New hope.

I want to hate Christian’s ending here on earth. I really do. He was hardly 31 years old with so much life to live… so much love to give. My heart aches daily to hear his voice and the weight of his absence causes my soul to become breathless. I miss him. But who am I to determine it wasn’t his time? I grip my Faith as I continue to trust God’s plan. He gave Christian purpose and it was fulfilled. Do I believe He chose addiction for my brother? No. But I do believe God knew it would be the ultimate path he took and how it would end.

We all walk through this life with demons. If we didn’t, we’d be perfect. And, friend, perfect doesn’t exist. Some demons are worse than others and in my honest opinion, addiction is one of the worst to possess. Logic is at constant battle with desire— it’s a tug-of-war state of mind. How does one overcome this? There is not magic pill; no magic therapy; no magic rehab facility. There is only one way out— the addict.

Christian believed this disease was a choice… and while I don’t fully agree with him, I do believe at some point, a sober decision was made to try drugs. But the slippery slope that pulls an addict under is not a choice.

When you look out unto an open ocean, what do you see? Water that seems endless and shines as the sun beats down— its beautiful. Its surface sparkles as if inviting you in to free you of your burdens. But what waits for you underneath, what you can’t see with the naked eye, is a current ready to pull you under. Not every person who steps into the ocean will experience a strong enough current to take them down, just as not every person who tries drugs will struggle with addiction. Why? I don’t know.

There is so much more to learn about what causes addiction and how someone’s brain can become reprogrammed by a substance. I feel with my whole heart the first step is talking about it. There is a barrier between us and addiction; it’s called shame. I can’t and won’t speak for every addict, but I will be my brothers’ voice. Shame kept them prisoners in their bodies. For too long we accused and shamed them for hurting themselves and us as a family. We came at them as if they were enjoying their destructive actions. We were wrong.

Since becoming a mother, I now understand the everlasting and selfless love that you possess for your child. You would give your last breath if it meant saving them. Its not the type of love you walk away from…. I think this has helped me understand the severity of addiction. I watched my older brother walk away from his family, from his children… for a substance. It doesn’t make an addict weak. It confirms addiction’s strength.

So, what is our part in battling this disease with our loved ones? Again, I don’t know. We lack much power over this. My family has tried every traditional way to help my brothers. One is living on the streets… the other? In Heaven. In the end, it is up to them. But what we can control is how deeply we love them. Maybe it’s from afar? Maybe it’s through prayer? Maybe it’s walking through fire with them? There are countless ways to love an addict… and love them hard.

No person struggling with this disease should ever feel ashamed. They experience that enough on their own. Maybe if we show them their worth and fiercely love them, just maybe, they will see God through us? Maybe that will eventually be enough to remain sober?

My name is Christian Young, I’m 31 years old and I am a Heroin Addict.

My name is Christian Young. I’m 31 years old and I am a heroin addict.

I was born on the west side of Indianapolis in a little ole town called Speedway. I was raised right, at a very early age. I was taught who Jesus was and what Love and Forgiveness was all about. I was also taught about the greatest tradition in college basketball- the Kentucky Wildcats.

In all honesty, I’m so blessed how I was raised and who raised me. I don’t deserve the family I have and all the love and grace they have shown me throughout the years. My hoss captain, aka my dad, is a good ole boy from the beautiful hills of Kentucky, who is my hero and my best friend. We have a special bond like no other. He’s one of the greatest guitar players to bend them strings. My mom is a perfect example of a strong woman with a huge heart full of nothing but Love and Grace. She seriously sets the Gold Standard for how every woman should be. But like I said, I’m very, very blessed by how I was raised.

Fitting into the popular group and being accepted was always very important to me, even at a young age- it was my goal. I never had any problems in that, but it always gave me a lot of anxiety. And I’ve always been super self-conscious. I’ve always hated how I looked so that has always given me even more anxiety, especially when talking to girls. 

Anyways, I was a pretty good kid up until the 7th grade. Me and my friends would steal cigs from a local convenient store my mom and dad use to own. I used to think I was so cool smoking a cigarette or black and mild. Then one day I was hanging with the fellas and was introduced to weed. I loved it. I couldn’t wait until the weekend came to smoke pot all night with my buddies. I used to tell my mom I was going to the movies and needed money and I was meeting a girl and wanted to pay for her… Be a gentleman so I could get extra money. Me and my buddies would just buy more weed and snacks and have a hell of a night.

