My brother woke up last week. His eyes can’t focus so he can’t see and he has slurred speech. What is really interesting is when he realizes a family member is in the room, he launches into imaginative obscenity laced rants against the present family member. They have him restrained because he is having episodes where he tries to hit people. He reminds me of one of the infected in ’28 Days Later’. The doctors say the rage is a side effect of the drug he over dosed on and he should calm down sometime next week. I wonder. I mean, if I tried to commit suicide and survived I would be pissed as shit.
Sometimes he denies he overdosed and sometimes he describes his preparations in detail. The doctors say he is out of his mind and the medication has to cycle out of his system. They don’t know if the blindness will be permanent. It has become a family waiting game where they take turns listening to his abuse and hoping for some sign of improvement. I swear it reminds me of some twisted Telenovela except for the lack of busty nurses.
My own rage broke on Friday. I realized that what I resented most of all was the attention he was getting. The fucker was the favorite child when I was a child, and even as an adult his half ass suicide attempt summons the family from the four corners of the country. I know it’s petty but I hate him for that, and once I realized how jealous I was, it all went away. I’ve been lucky that way I guess. Once I know the source of an emotion it rarely holds power over me. It seems silly to be angry, jealous or really anything about him. I have my own life and I want to get back to it.
Of course, who knows how I would feel if he had died, but since he didn’t and now social Services will be taking over his case, I feel like it’s safe for me to move on. Hell, I feel like it is important for me to move on. The past week has been one long flashback to my childhood and I am done. I want to write and tell stories. I want to be silly. I want to value my own life.