On our 17th birthday we went to a rave to celebrate. We were rollin' on Ecstasy and smoking weed, having the time of our lives -- or so we thought. I had already had four beans by 3:25 am, when my brother passed out. At first, I thought it was normal, thinking he got blown up and he'll be awake in a few seconds, like always. Then 30 or 40 seconds flew by when I went to check on him. He wasn't breathing. I started to shake and scream at him. Nothing happened. The whole room got silent. As tears streamed from my eyes, my friend came up to me and hugged me. All I could do was cry and hope this was a nightmare or a wake-up call. Well, it was both. They called 911 and by the time they got there, there was no hope. They declared Kevin dead on arrival. My mom was called and when I thought nothing worse could happen, hell arrived. I ran away from home because it was all my fault. It has been six months from my best friend/brother's death I think about it night and day. I'm still hooked on drugs but I'm starting to quit. It's not easy. As I sit back and think, I feel like it should have been me, not him. I mean, I took four beans and he only took two. I should have been the one to go. I have pictures of him everywhere, just the two of us having the time of our lives, chillin'. But it all ended on our 17th birthday and since then I haven't been alive, I've been in hell. I love and miss you, Kevin, I think about you 24/7. I'll be up there with you one day! I love you, Bro.