Invisible Scars

When I think of my brother, I think of the saying, “where there is light, there is shadow.” The reverse is true as well. Darkness and light are connected.

One of my early memories is my mother walking with 4 little kids, my brother on a “leash” to make sure he wouldn’t run into traffic.

It was hard for my parents. My elder brother and I were perfect little kids. Obedient, well-mannered. My little brother broke into this ordered world like a cute wrecking ball. They were young, not equipped to handle an unruly, different child. Their only tool was pressure.

My brother wasn’t always schizophrenic. First, he was just different. Harder to handle, hyperactive. Wouldn’t stay in bed—sweet, challenging, not like us.

When I reach back into my memories, I remember at first he was just not the compliant child my parents expected. Today, in a different time and a different part of the world, he might be diagnosed with ADHS. I’m sure he would score on the Autism spectrum. It’s mind-blowing what he can do with dates and numbers.

In school, he was a failure; he was out of place; he couldn’t deliver what was expected from him. He didn’t like it there. He preferred to be at home with his family and his superhero comics.

Once, I told my father I thought something was wrong with my little brother. He needed to see a psychotherapist. I had recently read a book about autism. A lot felt strangely familiar. My father said, “you just say that because you don’t like him.” I was hurt and baffled. It was so obvious to me that his unique skills, the way he thought and reacted were different but not bad.

In hindsight, I realize he wasn't talking to me but to himself. Until this day, my father can’t handle the fact that my brother is unwell. There seems to be no room for this concept in his culture. He didn’t like the illness, so he didn’t acknowledge it. He wants to believe that this is a curse that will be lifted. It never is.

My mother feels guilty; my father chooses to ignore the finality of the diagnosis. Both strategies are equally fruitless.

In this vacuum of helplessness and denial, my brother didn’t receive the professional help he needed. Instead, he was constantly lectured by everyone. Sometimes I wonder if the voices he hears in his head today are the same he heard as a child. Telling him to be different? He never wants to tell me what they say.

Having a mentally ill brother meant that there was no space for me and my siblings to be complicated. My elder brother and I grew up quickly. Apart from being quiet and well behaved, we also became responsible. And most importantly, not difficult.

We were the golden children. Easy to handle, good in school, praised. We saw how our parents suffered, so we aimed to please. Children do that; they try to make their parents happy. I think one of the heaviest burdens laid on my brother was that he couldn’t.

I read that having a mentally ill sibling is like having the air sucked out of the room. I don’t think that’s true. It’s not the air, it’s space that is lacking. Space and time for anything else. There was no space for me to have problems, fail at things, or require support. So I didn’t. I became self-sufficient, capable, and stronger.

My parents had great expectations. Having my brother meant the others had to fill the gap and carry more than their fair share. Two of us could. One couldn’t.

My younger sister followed my brother down the path. I have two mentally ill siblings. My little brother was the catalyst. We reacted. If a family member is mentally ill, no one is left unscarred. Each of our wounds was different. Some less visible, some more debilitating.

I learned to handle problems, obstacles, and adversities at a young age. Being neglected gave me resiliency, self-sufficiency, and a strong sense of what I am capable of. It made me successful in life. I finished school easily. I went on to university and built a successful career.

I can handle whatever is thrown at me, but my strength is my brother’s weakness. It’s as if we are on a seesaw, and his heaviness is lifting me up.