How Did I Get Here? Addiction has dominated and transformed my life from the inside out. It does not discriminate or show remorse. And when it shows up unannounced, it spews into every crevice of your life. It’s much like someone you love being diagnosed with an incurable illness. The entire family’s world changes. I will even go one further and say, you’re diagnosed with them. Oh no, this isn’t a battle that one watches from the sidelines. This is a death wish that nominates everyone in reach to participate in.  Why me? I’ve spent most of the last decade asking God this. Why do I have to suffer along with my brothers? Why have You allowed them to steal my life as well? Is it not enough that they’ve destroyed their own? Why have You allowed my family to burden this pain? I was tired of explaining my circumstances to friends, to my employers, to my professors… to everyone, really. I was thrown into a war I never signed up for and little by little my world became dark and lonely, my vision narrowed and my heart grew cold. I dreaded the question, “How are you? How’s your family?”. It’s always asked with pure intentions and I know if the person could see my heart, they wouldn’t inquire. How do you muster up a response? Am I saying too much? Am I saying too little? Do they even know? “Same story, different day,” is how I eventually answered.  Robbed— Addiction has robbed me of so many precious moments and thoughts. It prevented me from developing a relationship with my older brother. It destroyed the possibility of having a future with my younger brother. The moments one yearns for their parents’ attention most was taken from me— engagement, college graduation, bridal/baby showers, wedding, holidays, etc. With each let down, I felt myself hate a little more. I hated my brothers. I hated who they were and I hated that they were a part of me. I eventually became numb to their emotions. Every sober streak was followed by a gut-wrenching crash— money stolen, prescriptions confiscated, lies on top of lies, enabling, relationships destroyed… It started and ended the same way every time— with a broken promise— “I promise I won’t,” followed by, “I promise never again.” I wish I could say my heart changed after the first overdose, but it didn’t— It grew colder. I can’t even remember who overdosed first? Maybe Christian? It was a crisp Sunday morning and I had a missed call from my mom. This is not atypical; we talk a lot! I called her back on my lunch break later that day and immediately I knew something was wrong. “Listen, Christian is in the hospital. He’s going to be ok; he says he just drank too much.” Or it could’ve been Michael? Again, a missed call from my mom. And wouldn’t you know it? Same conversation. One would think hearing that you almost lost a brother would shake you up a bit— give you that, “Ah ha!” moment. I’ve only admitted this to one other person (my now husband) before. There was a time when I thought their death would make things better. I wish I could insert the monkey hiding his face emoji right now. Just know as I am typing this, I’m doing just that: hiding my face. I am ASHAMED that I ever thought death would be an easy out. I am ASHAMED that I spent years and years hating. And I am ASHAMED that it took a fifth overdose for my, “Ah ha” moment to show up. I never want to portray an image that I’ve got it figured out- far from it actually. But I have found hope and have learned to love harder along the way. I don’t believe in living among the “what if’s” or “should haves.” It’s a great place to go and learn, but not to stay and dwell. I visit there often. There are things I regret saying, things I regret doing, but most of all, there are things I regret NOT saying or NOT doing… I spent a lot of time hating my brothers…being angry with my parents…and allowing my circumstances to define me. As I sit here, I’m still trying to figure out how the heck I got to this point? Not too long ago I cringed at this topic and hid behind my judgement-filled thoughts and emotions. Now, here I am sharing personal details of my life that has held my family captive for many, many years. Thank you for your support and patience as I navigate uncharted waters. I want to make my intentions known, as well. I’m an imperfect human. I do not hold some secret “key” to unlock the door to happiness or addiction. I’m simply a 34-year-old sister, daughter, mother, wife and friend who has walked a very dark road for some time. My hope is to create a platform where I can share in my struggles as the sister of an addict. My prayer is to honor my brothers the way they deserve— to share their story in hopes to alter the stigma of addiction and how we as a society view addicts.  ReplyForward