Months after that, my parents discovered what I was doing every night and sent me to therapy. It actually kinda changed me, and, to my surprise, I stopped running away and the smoking and drinking reduced. But still, I was a damaged kid, haunted by his past and his brother.
Then college time came, and my grades were very bad. But since my brother is the genius of our school, I somehow got accepted in a good college.
I continued living my life with no care about what anyone thought of me. I played with the girls' feelings and used them as a distraction to my pathetic state. I stopped therapy, ofcourse, but I didn't have any real friends. I spent my time partying and drinking at bars and clubs and I barely went home. My parents had given up on me long ago and were so proud of their other perfect child. My brother acted as if he didn't know me at all, and that suited me really well.
But being and feeling alone was too much to take, and I needed someone to talk to because that loneliness has created a hole in me and dragged me down in it.
One day, a boy in our college, who I barely knew, commited suicide. He shot himself in the head and died right away. Given the obnoxious state of our college, our english teacher gave each one of us a random cell phone number of one of our classmates. She wanted us to talk to that person whenever we felt alone and couldn't take it anymore, and everybody should be ready to help. It was anonymous and no one would know who he's or she's talking to or who's the one that asked for help.
She was certain that this way will help stay away from any suicidal thought.
And I almost forgot we were anonymous when my phone blew up with a message. No one would ask for my advice if they knew they were talking to me.
