Brie Wilson

The Day I Grew Old

Sep 14, 2019 5 years ago

Depression fogs the brain as does humidity fogs the air. It causes one's view of the world to be warped into another reality, a dark, misty, reality. Depression, however, is not just a state of mind, it is not so easily fixed by yoga and clean eating. It swallows you up, chews, spits you out, and convinces the world that you drowned yourself, and you, and you alone, are responsible for your shape. It is a thief. Selfishly, it takes your job, friends, family, hobbies, and various opportunities hostage. You have ran a marathon with only 2 hours of training, climbed the highest mountain, dove into the middle of the Atlantic with no life vest. Save yourself, you are lazy, always making excuses the world says. If only they knew, if only you knew, what you have gone through. Maybe it would have been different. Maybe we could have saved you. My dearest baby brother, soft spoken, a gentle soul. He did not deserve the sentence that he was given. Depression is a gruesome punishment, not to be wished upon anyone, not even the person that you or perhaps the world hates most. He was a blooming tulip surrounded by barbed wire, slowly, painfully being torn apart. Petal by petal he diminished. Permanent damage, an act performed by the broken, shattered, weak souls that had been subjected to depressions horrendous beatings. You can't take it anymore, the pain and suffering depression has caused you over the years has racked up tremendous debt, debt you could never pay back. You are depression. Depression is you. There is only one way out. My brother knew the way, Drew, just barely 14 years old, had committed suicide. It is all over now. And just like that, my life, and my view of the world changed. Mortality, mental illness, and the meaning of life made their nest in my heart while my brain tried to comprehend their stay. Death wasn't meant for him, his soul was so precious. Suicidal thoughts pulled the trigger, when he shot himself, he shot all of us. The night I got the texts to come home, I knew one thing: Drew had been found. I had assumed he was alive. His date of death? August 12, 2015. 3-4 pm. Found? August 13, 2015. The passing of time was whimsical, but the night he passed had stopped all time. I had no idea that Drew had the option to stop the clock from ticking. Screams. After the news there were just screams, my throat hurt. I was alive. My fault. My fault my fault my fault my fault my fault my fault. I couldn't see. My fault my fault my fault my fault. A paramedic had placed an oxygen mask on my face. Heart beats racking my brain like a meat mallet, everything was just so aggressive. I was standing in the middle of a field, paralyzed, watching the herds of buffalo charge towards me. How I wish that would've been true that night. How can someone, the one who made me a sister, a bond for life, for goodness sake, his blood ran through my veins, how could he be gone… Clouds were messages from heaven. Cotton candy swirls were now passionate messages that conveyed the message that he, Drew, was alright. Hysterical, everything had transformed into messages from above. Feather hunting rituals, dragonflies, and birds on wires, he became. Grasping for air, I had known, but for the sake of my sanity, I continued. Anything to lift the weight of reality off the delicate heart. The brain had yet to catch up with it, for it had not received the news. This, of course, had created milky eyes and muted ear drums. My previous reality shattered onto the floor at my feet, and looking down, it was utterly unrecognizable. Not like it was wanted anymore, how foolish had I been! I had took upon a perspective not known to many that night, you know, the worst night of my life. I had never thought that death was an option, death was not real, I was so young. I grew old that night, Drew became forever young.

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