Then came my freshman year of high school. Talk about anxiety. I was so scared. I wanted to make sure I was gonna fit in so bad. It was almost like I had to because my brother and sister did when they were in school. So, it was almost like I had to carry on the torch. I remember going to my first high school party scared and sober. Everyone was drinking and having fun. I was somewhere in a corner, scared, looking down at my shoes. Finally, one of my buddies handed me a 5th of Jim Beam. After that it was on. I quickly noticed how all my anxiety went out of the window. How I could walk up to any girl I wanted to and talk to them and actually be confident. It was funny, I would have the whole place cracking up. I seriously became the life of the party, and I fell in love with that.

Even though I was a horrible student, I loved high school. I was accepted. We pretty much partied every weekend from Freshman to Senior year. The weird thing was, it was expected. No one looked down on us for drinking on the weekends, it was normal. It was so normal in my town, if you didn’t party on the weekends, you were looked at as weird. Especially since I grew up in Speedway- the racing capital of the world. The night before the 500 of Brickyard was like Mardi Gras. In high school, me and my buddies were the partiers. Not only did I drink, but I’m pretty sure I experimented with every drug known to man. Some I liked more than the other drugs, but there was something about wanting to at least try it all. I wanted to know how it felt and what they did.

Then one day it happened. I tasted my first little dose of opioids. I was either a Sophomore or Junior? Again, I fell in love. This drug was different than the others. It was almost like it was made just for me. It took away all of my anxiety and depression, made me feel like a king and gave me confidence. Best part about it? I could do it during the day around anyone and no one could tell I was high (at least I thought). Then I discovered after a big night of drinking, I could eat a couple of pain pills and not only did it kill the hangover, but it gave me the motivation to get stuff done that day- I really thought I was being responsible. 

My senior year, I got a tooth pulled and I got a script of 500mg vics. I think 20-24 of them? I ate the whole script within hours. That was the first time of me thinking to myself, “I might have a problem”.

I graduated on ’08, and to fast-forward a little bit, I dropped out of college and started working at the airport. Now I am taking the strong pain pills- oxytocin, roxys and percs. They started cracking down on doctors for writing scripts, so it was starting to get difficult to find the strong pain pills.

It was 2012. I was hanging with a friend and his girlfriend who I would use with when we were struggling to find pills. He finally said, “Y’all wanna do some Boy?”  Heroin. At first, I was against it. I didn’t know much about it. I thought you had to shoot it up and the name heroin sounded so ugly to me. He told me you could snort it and it would just be this one time until we could find the pills we wanted.

I gave in and we got some that night. I did my first line and I felt like I just kissed the sky. I was in love. And to top it off? It was way cheaper and stronger than the pills we were buying. 

Snorting heroin became almost a daily routine. And when I wasn’t doing it, I was thinking about it.

December 31, 20212: New Year’s Eve. Kentucky was playing Louisville that day. That night I had a huge party at my place in Speedway. After hours, once things were settled down, I texted my dealer and told him to meet me outside. It was around 3 or 4 am and I was drunk as hell. He pulled up outside my place and I snuck out to his car. My girlfriend at the time was asleep and so were some of my buddies that stayed that night. For whatever reason, he already the heroin cooked up in a needle for me. I never shot up before, but since I was drunk and wanting to use, I didn’t care. 

He shot me up since I didn’t know how. The last thing I remember is getting out of his car. That was the first time I overdosed. 

I woke up in the back of an ambulance, confused and scared as hell. I kept asking if they were taking me to jail. They were really nice and kept saying no, but that I needed to be truthful about what I took. Of course, I lied and said I drank too much and took a Vicodin. 

I was scared, but not sacred enough. From 2012 to now, I’ve overdosed 5 more times. One time, the Narcan didn’t help and they had to do CPR on me- they broke a bunch of ribs on my left side saving my life. They told me I only had a 10% chance to live…. And the first thing I asked after all of that? “Am I going to jail?”. 

You see, the reason that was my first question was because I knew if I wasn’t going to jail, then they didn’t find my dope. And I knew once I left that hospital, I was gonna use. Honestly, I couldn’t wat to leave and go use. I hated who I was and how I felt. 

I hated how I destroyed every friendship and relationship ive ever had. I hated how my other friends were so far ahead of me in life and I was still renting apartments. I wanted to use so I could at least feel decent enough to be around people. The only time I would laugh, smile, carry on a conversation was when I was high.

