I Am You

Chapter Seven

The seventeenth of January. Today marks one year of my life being a burden, of me feeling empty and alone. I'm sorry I don't have a better description of the way I'm feeling. I believe that no matter how hard I try to explain it, nobody would actually understand it completely. They could understand parts of it, sure, but knowing exactly how I feel? I don't think that's possible. In fact, I think no one can understand a person completely. There are always parts of us which we hide from the world, either to keep them to ourselves or just because we're afraid that they'd judge us for who we are. Either way, those parts are what distinguish us from each other. They make us who we are.

I don't expect anyone to understand what I'm feeling. Hell, sometimes I don't even know myself. But to put it simply, I feel like I'm living in a body that's fighting to survive with a mind that wants to die.

I sighed and looked out of the window. It was a beautiful morning. The sky was violet, with a tint of orange as the sun was coming up. I could hear the faint sound of the birds chirping. The air was cold. Not the kind of cold that'd make you shiver, but the kind that'd make you want to take a long walk and turn your cheeks pink. 'Fred would've liked the view.' I thought to myself.

I got up, walked up to my closet and opened it. There it was, the purple tee. I had been avoiding looking at it for a long time. It was Fred's. The only thing I had that belonged to him. I picked it up as memories came flooding into my head. 'I miss you, brother.' I whispered, tears in my eyes. I held it close to me for a few minutes, thinking about old times. We were so happy back then. I smiled to myself.

I brushed my teeth, took a shower and put on the purple tee with a pair of white jeans. I looked in the mirror. This was my way of remembering him. This was my way of missing him.

I walked out of my room to the smell of pancakes. Dylan turned around to look at me as I sat on the table.

'Who are you and what have you done to Michelle?' he said dramatically.

'Good morning to you, too.' I said gloomily as I was accustomed to his over-dramatic ass.

'No, seriously. Why are you wearing colours all of a sudden? I've never seen you in anything but black. Grey, if I'm lucky sometimes. But purple? That's new.' he said, in his usual cocky tone.

'It's my brother's.' I said blankly.

'Why does he let you borrow it? I know I wouldn't. That is, if I had a sister. He is the "easy-going" one, if I'm not wrong.'

'Was.' I said, as I felt my throat tighten.

Dylan stopped abruptly. After a few seconds,
he resumed making pancakes. There was complete silence. Usually this kind of silence would make me uncomfortable, but today I was too deep into my thoughts and memories to care about that. When he was done, he brought the plates to the table and sat opposite to me.

'Want to talk about it?' he asked gently.

Yes. I feel like if I don't talk to someone I'll explode. I need to talk to someone. I've never had this conversation with anyone, not even my parents. I was too afraid so I pushed it all down and started acting like it never happened. I know I should talk to someone. People say it makes you feel better. I want to feel better. I want to talk about it.

'No, I'd rather not.' I answered.

Shit, why am I like this? Why can't I ever talk about what I'm feeling? Why the fuck is this so hard for me?

'Okay, I tried it the conventional way.' he said as he pulled my pancakes away from me.

Oh, no. You didn't. I looked up with the intention of yelling at him, but I stooped in my tracks. His face was serious. His eyes, piercing. I had never seen him like this. All that drama, sarcasm and sense of humour was gone. He kept staring into my eyes.

'I've told you before that you can talk to me. That's what people do. They try to talk about their problems, even if it's hard. And here you are, not even trying. Not talking about it will only make things worse. So, talk.' His voice was compelling.

I gulped. Tears blurred my vision. I gathered up all my courage and started.

'I had a brother, Fred. He was two years older than I. He died on this day a year ago. Leukaemia.'

'I'm so sorry. Go on.' he said encouragingly.

'My parents and I were never close. He was the only person I had. The only person I trusted. The only person I truly loved.' I let out a deep sigh. 'He was diagnosed just after he graduated high school. It wasn't looking good for him. The doctors gave him a few years, three at the most. And even after all that, he was still hopeful. I never saw him crying over or complaining about it. "It is what it is." he smiled as he repeated. He wanted to make the best of what time he had left. I remember he made a list of all the things he wanted to do in those three years. But he couldn't check it all off. A year later, his condition worsened. He became bed-ridden. All the medications he took forced him to sleep all day. He lost so much weight. I remember holding his hand and feeling as if it was just the bones. His body hurt all the time. He was sensitive to touch. Even something such as a small pat on the back hurt him. It continued to get even worse. Six months later, he was gone. Just like that. Gone.' I started sobbing. 'My parents lost it. They became colder to me, more than they already were. I couldn't take it. I felt like I was all alone. I had a classmate back in Sacramento who fixed me up with some Prozac. That's when I first started taking it. I couldn't stay with my parents. I knew that. So as soon as I completed high school a few months later, I moved here. I realised I couldn't continue to take Prozac as I had been, so I consulted an actual doctor. The pills I take now are legitimately prescribed. A few weeks later, you moved in. You know the rest.'

I can't even begin to describe how good it felt to finally tell someone everything. Well, not everything. I haven't told anyone about my self-harming tendencies. But that's enough information about me for now. Talking about Fred felt relieving. I had been holding it inside myself for too long.

Dylan had been listening patiently the whole time. He didn't say anything. I looked at him, my eyes still filled with tears. He had concern in his eyes. I dragged my body up from my chair to get myself a glass of water. To my surprise, he got up and hugged me.

'I'm so sorry that you had to go through that. I can't even image what it must feel like. You're a strong woman, Michelle. I know I wouldn't be able go through the same thing with so much courage.'

His arms tightened around me. I found myself hugging him back.

'Thank you for listening. Seriously, thank you so much.' That was all I could say.

I stepped back and smiled. He did the same. At that moment, in the kitchen that smelled like pancakes, my face looking like shit from all the crying and me getting late for college, I knew I had a friend. I knew he'd have my back. I knew I could trust him.   

That day, I went to bed calmly. Fred was still on my mind, but just the happy memories of him. We used to be the ultimate brother-sister duo. I dozed off while remembering how we used to play in the park as little children. Sweet memories.