You haven’t left your room in two days. You cancelled a meeting, and you go to work even when you’re feverish.
I called Dad. He’s worried, too. He said that he and Mom haven’t heard from you in months, but you told me that you’d called them last week.
Did you lie to me?
I’m worried. I don’t know what to do. Do I confront you? If I’m wrong, you’d be royally pissed and me worrying about you relapsing could lead you to actually relapse. If I don’t confront you and I just keep my mouth shut like I did in college, will I lose you―for real this time?
I’m scared. Fuck, I’m scared. I don’t know what to do. I want to talk to you so badly but I’m scared that you’ll push me away or push your own problems aside because you want to help me and I just don’t know what to do.
I’m gonna go to Tokyo for three or four weeks. I’ll tell you in the morning, but I’m writing it here now so that I won’t back out at the last minute. Boss is already planning to drag me to some commoner’s pâtisserie he’s apparently in love with. I just don’t know where my head’s at right now, and you’re too empathetic. I don’t want my state of mind rubbing on yours.
Stay safe, little brother.