I got so lost again- I was living for myself, again in this disgusting world. Some say this is a disease, others say it’s a choice. That used to bother me because I firmly believe it’s a choice. But when it comes down to it, it doesn’t matter what it is. What matters is doing something about it. Finding the help we all so desperately need. 

So again, I am seeking help for the 3rd time. It sucks starting life over and giving up certain freedoms. It sucks for being made fun of for being a dumbass junkie. It sucks dragging your family through all the bullshit once again after promising them you wouldn’t. 

But its also beautiful getting help. There is so much beauty in the struggle because after hitting rock bottom, there’s no where to go but up. And that rock I hit was Jesus Christ. And I know the promises he made to me and all of you. I know 100% that love never fails and lobe is the only thing that can beat this disease/choice/demon.  

Jesus is Love and love never fails. One day, I am going to kick heroin’s ass. Jesus already did it on the cross and on his resurrection day. He gave me the free will and the Holy Spirit to conquer it. It’s all about Love, plain and simple. I’ll leave you with this.

 

Love is patient. Love is kind. It does not envy. It does not boast. It is not proud. It is not rude. It is not self-seeking. It is not easily angered. It keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil, but rejoices with truth. It always protects. Always trusts. Always hopes. Always perseveres. Love never fails. 1 Corithians 13. 4-8.

God is Love.

Faith brought me to my knees and peace wiped my tears that day. As I looked up, I saw life continuing on as I had left it— my babies enjoying their lunch, toys strung everywhere and an unfolded pile of laundry. Just like that, life continued. Weird.

The next six hours were a blur. I cried… a lot, and I prayed even more as I ventured north to my family. My heart was at war with itself. I believed with my entire being that Christian was no longer in chains and walking free. I knew he was whole and shameless— something he could only dream of feeling. Yet, selfishly, I wanted him here, still fighting. I wasn’t ready to say goodbye. But are we ever? Are we ever ready to let a loved move on? I don’t think so.

No more guilt and shame. No longer afraid of the light, for he was the brightest star in so many lives. He fought long and tiring battles, but ultimately won the war— He was God’s Warrior and he was carried home where he will live in Love for the rest of eternity.

My mind drifted to dark places. Where was he when he took his last breath? Was anyone with him? Did he know? Was he scared? I still venture to this place from time to time. Some of these questions have been answered, others not… honestly, they’ll never be. And I’ve come to accept that. What holds me together is knowing when my brother opened his eyes and saw Our Savior. How incredible is that? Can you imagine??

For a long time, we played the blame game as a family. How easy it is to place blame or find fault when you’re hurting. Better yet, point the finger when you see someone you love hurting. “He wouldn’t be using if he didn’t hang out with them.” “He wouldn’t have relapsed if *fill in the blank*.” The truth is, Christian, and any addict for that matter, will make their own choices. No one can make an addict use. Nothing can force an addict to seek a high. It truly is their choice. Its gut wrenching to watch, but it’s the God’s honest truth.

“I couldn’t get in the door because of ME,”- Christian Young.

He knew. He knew he was his only obstacle. He spent years and years focusing blame on others. I believe he believed his excuses. “All I want is a house, my truck, a wife and kids.”This was his dream… and we wanted it for him, too! Its funny how we can interfere God’s purpose for us— as if trying to use our puzzle pieces to build someone else’s picture. I heard that analogy the other day and it resonated with me on so many levels.

Christian was trying to use his blessings to copy someone else’s (anyone else’s) purpose; he was unable to see how beautiful and powerful his was. If you knew Christian, you knew about Jesus. Period. If you knew Christian, you felt love. Period. He traveled from soul to soul, blessing them with the two most important things known to man— God and love. “God is love,” he said.

New life.

This time was going to be different, right? I was never emotionally vested as I was when participating in my brother’s post rehab plan of care. This time he would have every resource needed at the tips of his fingers— we made sure he had the whole nine yards… there was no room for error. None.

He was so proud of himself for staying, participating and completing his program. He said he wanted to work with addicts… He wanted to talk to them about Jesus. He wanted to instill hope in the hopeless. He wanted to love the unlovable. He wanted to be the light for someone else’s darkness…. If he only knew he was already doing that.

