I Can't Sleep

I can’t sleep. I heard once somewhere that if you can’t sleep it’s because you’re awake in someone else’s dream. I’m not sure if that’s supposed to be terrifying or romantic. I don’t really believe in that stuff anyway, but being awake at three in the morning, staring at the moon, makes me think about it. My life…there’s little joy in it. There’s nothing but pain, terror, and death. I couldn’t save my mother from my father. Couldn’t save my father from himself. The responsibility of caring for my little brother bared a heavy weight across my shoulders. I had to be more than his brother, I had to be his father and mother and look out for him. Because we were alone, practically orphans, we had no one but each other and none of it was fair.

If something happened to him, I felt responsible. My father’s voice still rings in my ears, clear as a bell. Take care of your brother. Watch out for your brother, boy. I’m still that scared little kid who couldn’t bear to be on his own because my daddy didn’t love me enough. Forced my brother to be by my side. Fought for the family I had left, but the truth is, they don’t need me, not like I need them. Caring for my brother has been my job, my one job…and I failed at that. I guess that’s what I’m good at, letting the people I love down. I can still see the look of disappointment on my father’s face whenever I let him down. I don’t have to wonder what he’d look like now if he was around to see how our lives turned out.

I had my brother by my side for so many years, I thought he’d be next to me when we got old, on a porch somewhere, next to me in a rocking chair, drinking beers as we grayed. But then something happened and that other chair was gone. And now I’m on my own. I feel dead inside, worthless…I am nothing. I look in the mirror and hate what I see. I’m tired of this life, this heavy weight of darkness. I’m tired of every time I get close to the edge of something good, it falls apart. My brother found his way out of this dark and ugly tunnel, I can’t.

Haven’t I given enough? Paid enough? I used to be the guy that thought I’d win in the end…no matter what. But I’ve changed. I tell people that care to notice that it’s no big deal, I’ll work through it. I’ve been down this road before and I got through it. But I know I won’t…and it scares the hell out of me. There’s a way out of this, I can’t say I haven’t thought about it, can’t say I don’t see it. I can keep going but who says I want to? I have one card left in my deck and I have to play it. If my brother were here, he’d tell me we’d find another card tomorrow and if I quit now, there won’t be a tomorrow. But he’s not. He always had hope so I never had too, the loss of him also made me lose hope. I didn’t think it would be like this. I lost my parents and that was hell. I thought if anything it would be like that again. But this…this pain. It’s swallowing me whole, showing me no mercy as it squeezes what little life I have left.

I lean against the headstone of my brother’s; an empty shot glass sits on top as I fill it. I take a swig for myself, letting the liquid burn my throat, reminding me that I’m still alive. I leave the bottle for him as I stand and head back over towards my car. My brother may be dead but a piece of him gets to go on. A daughter who doesn’t know of our horrid past, doesn’t require me to keep her safe because she has her mother. Which is fortunate for her because I couldn’t save her own father. He found his way out of the dark tunnel…to start a family, only to die by a freak accident.

I lost everyone I ever cared about. So I keep my distance from her. I don’t get attached. And maybe that’s so I don’t have to look into her eyes and see my brothers staring back at me. Still hopeful and innocent. This is my life now, it’s too late for me. This is who I am and that’s fine, I accept that. But with her? She still has a chance to be something. Something that isn’t attached to darkness. Part of that darkness is me. She doesn’t have to know about her father’s past and can remember him as she chooses.

It’s clear that I’m not ok. And it might seem like the logical explanation would be to turn to his daughter, reach out to her as we’ve both lost the same person. But then I’d have to face the fact that by keeping my distance, I’ve abandoned her in the process. And I don’t need to feel like crap for failing my brother more than I already do, for failing her like everyone else I’ve cared about. I stare up at the moon, my brother used to talk to the moon when he felt alone. He’d release it all...his fears, worries, and doubts and then wake in the morning and start again; fresh and renewed. I always thought it was pointless because there would always be a new darkness that we’d have to face again. I’m waiting for that light to appear again, to show me the way out of the dark, but I can’t seem to find one. And so I take a chance, take a page from my brother’s book, with only the dead to listen and I start to talk to the moon.