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.

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.