Guilty.

Who was this person? Did I miss something? Little did we know Christian was staring addiction in the face. It gripped his life with all its might… days turned into weeks, weeks into months, and months into years. 

………

For the last two weeks I’ve found myself at a loss for words right here. I don’t know how to fill in the gap between then and now? When exactly did we suspect Christian had a problem? When did I really lose my baby brother? How the hell did I get from there to here?

The last 4 years of my life resemble a distorted TV screen but filled with moments of picture clarity. The ups and downs we experienced as a family have become my way of life— my normal. We eat, drink and sleep addiction.Multiple interventions, rehabs and sober streaks all followed by crippling relapses.

“I think he’s using again.” These words quit packing a punch and became an expectation. It wasn’t a question of if he uses again, but when he uses again. I could predict how any conversation would go at any given moment with my parents. And you know what? I hated Christian and Michael for that… especially Christian. How could he do this to us? He knows what it feels like being on the other end of addiction. “How selfish,” I thought.

“She thinks she’s better.” I wanted to come through the phone when my mom told me what Christian said about me. “I think I’m better??? Are you kidding me?” All I ever tried to do was be better— to give my parents one less kid to worry about. As far as I was concerned, Christian Young was dead to me…

How could he think this of me? Does he not know what he robbed me of? Does he not see what he’s ripped this entire family of? Get ready for a plot twist. 

I did think I was better than him.

You couldn’t convince me of this at the time, but oh man, I certainly did believe I was better than him. We were given the same opportunities and you chose drugs… I chose life. You fall short and I work harder. I’m breaking the cycle, and you? You’re keeping it moving at an unsustainable rate of speed.

He knew how I saw him… just another junkie sucking the life out of everything in reach. I hated him. I couldn’t see that he was dying inside, that who he was wasn’t truly him. When I heard the name “Christian,” I heard, “screw up.” Judgement filled my heart and I welcomed it into my home.

I failed to open my eyes… actually, I REFUSED to open my eyes. I felt that as long as I stayed angry, then there wasn’t any room for letdown. You can’t hurt me if I stay hurt. You can’t disappoint me if I stay disappointed. And you can’t rob me if I stay empty hearted.

What I failed to see was this: Addiction consumed my brother as much as hatred consumed my spirit. I was just as guilty as he was— not better.

Blinded by charm.

Wherever I went, there he was. Christian was my shadow from the moment he could walk. His tender little heart was always unsure of himself, so having a “security blanket” enabled his inner self to shine. That boy’s humor was out of this world. Even in diapers, Christian could leave a room in tears. He left you in better condition than you were before him— I admired that about him.

We shared your typical big sister/little brother relationship but I recall a specific time when things seemed “different.” High School Christian was an angry Christian… I never understood how someone with such a huge heart could be so mean? The once sensitive little boy was now quick to anger and started secluding himself from family. Typical teenage boy? Probably. But something didn’t feel right. Maybe knowing there were rumors of him experimenting with pills made me constantly question him? Regardless, this was when I noticed a change in him…

“I’m going to college.” The joy I felt in my heart the day Christian shared his dreams was indescribable. The first of my mom’s kids to go to college— this was HUGE! Truth be told, he inspired me to do the same. Christian and I embarked on our college careers together, something that I’ll always remember! His dream was to own land, a blue truck and have kids and a wife. I wanted that for him, too. We all did. Deep down, I know he wanted better for himself, but he never believed he could do better. I don’t think Christian ever saw his worth the way everyone else did… he had moments but his demons kept his feet shackled to the ground. 

Sadly, the letters started coming in the mail weeks after his first semester started. Christian wasn’t showing up to his classes… at all. I think he made it to one or two classes the first week? My parents were livid. I don’t know what frustrated them more; The money and time wasted sending him to school. Or because his excuses were too simple? “I overslept.” “I didn’t have money.” “I didn’t know.” What was going on?

When I tell you, Christian was born to play the part of deception, I mean it. As lame as his excuses were, he had you convinced. The way he explained any situation was so believable, you questioned yourself for ever questioning him. He was good— full of charisma and fabricated truths. But he had to be, right? Because by this time, my baby brother was using painkillers daily. How did we not see him breaking right before us? How did we not see him slipping into the all familiar dark hole? Was our exhaustion preventing our minds and hearts from seeing eye-to-eye? We were blinded by his charm.

Hope shattered.

The longest span of stability we felt as a family came crashing down that cool spring morning. A couple days prior, I learned about Michael’s relapse. It was suspected for a while… we shouldn’t have felt as surprised as we were, but you’re never prepared for that type of let-down. I was sworn to secrecy not to share with my parents just yet and to be 100% honest, I was fine with that. If I didn’t talk about it, it seemed more like a faint dream and less like my worst fear unfolding before me... yet again.

When my phone rang at 5:30am that morning, I knew tragedy was waiting on the other end of the line. I, however, was not prepared for the news ahead. “Honey, I just wanted to tell you Christian is in the hospital. He overdosed last night. He’s going to be ok.”

I should’ve been sad. I should’ve asked more questions. I should’ve offered my services. Instead I yelled. I yelled at my mom for ignoring all of the signs (Ps. It’s never anyone’s fault that another becomes an addict). I cursed my brother’s name for burying us alive. “Well, Michael’s using again, too. I’m done. I have nothing left to give.” Oops. That wasn’t suppose to come out, but I wanted to hurt someone (not physically, of course). I wanted someone to feel the anger that I felt because it didn’t seem fair that I was continually being thrown down when all I was trying to do was be better, do better.

 Notice all the “I’s”, in there? If there is one thing that I’ve learned through this battle is its selfish— everyone involved is selfish. The addict is selfishly killing themselves and emotionally wrecking every loved one. The rest of us are selfishly trying to validate our feelings while comparing our involvement to the next person. Trust me, everyone’s feelings are validated. But I think you reach a point where you feel your voice is muffled. And because of that you spin your wheels trying to be heard while ignoring everyone else. Addiction is selfish. Addiction is manipulative. And addiction is hate.

There it was, my new reality. Two brothers selfishly sucking the life out of everything they touched, including themselves. I didn’t think addiction could get worse until that morning— my life was Hell on earth. I said goodbye to my brothers that day— I was done.

I’ve only spoken to Michael face-to-face once since his last relapse almost three years ago. I wish I could tell you this always hurt me, but I’d be lying. I found the further I pulled away, the less real it seemed. I not only quit talking about him, I pulled back from those closest to him, including my mom. “You need to set boundaries.” These five words were constantly thrown at me until they struck me right through the heart. I didn’t just set boundaries, I put up walls— emotionless walls. I hate that I chose the dark and lonely path that I did, but as I said from the beginning, I cannot and will not live among what “what if’s” and “should have’s.” I will, on the other hand, take what I’ve learned and allow it to be my light moving forward.

My baby brother was using. If there was any doubt before, it was gone now. No matter how hard Christian tried to convince himself and us he was fine, we knew better. Yet, somehow, we found ourselves healing to his lies. He was good… as if he was born to play the part. His struggle hit me differently than Michael’s— Christian was my baby brother. I protected him. I knew him… I knew his heart— it was pure.

From a very, very young age Christian battled himself. He hated the skin he was in. He hated being different and he hated to disappoint. I knew this about him, causing my big sister heart to shield him from all his fears and doubts. I would’ve given him my last of anything if it meant seeing him happy. This stands true to this day.

He had a way with people… To know him was to love him and no matter how angry you were, it melted away the moment you saw him. Which is why I ran as fast as I could from him. I refused to be under his spell— another addict’s curse. Years of addiction wore my spirit down. My hope was shattered.