Struggling.

This is a fanfic however it echoes much about how I feel. Its really just a train of thought so punctuation is a bit of a tricky question. Just read it how it feels right to you. I wont tell you too much and I don't know if enjoying it is the idea here but give it a read and hopefully it will evoke some kind of emotion in you. Don't feel you have to be positive, if you hate tell me and if you don't then great.

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Grief is a funny thing. It isn't laughing funny. Its an odd kind of funny. It isolates in a way nothing else does. It makes you hate things you used to love. It makes you afraid when there's nothing fear.  It makes you feel ill like a some sort of disease. Actually, yes. That's it. Grief is like an illness. An illness that sucks everything good out of the world. That takes away your happiness, your securities and your peace. It makes you feel as though nothing could ever be right again and although at the back of your mind you know that cannot be true the pain that eats away at you strongly disagrees.

I've been told that it gets easier with time. That you begin to forget about the death and start to remember the life that was so important to you. But somehow I don't think that's true and I'm not sure how much I want it to be. To forget what happened would be like forgetting him and I don't want to forget him. I try to remember everything I loved about him but it makes me feel worse because it reminds of everything that I am missing and everything that can never have back.

The people have stopped visiting so much now and the food has stopped being sent. It seems strange to me that people feel that the thing to do when others die is cook. I suppose they think that the family wouldn't want to but for me anyway eating was the last thing on my mind. I am relieved however, because they would stare at me and tell me that they knew how I must be feeling and that they are so sorry it had to be him. But then after gawping at me for as long as they could they would get up and leave. It frustrated me because when they leave, they could leave their grief and everything that went with it behind. They could return to their families, there loved ones, who were safe and happy. Whereas I couldn't and still can't. I don't exactly begrudge them this because I don't wish how I feel on anyone but they shouldn't stand in front of me and tell me how much they are thinking of us when that's not going to bring him back.

What's worse is that I feel so alone. There is really no one I can talk to and even if there were I don't think I would be comfortable enough to show them how much I ache; how much I hurt. And I can't talk to my family because they are like me, they hurt and they ache and I don't want to make their lives harder because I'm not coping well. So every morning I wake up and stitch a smile on to my pale face so as not to bring others down with me. If anyone asks how I feel then I always try and assume that they don't really want the truth and that its better if they think I'm "okay" because even if I told them that I am struggling, there is really nothing they could do. I power on, day after day and try my very best not to cry. The trouble is I can still see that with many people I am still that grieving child who must be having such a bad time. They look at me with their blank expressions and their knowing eyes and make me feel 10 million times worse.

I suppose that's about it. I'm stuck in between trying to forget and wanting remember. Finding my way through the days like a lost child. I just want you to know how much I loved you and that I will never forget you and all the wonderful things you did for me and that I am so sad you are gone but that I hope that you are in a better place and that it doesn't matter that you're not beside me now because you will always be in my heart.

Love George. Forever your brother.

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