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.