85 - The Fear That Breathes Through Every Unread Message
The fear of the unknown has a way of finding me. It slips in quietly every time my brother’s name appears on my screen. In the first year after he left, that fear was suffocating. I would let his messages sit unopened for days not out of neglect, but because I was terrified of what waited behind the notification. The chances were small, almost impossible, that he had slipped back into the darkness he once lived in. Smaller still that he might have tried to end everything again. But even that tiny possibility was enough to fold me into myself, to curl my body into a foetal shape as if I could shield my soul from whatever truth might be waiting. It’s strange, isn’t it how you can care so deeply, want nothing but the best for someone, and still your mind whispers “what if” until you freeze. When he lived with me, the fear lived with us. It sat beside me at the dinner table, watched him from the corner of the room, breathed the same air. It was hard, but at least I c...