My brother filled my hopeless soul with never-ending love and lit my path so bright, I felt like a star. He loved me even when my darkened soul was unlovable. “Love is all that matters”, he said. Boy, was he right. Love trumps everything. Christian Thomas Young was wise beyond his years. He was God’s Warrior here on earth and he was fighting a battle only to be won by an angel….

We grew anxious as my brother ventured out of those doors that Friday afternoon. It felt similar to the day my parents brought him home from the hospital as a newborn—innocent, fragile and loved. A new life waited for him… for all of us. It just wasn’t the new life we prayed for….

ONE WEEK LATER…

“Brit, have you talked to your mom? I’m trying to call her and she won’t answer.” Panic filled my dad’s voice.

“No, what’s going on? What’s wrong?” My panic matched his.

“Well, I tried calling Christian and a man answered claiming to be an Indianapolis Investigator and wouldn’t give me any more information.” His voiced cracked.

“I’m calling her now and I’ll call you back.” I’m pretty sure I hung up before my dad actually heard my entire sentence.

11 times I called my mom only to be sent to her voicemail. I grew weaker and weaker with each attempt.

MOM, CALL

“Brittany, listen, I’m sitting here waiting for the chaplain to arrive, and we’re headed to your dad’s. Don’t let him know just yet. I need to be there with him”.

What did I miss??? My world was spinning out of control… I was going to get sick. I ran to the bathroom but stopped and turned… a woman I had never seen before stared back at me in the mirror. Who was she? She looked like me, but something was different?

“Mom, did something happen to Christian?”

“Yes”, she forced out of her breathless voice.

“Did he make it this time?” I knew the answer, but I prayed to be wrong.

“No” she belted with every fiber of her being.

My body went limp as I fell to the ground. “No. No. No. No. CHRISTIAN!” I screamed until my voice grew quiet. My world went from spinning at an unstoppable speed to a complete halt. My brother was gone. God hold me.

Dear Christian.

We’re asking family to write a letter to the sober Christian. Please address him as if substance abuse has never been an issue.

………….

A blank computer screen stared back at me for what seemed forever. It wasn’t that I had nothing to say, but everything to say. My baby brother, how I’ve missed you. The tears flowed as my heart turned into words on a screen-

 

Dear Christian,

Hey Pork-a-chop! Gosh, that story will never get old to me, haha! How have you been? We miss your crazy sense of humor around here. If there is one person that can turn our deary days around, it’s you! But you know what I love most about you?

Your Faith. Your love that you unselfishly give to others. Your dedication to anything you put your mind to. These are qualities that are not easily adopted. But for you it comes so naturally— its a part of you. I can’t wait until your three nephews can sit under your feet while you talk to them about Jesus. They long for a relationship with their Uncle Christian. You are, hands down, one of the strongest individuals I know. Thank you for being a leader in this family, someone who isn’t afraid to stand up for what they believe in (even if it isn’t of popular belief). Thank you for always having my back even when we don’t see eye to eye. Your love for this family is deeply rooted in your soul and it shows.

You are an incredible human who has and will continue to change the lives around you.

I love you,

Brittany

SEND.

Any ounce of anger I gripped onto over the last decade, left my body— my soul was lighter. My once distorted life seemed crystal clear. My brothers were fighting with all their might. What appeared to me as weakness was, in fact, them fighting the devil. Addiction ruled their minds as they tried to navigate a world that’d become foreign to them. They were growing more and more weary as their vision became smaller and smaller. Temptation swallowed them alive and desire held them hostage. Addiction is as real as the air you and I breathe.

Is it selfish? Is it consuming? Is it hell on earth for everyone? You bet it is. The mind is a powerful thing. 

The ultimatum.

Roughly 4 months later…

3 am, phone rings…. again. It never gets easier and each call feels like the first and you’re convinced it will be the last.

“Brit, it’s dad. Please talk to me.” I ran out of my bedroom, guided by the moon light peering through my dining room window. 

“What’s wrong?” I blurted out as I hit “start” on my coffee machine— I knew my day was starting. 

“Christian is on his way to the hospital. I think he overdosed.” As my mind quickly raced, I was able to process enough to know while my brother truly wasn’t “ok,” he was ok in the sense that he was alive. Thank God.

“I don’t know what to do anymore. I found a bill for an ambulance ride serviced from a month ago. He overdosed again and we had no clue,” my dad cried. “He’s going to die. We’re going to lose him.”

