₦airaland Forum

I keep seeing him, my little brother.
Sure, he was annoying and stuff but I
really loved him. When he died at the
tender age of eight I couldn’t control
my emotions. Turning to self harm, I
could always hear his voice behind the door telling me to stop but I didn’t
listen. In addition to that, I became
extremely violent and threatening
towards my friends and family and
was eventually submitted to a
psychologist. Pfft! No one could help me, someone had to help him! His
voice was everywhere, penetrating my
skull and destroying my brain. “Hey, sis! Stop, sis… Let’s play, sis!” I
clawed at my head, begging him to
stop. I kept telling myself that he was
dead and I was just imagining his
voice but I never fully convinced
myself. Occasionally, I would wander into his
room, remembering great memories
and reliving them in my head.
Sometimes, I would get into his bed
and just lay there, thinking about how
he didn’t deserve to die. What kid dies at eight?! He would hug me with his
cold hands and I returned his
embrace,