A Life of Suffering
My brother ended the treatment two days ago. I do not know the strength that he is going to need to face life outside, but one thing I am sure: after 25 years I can have a civilized and normal conversation with my brother.
I am 38 years old and I have few memories of my brother. It was a life of struggle, of suffering, of despair. Many times I thought about giving up, because I did not know what to do. My mother died without ever seeing my brother healed from that drug.
It all started 25 years ago, when our father died. My brother never accepted. Since then, his life and ours became a hell. Days, nights, weeks, months always hoping that one day he would make it; always with the feeling that everything we did was never enough. We felt powerless, our strengths were lacking, but we never gave up. I and sisters were always trying something, because we saw that his life and ours was being destroyed, but it was always in vain.
I do not know how it is going to be from now on, but it worth the shot having my brother these 7 months in this centre. I did not remind how he was, and for that I THANK YOU. THANK YOU Marisa, my dear niece, who had the brilliant idea of asking for help.
With best regards from cold Germany.
Thank you and believe.
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