As I stood there, staring at my coffee cup, I couldn’t wrap my head around what he was saying. Three OD’s in 4 months? We were playing with fire and Christian was betting his life away. My dad was wrong... we weren’t going to lose him, we already lost him and I was going to do everything I could to get him back.

I spent a better part of this journey either judging or ordering everyone else to make a change. It was time I did my part. It was time I showed my brother just how much I loved and valued him. It was time that he saw his worth.

We spent the next 48 hours making the tough decision to give Christian the final ultimatum—the streets or rehab. We threatened him time and time again with this but never followed through. We believed as a family that if we “forced” him to his rock bottom, then maybe, just maybe, we could save his life. 

“I don’t want to start over. It’s too hard.”

Christian’s voice had a tone to it that I’d never heard before. It quivered and broke as he spoke through his tears.

“I know you’re broken and tired. But I know you can do this. You’re not starting over, you’re starting new. Picture where you’ll be in one year? Think of the lives you’re going to save with your testimony? How powerful and incredible that will be!” I cried back. We were talking over the phone, but I could picture the scene— he was sitting, bent over with his head in his hands, on our dad’s bed. Lights off and curtain drawn as if hiding from himself. He wanted to be forgotten. He was too ashamed to face the light.

“Please don’t make me plan your funeral. I need you,” my pacing came to an abrupt stop as the tears flowed. My soul was begging and pleading to keep my heart alive- my brother. 

We may have been two states away, but we were closer than we had ever been, in that moment. We felt the other’s pain, but more importantly, we felt each other’s love. A brother and sister reunited by forgiveness, understanding and faith... This moment will forever be etched into my soul— I am eternally grateful.

“I’ll go, I promise.” And he did. He left three days later and spent the next 30-40 days in an inpatient rehab facility. As we hung up the phone that dreary morning, I stared at myself in the mirror (the bathroom has turned into my crying space). This time, my eyes seemed hopeful. Excitement filled my body. “This time will be different”, I told my husband. “I feel it.”

And it was….

Bleeding heart.

The first overdose… when did it really happen? Christian hid his new way of life so well. Unless he let you in, you would never know. You wouldn’t have seen how he manipulated my parents against each other. You wouldn’t have seen the stealing and lying. You wouldn’t have seen the pattern of his highs and lows.

Instead, you would’ve seen a man with a heart bigger than this world. You would’ve seen a man who’s love for Kentucky basketball and Jesus was unmatched. He lived in the moment, always, and brought you there with him. And in these moments, he experienced true freedom. For that pocket of time, happiness cradled his soul like an infant— he was free and he’d do anything in his power to keep that feeling alive… no matter the cost.

3 am, phone rings. Before looking at the caller ID, I knew. Whoever it was, was calling for one reason- Christian.

“I found Christian in his truck sleeping. Can you let your parents know?” I felt sick. I immediately knew where this night was headed.

“Can you please call 911? He has a history of using. This doesn’t feel ok.”

This conversation seemed to last an eternity. They were convinced that Christian was perfectly fine and his loud snores were not, in fact, him gasping for air. In this person’s eyes, he was sleeping off, what they thought, was a drunken stupor. Who wouldn’t?

I didn’t blame them. Like I said, Christian was good at hiding his reality. But I knew. I knew time wasn’t on my side. “He’s going to hate me for this, Joe, but I’m calling.” Christian always said I overreacted and accused way too much. 

At 3:30 am from two states away, I called their local police station. I explained to a kind officer that my brother was sick and he needed help. Police were dispatched and there I sat… waiting for the verdict.

I stared at the floor then my watch, then the floor, then my watch… I poured my second cup of coffee and sat some more, this time focusing on my heartbeat that was so heavy, I felt it in my toes. “Please God,” I silently begged.

“Mrs. Ley, I am the responding officer. I wanted to update you on your brother. We found him. Within two minutes of us arriving we had to perform CPR. Narcan didn’t help, but chest compressions were initiated. We got him back. He’s ok and on his way to the hospital.”

I fell to my knees. “Thank you, Jesus,” was all I could mutter. I laid there and cried.

Ah Ha! My ah ha moment that God had been trying to show me for so many years. My heart started beating differently...  “I’m listening. Show me the way,” I prayed.

Hope and love shattered my walls that early morning. I saw what life might look like without him and I never wanted to go there again. I saw how broken Christian’s soul really was. He was willing to die just to have a small moment of “freedom” from his pain. His poor and weary soul. He was destroyed.