Brain Bleed

I just need some peace. Why won’t it let me sleep? My invisible brain bleed leapt out of my head— it struck you, my brother, while we lay in our own beds.

This battle is eating me alive. Why did it take so long to contain this? Why can’t we move on? Why can’t I have peace? Please, just let me sleep.

I thought we escaped unscathed, but the wounds festered quietly. Now I’m nurse, doctor, helpless and dismayed. I thought we made peace— you won’t let this cease.

The world says it could be worse: a group home, a burden, a curse. Instead, you’re angry I laugh like our dad— you know most would kill to have it this bad.

You don’t understand. You’ll end up without me, never rejoining the band. I’ve paid the price again and again. I try to be better—where does it end?

I’m not the only one with blood on my hands. I’ve washed it away to become a person, it’s time to let go. Please understand: I just need some peace. I just need to sleep.

The brain bleed wasn’t so bad; I have a life—it’s not sad. What I don’t understand is why you’re so mad. I thought we had peace.

But you betrayed our sacred oath. To love, to protect, is all I’d known. I wanted to know what I did wrong, but you never came back. You never came back.

Each day, each year, you moved further away. No matter how hard I tried, you slipped further, then gone. I’d lie awake at night, praying for strength to see what I was missing, to bring you back. I wanted you back. I thought I wanted you back.

Now you’re running wild, howling into the night. Howling and barking, causing such a fright. Did it start with my brain? Would it be different if I wasn’t the same?

We don’t get to pick who shares our last name. Did you ever wonder if I’d feel the same? We’re stuck in this boat, it’s too late to switch. Do we amputate the limb, or start healing the rift?

I’m on my own— finding peace at last. Look— I can finally sleep. I found my own peace.