind of clutch. And when I lose them, it’s much more than just losing an item, it’s like losing my sister again and again. I’m afraid I’ll have nothing left of her. I don’t know why this happened to them or my family, and I’d like to blame everyone. I’d like to blame everyone for everything bc they don’t know what I’ve been through. But I can’t, it’s just unrealistic, noones to blame. And everyone dies and even my friends have lost loved ones. But the pain never goes away. And for that, I don’t know why. I made this film, from the idea that my brother is perhaps lingering around. But I’ve never seen his ghost, and believe I don’t want to. Im tired. I told my mom about my film, about it depicting my brothers death. I said she might not want to be reminded so she might not want to see it. She said , “he’s dead, that’s reality”. I think reality is my least favorite word. You know what exists in reality? The cold harsh truth of the world. And what exists in dreams are like cotton candy. I’d rather live in dreams. In rainbows. Fuck reality, it’s too raw. I need fluffy clouds to catch my falls. And believe me I fall, mostly onto cold hard pavement. But I’ve got my dreams to lift me back up. Is that too hard to understand?

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