In my head.

I composed a eulogy that I would say while standing next to his lifeless body. It was an angry eulogy directed at him. Whenever my words would come to surface all I could do was cry.

I cried over and over on Tuesday.

At 3:01pm the tears started flowing and wouldn’t stop. I convinced myself that this was the precise moment he died.

But I was wrong.

He didn’t die.

He was in jail.

The safest place he could ever be.

His phone is dead.

He may be dead.

We don’t know where he is. We don’t know if he’s ok or if he is in trouble. His roommate has called us to let us know he stayed in a motel last night but now has disappeared.

The saga of the poppy continues. His veins full of death just waiting to take him one last time.

All we can do is wait.

All I can do is tell my dad how much I love him and how this is NOT his fault. He didn’t put the needle in his arm. He didn’t make that choice. My brother did. My words fall on deaf ears as I watch my father wait for him to die.

Heroin is such a mother fucker.

And then something makes a crack. Today it was this song. A hairline fracture forms and within moments my wall is down and I…am crumbling. The tears begin and all I know how to do is blindly stare at a computer screen through waterfalls of tears and write. I write about how this disease never ends and how it’s hold on my brother is a million times stronger than our love for him. I write, through the tears, about how I ache for my father, who holds the blame for my brother’s addiction on his shoulders even though he shouldn’t. I write because I am sad and I miss my brother. I write because my children will never see the boy I do. They will never see the sparkle in his blue eyes or hear the carelessness in his laugh. They will never know him like I did. No one will ever again.

Heroin has changed him. Gone is the twinkle and the laugh, forever replaced by an ugliness that never leaves. A shade of gray he has become.

This time I don’t know how to recover. I don’t know how to forgive him for going back to the thing that nearly destroyed him so many times over the past 7 years. I don’t know how to stop fucking crying for him. I don’t know how to stop hating him. I just don’t know.

My brother is a heroin addict and there is not a goddamn thing I can do about it. 

Cold is the water
It freezes your already cold mind
Already cold, cold mind
And death is at your doorstep
And it will steal your innocence
But it will not steal your substance

But you are not alone in this
And you are not alone in this
As brothers we will stand and we’ll hold your hand
Hold your hand

And you are the mother
The mother of your baby child
The one to whom you gave life
And you have your choices
And these are what make man great
His ladder to the stars

But you are not alone in this
And you are not alone in this
As brothers we will stand and we’ll hold your hand
Hold your hand

And I will tell the night
Whisper, “Lose your sight”
But I can’t move the mountains for you

-Mumford & Sons

15 months clean and sober erased in one moment.

15 months of family and friends, school and normality, gone.

15 months and the needle is back in your arm as the lies spew from your mouth.

15 months later and my father is once again watching his son destroy himself.

15 months later and I hate him yet again.

15 months later and somehow I am surprised. I let myself believe that he would never use again.

15 months later, I’m sad and he’s high.

Here we go again.

He was clean for 2 weeks.

By Halloween, he was in the hospital claiming illness but really trying to cover up the bender he was on. The hospital alerted the PO and sooner than later my brother was back in front of a judge. In a surprising turn of events, he did not get sentenced to prison.  Instead he was sent to a rehab correctional facility in Northwest Ohio.

I have not spoken to him, however my father goes up to visit him weekly.  The man is a saint, it’s over 3 hours away,  He says that brother is doing well.  He has gained weight and doesn’t look at all like the heroin addict he once was.  He is taking on responsibilities and has become second in command.

I like these updates from my dad.  I like them so much that I was even inspired to write him a letter.  The first contact I have attempted to make in over a year. For some reason I have hope now.

I hope he stays clean forever.

I hope he becomes the brother I used to know and love.

I hope he never sticks a needle in his arm again.

I hope my kids will call him Uncle again.

I hope he learns that he is worth something.

I hope he learns I still love him.

Then I watched 20/20 last week and saw my brother again.  He was the every person portrayed on their show about college heroin use that night.  The daughter was my brother.  In and out of rehab & jail, scamming her parents for money and hooked on the poppy.

I called my dad.  Turn on the TV dad.  Someone is finally shining light on this epidemic.  Three days later, my ‘clean’ brother went on a bender.  With the threat of two felony convicitions on his head, he went on a fucking bender.  He lied to my dad. Tried to scam money from him for an out of state rehab and then tried to scam a hospital.

This is what heroin fucking does.

It takes ahold of your life and doesn’t let go until your dead or in prison.  Some may get out alive but not many.

16% recover.

84% don’t.

In the back of my head I had always hoped he would make it, I had always prayed he was different than the stats.  He was stronger, he was better than the other junkies.  He could make it through this.

Now I’m not so sure.

My dad is a wreck once again.  The past 6 years of his life stolen by a disease that his son chose the second he put that needle in his arm.  He cannot walk away no matter how hard he tries.  He doesn’t see the junkie I see.  All he sees is the son he once loved so much.

The father was writing in regards to money and business and the son had to bear the thoughtlessness of his own father’s words.

I thought of my own father.  What he wouldn’t give to have his son back. He would lay down his life to know the boy he knew before the needle had taken over his life.

I read the evil words the father had written and I wished he knew the pain he was ultimately causing his son, pain that could never be reversed but could have been withheld.

He’s 27 and he has spent the last five years putting a needle in his arm.  He has spent the last five years stealing thousands upon thousands of dollars from anyone and everyone he knows.  The last five years lying, cheating, and who knows what else.  Heroin addicts aren’t really the poster boys for good are they now?

I am so sick of his bullshit.  I am so sick of my dad enabling him.  I am so sick of the fucking lies he tells to everyone.  I am so sick of everyone believing him.

He is a liar.  He will do anything for the poppy.  Anything.  Every word he speaks is a lie.  It is a way for him to figure out the next way he can get high.  He doesn’t want to get clean.  He doesn’t give a shit who he hurts or steps on.  He is a 27-year-old monster.

I.
Am.
Officially.
Done.

He is no longer my brother.

Heroin addiction is cyclical.  At least in my world. My brother has been clean more times than I care to remember and has been high more times than anyone ever should be.  It is not a pretty life.

Last time we spoke he had come by the restaurant.  He was headed into a 9 month rehab program and wanted to say goodbye.  I was hopeful, but having watched him go in and out of detox / rehab facility, I was highly suspect.

He lasted 2 months.

He got kicked out for fighting (?) and has now come back into my life.

I have seen him twice since he got kicked out of the facility and he looks good.  He’s clean.  He’s sober.  He’s got a sponsor.  But he’s still an addict, and addicts love to get clean.

Here’s what I mean.

The way heroin works, according to what I have seen go down in a 5 year addiction, is this:

Addict shoots up.

Addict shoots up a lot.

Addict shoots up so much that said addict can no longer get high with a small amount of heroin.

Addict is a junkie and can therefore not afford large amounts of heroin, so addict goes to detox.

Detox cleans addicts system out.

Addict can choose one of 2 ways, clean or junk.

Addict chooses junk.

The cycle begins again.

I have watched this go down with my brother over 20 times.  I hope I don’t have to watch it a 21st time.  I would like my brother back.  For real this time.