Some days are better than others. I don't know if I can say that there any good days, but there are definitely ones that are less monstrous, less traumatizing. Most days pass with a quiet tension. He stays in his room or has that faraway look in his eye, and we spend the evening wondering, waiting. But sometimes he'll be more talkative, more engaging. He'll join a group hug, uninvited. And we'll catch a glimpse of him again, Danny as we all have known him to be. But he's not quite the same and he never stays for long. He doesn't laugh or clown around anymore. He isn't helpful like he used to be. He doesn't like to go out. And a million other things. It's the most difficult thing I've ever seen. I can't imagine how it feels to be so wildly unlike yourself.
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Thoughts on my brother's diagnosis
Non-FictionMy little brother was recently diagnosed with schizophrenia. I have a lot of feelings about it. I thought that here was as good a place to put them as any
