— The Weight That Triggered Another Fall
That man's words kept echoing in my head long after he was gone.
"Your boys are struggling…"
I knew nobody was working at home.
I also knew my mother — no matter how hard life hit her —
always made sure there was something on the table.
But she had been away…
two days… maybe three…
Visiting my stepfather.
Which meant my little brothers were alone.
No one to check on them.
No cooked meal waiting when the sun went down.
No parent in the house to say, "Are you okay?"
I pictured Sibongiseni and Onnie
eating bread with cold water…
sleeping with empty stomachs…
wondering why their big brother never came home.
The guilt wrapped around my chest like iron chains.
My breathing changed.
My vision blurred.
I could feel the warning signs —
that strange heat crawling from my spine to my skull.
Seizure.
It hit without mercy.
I tried to call Rebecca…
but my voice locked inside me.
My body stiffened.
Legs giving up first.
I fell.
The world exploded into flashing white and black
like a broken television screen.
Through the noise in my brain,
I heard panic — Rebecca shouting my name —
her footsteps running on the ground.
Then everything went silent.
Dark.
When I woke up,
my body was cold
but my pillow was warm from tears —
hers, not mine.
Rebecca sat beside me, eyes red,
holding my hand like she was keeping me from disappearing.
> "You can't break like this," she whispered.
"Not for people who pushed you away."
She was right…
but a part of me was still a big brother —
still responsible,
still carrying love that hurt like a wound left open.
I stared at the ceiling and thought:
How do I protect my family
when I'm the one who needs protection?
How do I save others
while still learning how to survive myself?
— Feeding My Brothers in Silence
Onnie and Joshua started visiting more often. At first, they pretended they were just passing by, but I could see right through it. The shy eyes, the long pauses — they were hungry, and too proud to admit it.
Rebecca understood without me having to explain anything. She'd pack whatever we had — sometimes leftover food, sometimes a few coins for bread — and hand it to them with a smile.
Sibongiseni never came along. His pride wouldn't let him. But I knew he'd be waiting at home, trusting that his older brother would never let him down. And he was right — I never did.
— Stepping Up When No One Else Could
Everything was falling apart at home.
My brothers were still young — too young to understand responsibility… too young to survive alone.
Sibongiseni pretending he was fine.
Onnie and Joshua laughing through their hunger.
But I could see it.
The truth was written in their faces.
I didn't have a choice anymore.
Rebecca's home felt safe.
I was healing — slowly.
But how could I stay there, eating well and sleeping peacefully…
while my own blood was struggling to find their next meal?
So I made the hardest decision.
I packed my things.
Told Rebecca I needed to fix my home before it fell apart completely.
Choosing to go back…
wasn't abandoning what I had with her —
it was becoming the brother they needed.
I chose my family.
I chose responsibility.
Even if it meant walking back into stress, shouting, and uncertainty.
Because direction…
was something only I could give them.
— Coming Home to Chaos
There was no "welcome back" when I returned home.
No smiles.
No one running to hug me.
My brothers had gotten used to surviving on their own.
The house had turned into a playground — loud, messy, uncontrolled.
It felt like I walked into a place that forgot who I was…
or that I ever existed.
Leaving Rebecca wasn't easy.
She didn't want me to go —
not because she was selfish,
but because she was scared.
Scared that without her support
I might fall back,
lose progress,
and never recover.
She cared.
She saw the fight in me
even when I barely recognized it myself.
---
When Family Stops Listening
I tried.
I tried with everything I had left in me —
despite the seizures,
despite the stress,
despite never knowing when my body might betray me again.
But some days…
it felt like I was a ghost in my own home.
It was like I had died the day of the incident.
Onnie and Sibongiseni…
they didn't take me seriously.
Nothing I said mattered.
They laughed, argued, lived without rules —
as if I was just noise in the background.
But then… there was Joshua.
He wasn't my blood —
but he treated me like family.
He checked on me before I slept,
made sure I ate,
made sure I was okay
when no one else cared to even ask.
Sometimes the strongest support
comes from the one who has no reason to care…
…and that's what hurt the most.
— Trying To Hold Everything Together
Stress became my shadow —
quiet at first… but always watching.
Every day I worried: What if the seizures come back?
What if I collapse and no one helps?
What if this is how my life stays forever?
I tried to stay positive like I promised God I would…
but being home made that battle harder.
---
Trying To Be the Man of the House
I stepped in like a big brother should:
cleaning, cooking, making rules again.
But Onnie and Sibongiseni fought me on everything.
They saw independence as power.
They didn't want control —
they wanted freedom.
And to them,
I was the broken one.
The one who "died" in the incident.
The one who had no right to lead anymore.
Arguments became routine.
Some days I would shout…
only to feel my body warn me with a spark behind my eyes —
a reminder that too much stress could drop me to the floor again.
So I would just walk away.
Breathe.
Pray.
But inside, it still hurt.
---
The One Person Who Understood
Joshua noticed everything.
Without me asking, he would take over chores, clean the kitchen, tell the others to chill.
Every night he checked if I'd taken my meds,
if I was comfortable,
if I needed anything.
He ignored the jokes they made —
the whispering that I was "finished".
He stood by me like a true brother.
Sometimes…
God sends one person
to remind you you're not alone.
— Pressure Closing In
Home didn't feel like home anymore.
Every day the tension grew —
shouting over nothing,
doors slamming,
dirty plates piling up like a war sign.
I tried to stay calm for my health,
but stress always found me…
especially at night
when everyone else acted like life was normal
and I lay awake with my thoughts.
That's when loneliness whispered the loudest.
---
My love at a distance for Rebecca
Rebecca kept checking in.
Voice calls at night…
worried questions…
> "Are you taking your meds?"
"Are they treating you well?"
"Do you feel safe?"
She could hear the sadness I tried to hide.
She reminded me:
> "You fought so hard to get better.
Don't let anyone drag you backwards."
Some nights I wished I could just run back to her.
Back to peace, back to prayers,
back to where I felt human again.
But I couldn't abandon my brothers.
Not again.
---
When Stress Breaks the Body
One hot afternoon,
Sibongiseni and Onnie started arguing over nothing.
Voices rising…
pushing…
swearing…
I tried to stop it —
raising my voice too…
And then…
It hit me.
That familiar spark behind my eyes.
My body stiffened.
The world tilted sideways.
I heard Joshua shout for help
as darkness swallowed my vision
like a curtain that wouldn't open.
My worst fear returning
right in front of the people I was trying to protect.
I was hurting…
My body was still recovering…
My heart carried heartbreak and fear…
Yet I stayed.
Not because it was comfortable.
Not because it was appreciated.
Not because anyone made space for my pain.
But because I'm a protector.
Even when it cost my peace.
Even when the ones I was protecting didn't understand.
---
That Silent Kind of Strength
I didn't stay for praise.
I stayed because I knew:
> "If I leave… they will fall apart."
Most people never saw that kind of responsibility.
They only saw the outside:
a brother yelling, a young man struggling, someone trying to control the chaos.
But God saw my hidden battles —
and I kept showing up despite everything.
That was not weakness.
That was love with scars.
During those days back home…
My brothers acted like I didn't matter…