I still can’t hate him. He is my brother.

From Anonymous:

I still can’t hate him:

Four years. Four years of lies. Four years of tears. Four years of drama. Four years of trying to help. Four years my brother has suffered from heroin addiction.

It all started when my brother’s best friend died in a car accident. My brother was 21. His friend had given him OxyContin because he was depressed. He needed something to take his mind off things. He wasn’t coping with the loss. One pill…. one pill was all it took to send my brothers life spiralling downwards.

One pill a day turned to two a day. Two a day turned to three a day. His whole weeks pay wasn’t even covering the cost of these pills since they weren’t prescribed, he was buying them off the street. Eventually, he realised that heroin would give him the same high and would work out a lot cheaper. BOOM! That’s the day my brother became a heroin junkie. Just like that, every moral or value he was raised with was thrown out the window because there wasn’t anything my brother wouldn’t do for his next hit.

I’ve watched him steal from nearly every family member, I’ve watched him lie to everyone who’s ever cared about him and I’ve watched him lose everything.

The last I heard, my brother was living in a car with his girlfriend (also a heroin junkie – go figure). The day I realised that his sweet and beautiful girlfriend was secretly on the drugs too, it changed everything. They are TOXIC for each other. The junkie Bonnie & Clyde.

I feel for my parents. They have tried so many times. It broke their heart to kick him out of the house but they just couldn’t watch him destroy his life and use those drugs under their roof. They loved him so much, they understood he had an addiction and they wanted to help but my brother believed he could do it on his own, that he wasn’t as addicted as we made him out to be (SHOCK).

Last year, my dad was diagnosed with terminal cancer. My dad’s final wish was for my brother to be clean, healthy and working towards a future. All his other children were on the right path, he didn’t have to worry. This was still not enough to make my brother clean. He didn’t even try. This was more of a reason to shut off, dis-connect and completely distance himself from his own family. I was broken. Not only was I losing my dad but I knew now that I was mourning my brother who was still well and truly alive.

There are so many details and stories that I could write for hours and hours. I honestly wouldn’t know where to begin. My family knows now that even though four years feels like a long time, this is just the beginning. He is still no closer to being clean. He is still with his toxic girlfriend. He is still lying. He is still stealing. He is still homeless. Despite every tear I’ve shed from him & every ounce of rage that has travelled through my body…. I still can’t hate him. He is my brother.

Advertisements

Dopeman

Submitted by: Anonymous

 

The struggle is real…all of it. From wondering what he is doing constantly to anticipating his next move. Never have I felt so much pain. Pain for him, my parents, for all of us.

When I used to get angry or upset, I would email Dr. Phil or the show intervention hoping that someone would he us. I did this numerous times because this was all I could control. A little over a month ago A & E shared another special called “Dopeman” and since he was in Chicago, I didn’t think it would hurt to reach out to him also.

Tim, dope man, emailed me back. At the time my brother had finally opened up and told me that he was going to be homeless. ┬áMind you, he is functioning and works at a job where he makes almost 100,000 a year. I couldn’t understand homeless. When Tim emailed me back I held on to every word he said. I then tried to call him because I was in panic mode thinking my brother was going to be on the streets and wouldn’t survive long. By the grace of God Tim answered when I called. He told me he would talk to my brother. In the meantime, I called a rehab facility and sent his insurance card to figure out what we could do.

Tim encouraged my brother to go to rehab for himself. I finally thought we were there…and he was ready. This had to be rock bottom, right? Because my brothers arms were so bad, he had to have them checked out before going to rehab. He went to the emergency room and it was determined that he had mersa and would eventually need plastic surgery. Again, I couldn’t wrap my head around everything that was going on. I kept telling myself that I will rejoice when he gets to rehab.

After a week in the hospital, he was released. He had to take an uber directly to the airport to get on a plane. I waited anxiously to see if he would actually do it. Hours later, he made it. Did I feel relief? Nope, not like I thought I would. I wasn’t given the chance because he continues to need my help.

He has currently been in rehab for about a week after a week of detox. I have had panic phone calls in the middle of the night and phone calls from counselors telling me they are taking him to the emergency room. I haven’t slept because I continue to think if I am not pulling for him, then who will.

 

It is a constant struggle…will he make it? Am in enabling him by making these phone calls for him? I have never felt more that this is truly a family disease. I guess, today, I feel that if I can go to sleep knowing that I have done everything that I can, I am ok. He is thirty-two years old and is going to need to learn how to cope without drugs on his own.

 

Currently I am waiting for his phone call because he has been evacuated for hurricane irma. I guess there is no place better for him to Be, but man is it hard. Hard to not worry and think about it every minute. Hard to concentrate on my job and my own family.

 

All I do know is that God is good…and today, so far, is a good day. He is breathing!