And I'd still face the playground bully to defend him. What we've been through as a family sure looks strange to the outside observer. There were days when I wanted to scream with frustration, when I collapsed in tears, trying to understand why my beautiful brother was so unwell. He has said and done some very hurtful things under the influences of drug abuse and mental disease, but my mind is always haunted by the moment in the asylum when I stroked his long, tangled hair as he rested in a medically induced sleep. I am filled with so much sadness and compassion and love. I don't expect anyone to understand it. He is not easy to love. He does a lot of things he shouldn't. He is selfish. He is immature. He is an adult with no strong prospects of independence. But he is also my brother, and I love him more than I can ever express. It hurts so deeply when I hear him spoken about by others. Yesterday, someone called him a retard. I demanded an apology. And then I locked myself in the bathroom and cried for my beautiful, tormented brother.