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The Past Five:

No more monkeys jumping on the bed...

is this goodbye? only sort of.

isolated T-Storms

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AND I baked cookies this week!


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11.05.2008 * 9:57 p.m.
George Allen

Is it the hundredth time he's been taken away in a police car or ambulance? Unlikely, but it certainly feels that way.

It feels like my heart is being ripped out of my chest. It feels like my lungs won't fill with breathable air. Restraining order? Did someone say eviction notice and restraining order? But Mom, he's my brother.

Unfortunately he's my brother who sometimes stays up all night, screams repeatedly into a mirror because it seems like the right thing to do, laughs maniacally like some villain in a horror film, rambles psychotically, refuses to allow anyone to watch him take his medication, insists that he is taking his medication, or insists that he hasn't taken his medication in years because nothing is wrong with him.
He can't seem to see the problem with the disorder, the crying depression in the morning over a child we will never meet, the manic frenzy of words in the afternoon, the threats, pushes and shoves directed at a father twice his age. He can't seem to see what is wrong with the picture.
Maybe he can't see the picture at all.

He was my hero, my role model, my mentor and protector. He was the instigator, the trouble-maker, the one who pushed the limits. He is my big brother, and no matter how warped and confused his sickened mind may become, I love him like I love no other person on this earth.

I cannot reach him. I cannot help him. God knows I've tried. I cannot hold on to him but I cannot wrap my mind around letting him go.

Are they really evicting him? He will be homeless. Are they really filing a restraining order? He will be helpless.

But what else are they suppose to do?