Over the last ten years or so, as my brother descended further into madness, he lost all of his friends. At forty years old, he has no wife, girlfriend, pal, or even an acquaintance he could meet for coffee. He is the man sitting all by himself at a restaurant on a Saturday night. His conversations involve answering questions such as, "Would you like fries with that?"
It could be worse, I know. At least he's not a thief, a murderer, or God forbid, a child molester. Insanity is the stuff of genius or terror. Either you're Van Gogh or the Virginia Tech killer. My brother is neither. He's just sick and alone. Always alone.
I hope he's OK.
Photo from Heynicepictures.com
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