I Wasn't Ready.
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I Wasn't Ready.

"Sometimes being strong is not an option anymore."

12
I Wasn't Ready.

I don't have the words to put onto this page to explain how I feel. The truth is simple, cut and dry. Feelings, emotions, and thoughts, are not.

My truth is simple: four years ago, my brother committed suicide. He put a gun to his head, fired the trigger, and left me behind without any warning or reasoning.

Above all else, I guess my feelings can be summed up into one word: anger.

I'm angry that you did this, Tommy.

I'm angry that after it happened, our family went through your belongings like it was a fucking garage sale. No one had the right to touch your stuff. I'm angry at myself for wanting some of your things, because it was something to hold onto.

I'm angry for what was left unsaid at your memorial. I'm angry that I never got to speak. But then again, I always have a hard time finding the right words to say.

I'm so angry, Tommy, because you fucking left me behind.

You pushed me and pushed me to go to school, and you never got to see my walk across the stage with my diploma.

You won't be at my wedding. You'll never meet my kids.

It all feels like a fucking waste.

I'm angry at you for the stabbing feeling in my gut when we put up the stockings on Christmas, and yours remains empty.

I'm angry at you for the empty seat at the dinner table on Thanksgiving.

I'm angry, I'm just so fucking angry, that you chose to leave 9 days after we celebrated my birthday, the last time I ever saw you. You forever ruined my birthday for me.

It's your fault that when people ask me how many siblings I have to say "Well I had 5..."

It makes me angry when people refer to you as "Tom" or "Thomas", when to me you were always "Tommy". My big brother and nothing less.

As I'm sitting here hitting my feelings against this god forsaken keyboard, because that's the only way I have to get this out, I can cry, I can scream, I can pound the wall, but it doesn't do me any fucking good.

There will forever be so many questions unanswered, and so many emotions that won't find closure, and so many fucking words left unsaid.

Maybe this comes off as selfish, or wrong, or stupid. But I've had to be strong for so fucking long, and sometimes being strong is just not an option anymore.

I'm tired of holding in tears, of not saying your name, of acting like everything is okay and it's just fucking not.

All I have left in me is this:

I love you, Tommy. Fuck you for ending your life, I was not ready for you to leave.

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This article has not been reviewed by Odyssey HQ and solely reflects the ideas and opinions of the creator.
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