My brother is 22 years old. Two years ago, we placed him in Kortenberg, a psychiatric facility. We had to because the sitation got out of control. There was an incident with the police involved which was preceded by a whole string of unpleasant experiences. I won't go into all the details, but it pretty much made life at the Dubuissons unbearable.
On some level, we've always known there was something wrong with him. He always seemed to be two or three steps behind everyone else his age and when he would do something, he would always do it wrong or not at all. We tested him for his hearing, his sight, his IQ, his reflexes, but none of the results brought us any closer to what was really going on with him. After a few months in Kortenberg, the diagnosis pointed towards one life-shattering fact: my brother has the symptoms of autism.
I so badly want to believe that the medication is giving him more clarity and peace of mind, but all evidence to the contrary. He has done some pretty stupid things in his life, but I always hoped that, like puberty, it was a phase that he would grow out of, eventually. But he's 22 now, going on 23. I'm afraid his behavioural patterns have all but locked in place right about now. The way he is now, is how he's going to be for the rest of his life.
Every time he goes out, I worry about him. He says he's going out with his friends, but I can tell you: the people he hangs out with, are not his friends. They've pushed him in ponds, beat him up, left him all alone in the city, extorted money from him and cheated him in every possible way.
No matter what we do or say, it's like his mind has a reset-button that instantly wipes out all our warnings and precedents. Each time he wakes up, it's like he begins with a clean slate. Sadly, in this story, it's always the same repetition of mistakes and the refusal to learn from them.
I sometimes envy him for his 'tabula rasa', that way he'll never fully understand the pain he's going through or the hopelessness of his situation. But I'm afraid that sometimes, something seeps through the cracks and he does realize the things he has done or the person he has become. Those are the times when I can see it in his eyes. This quiet desperation that tells me he knows. He knows he's never going to be able to keep a job. He knows he'll never have the picture perfect family. He knows he'll never be able to stand on his own and be the big brother he was supposed to be.
I'm worried that my life will inevitably become intertwined with his. I'll be the little brother who'll have to look after him, who'll have to keep him safe from a society that doesn't understand him and from the people who'd do him wrong. But, and I hate myself for thinking it, I don't want that role. I don't want to be the one to look after him, to wake up every day of my life worrying what he might do next. But it's happening already...
I'm the one who drags him out of bed every Tuesday and Thursday when he has to go to work. I'm the one who has to tell him to stop lying and tell me the truth. I'm the one who screams at him when he makes the same mistakes over and over. It's already become my burden to bear, but I'm not sure if it's something I want to do.
A few days ago, he left the bathwater running and the entire bathroom was flooded. The water must've been at least a couple of centimetres deep and had spread across the hall, soaking the entire floor. Both my wooden floors and his were covered in water. While the water was gushing over the edge, he couldn't be sitting more than five metres away, behind his computer. He didn't even notice the gallons of water pouring of the edge of the tub and flooding the entire room. The water had filtered through the ceiling, leaking into the kitchen through the lamp. For all I know, it could've caused the whole thing to short-circuit and the house could've burned down. Afterwards, we spent the entire night spreading out towels to soak up the water and tearing up the floor tiles in the hall to prevent them from rotting away. And where was he? Sitting in his room, texting. Completely oblivious to the rampage he had brought upon us, yet again.
When the worst was over, there was only one thing on my mind: I can't live like this anymore. I can't keep running after him, cleaning up his mess, telling him what to do, fixing his mistakes, watching over him, making sure he doesn't do anything stupid, making sure he doesn't get betrayed by his so-called friends, being his big brother. All I want for him, is to get him the help that he needs and I'm starting to think it's not in this house anymore.
I'm going to hate myself for this later on, but I want him to go to a place where he can be treated properly. Because this is not working anymore. This is not what he needs. And it's not something I can handle anymore.
On some level, we've always known there was something wrong with him. He always seemed to be two or three steps behind everyone else his age and when he would do something, he would always do it wrong or not at all. We tested him for his hearing, his sight, his IQ, his reflexes, but none of the results brought us any closer to what was really going on with him. After a few months in Kortenberg, the diagnosis pointed towards one life-shattering fact: my brother has the symptoms of autism.
I so badly want to believe that the medication is giving him more clarity and peace of mind, but all evidence to the contrary. He has done some pretty stupid things in his life, but I always hoped that, like puberty, it was a phase that he would grow out of, eventually. But he's 22 now, going on 23. I'm afraid his behavioural patterns have all but locked in place right about now. The way he is now, is how he's going to be for the rest of his life.
Every time he goes out, I worry about him. He says he's going out with his friends, but I can tell you: the people he hangs out with, are not his friends. They've pushed him in ponds, beat him up, left him all alone in the city, extorted money from him and cheated him in every possible way.
No matter what we do or say, it's like his mind has a reset-button that instantly wipes out all our warnings and precedents. Each time he wakes up, it's like he begins with a clean slate. Sadly, in this story, it's always the same repetition of mistakes and the refusal to learn from them.
I sometimes envy him for his 'tabula rasa', that way he'll never fully understand the pain he's going through or the hopelessness of his situation. But I'm afraid that sometimes, something seeps through the cracks and he does realize the things he has done or the person he has become. Those are the times when I can see it in his eyes. This quiet desperation that tells me he knows. He knows he's never going to be able to keep a job. He knows he'll never have the picture perfect family. He knows he'll never be able to stand on his own and be the big brother he was supposed to be.
I'm worried that my life will inevitably become intertwined with his. I'll be the little brother who'll have to look after him, who'll have to keep him safe from a society that doesn't understand him and from the people who'd do him wrong. But, and I hate myself for thinking it, I don't want that role. I don't want to be the one to look after him, to wake up every day of my life worrying what he might do next. But it's happening already...
I'm the one who drags him out of bed every Tuesday and Thursday when he has to go to work. I'm the one who has to tell him to stop lying and tell me the truth. I'm the one who screams at him when he makes the same mistakes over and over. It's already become my burden to bear, but I'm not sure if it's something I want to do.
A few days ago, he left the bathwater running and the entire bathroom was flooded. The water must've been at least a couple of centimetres deep and had spread across the hall, soaking the entire floor. Both my wooden floors and his were covered in water. While the water was gushing over the edge, he couldn't be sitting more than five metres away, behind his computer. He didn't even notice the gallons of water pouring of the edge of the tub and flooding the entire room. The water had filtered through the ceiling, leaking into the kitchen through the lamp. For all I know, it could've caused the whole thing to short-circuit and the house could've burned down. Afterwards, we spent the entire night spreading out towels to soak up the water and tearing up the floor tiles in the hall to prevent them from rotting away. And where was he? Sitting in his room, texting. Completely oblivious to the rampage he had brought upon us, yet again.
When the worst was over, there was only one thing on my mind: I can't live like this anymore. I can't keep running after him, cleaning up his mess, telling him what to do, fixing his mistakes, watching over him, making sure he doesn't do anything stupid, making sure he doesn't get betrayed by his so-called friends, being his big brother. All I want for him, is to get him the help that he needs and I'm starting to think it's not in this house anymore.
I'm going to hate myself for this later on, but I want him to go to a place where he can be treated properly. Because this is not working anymore. This is not what he needs. And it's not something I can handle anymore.
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