Je ne vais jamais manger.

Thanksgiving was good for the most part.

First three days I was good, last two I ate a lot of liquorice.

What made me start eating, you may ask? That Saturday, my brother was missing for at least twenty-four hours.

Stress like that makes me eat, which results in me feeling guilty, and selfish, and worthless, which results in cuts.

He's twenty-four and goes on "walkabouts"quite often. But not usually on the day before work.

He finally contacted his fiancé in the middle of the night, and he was messed up on drugs and alcohol again. He drove an hour to get home (not sober) and passed out.

He woke about an hour later, feeling really agitated. He apparently was saying he was going to kill himself and was reaching for the knives. She was stopping him which made him mad, so he said he was going to leave, and then kill himself. So she stood in front of the door, he pushed her aside and left.

His fiancé of course was texting my mom and dad throughout this, and told my mom she wanted her to call the police.

A bunch of racing around happened and he eventually got caught by the police, trying to break back into his own home.

He was put into the drunk tank until he sobered and then came out single, with a restraining order, homeless, and a court date in November.

I had never seen my brother cry before, it was heart-breaking.

But now, a little over a week later, he's fine. Going out with his friends, leaving his gigantic dog at our house with no food, while he leaves his dishes everywhere, clothes everywhere, and eats everything.

He doesn't feel bad anymore. He was never going to commit suicide (he's said many times before that he's 'going to commit suicide', but trust me, he's not that kind of person and he's never ever hurt himself). He drinks and does drugs because he's bored, and likes to party. And he's just abusing my mom and I by walking all over us pretty much.

When he was eighteen he forged my mom's cheques, took all of our money (we were literally in the hole), and he just spent it all summer partying.

This week, we had to pay his rent on the trailer he shared with his fiancé (because he spent all of his money and his fiancé didn't know that the cheque would bounce) and now we're in the hole again. And he left his dog without food for two days because he spent his money on smokes and gas (my mom and I broke down and bought the dog food last night).

My dad is focussed on getting my brother a good lawyer because he thinks that my brother didn't do anything wrong, even though he hit the girl, and tricked his own mother and the police when he told them where he was.

My mom is focussed on getting my brother a psychiatrist. She says he has a criminal mind, and needs help.

He's sick, he needs help.

His mind is corrupt, and it's a shame. We need to help him. We need to help the boy who doesn't care about anyone.

We need to help him.

If we help him, he'll accept us. He'll love us.

"He needs help", she says.

But the girl who no longer eats does not require anything. The girl who has morphed into a disappearing tiger does not need a hug. The girl who's afraid to eat a tomato and a bowl of soup is fine.

The girl who sits listening to the voices in her head is doing good. She's fine. She sees no future, no hope, she sees darkness and pointless, but she's just poetic, you know?

She's good to have around because if you're feeling bad, she'll try to make you feel better. She's good to have around because you can yell at her for doing nothing right. She's good to have because when everyone leaves you, you can leave her and say, "Ha."

She's good, she's fine, she's awesome.

I feel like I'm ten again. Dad and my brother fighting in the hallway when I'm trying to sleep. Or mom and my brother running around the kitchen, her trying to catch him, fire in her eyes; laughter in his. Or my brother pulling me into my parents' bedroom to hide because she was furious at him again and he knew that if he hid me, she'd be even madder.

I just sit here. Trying to not think about the present, trying to escape reality. Trying not to make a sound, trying not to be a bother, but being there if anyone needs me.

I'm fine, thanks. I'm just not hungry.

Food makes me feel guilty.

- Mint.