Hopeless

It's been almost a year since I have felt so hopeless. Today while I was working I imagined I was at my brother's funeral. I imagined what I would say, how I would act and how I would feel. It was chilling, but not completely unrealistic. I've been watching my brother slowly begin to look more and more like the addict that lives inside of him. He was sober for a while and man was it wonderful. I got to see his beautiful face and gorgeous smile again. I was even able to laugh with him. I even thought, "maybe this is the time he will turn it all around." Then, about a week ago I saw him heating up pizza (we live in our parents home) and I wanted to tell him something. I called his name and he turned around and my heart dropped. His pupils were almost non-existent and he had that...look. He had been scratching and picking at his face and I could see the skin glistening where had just ripped a fresh piece off. "What's up?" he said. "Nothing I replied, just wanted to see what you were cooking." I grabbed water and walked downstairs into the basement where I live. I was heartbroken. I wanted to go upstairs and punch him, kick him and scream. But I didn't. Instead I cried. I cried and cried and cried until I got tired. I couldn't stop even while using all of these strategies I have been taught in Nar-Anon. Now the nightmares are back. The one's I  used to have. The one's where I see him using and I yell at him. The one's where his skin is peeling off. The one's where I beat him up until I wake up terrified. The most vivid dream I have of him goes like this:

We were standing on the front steps of the house we grew up in. My brother was there but he wasn't a human, he was a robot and he was in pieces. His robot arms, legs, torso and head were strewn about the steps. I began to assemble them. My mother came by and asked me what I was doing. I answered, "I'm putting him back together, I'm fixing him." When I was done there he was, my brother, standing in front of me and smiling. I woke up hysterical crying. If only I could actually put him back together, if only I could fix him. If only. Then our lives would go back to normal, then we would never have to worry anymore, then everything will be okay. But I can't fix him. He must fix himself. And while he is in the process of either fixing himself or killing himself I must go on. I must be strong and be happy because I have a life to live. I have school to attend, I have a career to begin, I have a boyfriend to marry and I have children to bear. No matter how badly I want to fix my brother I have to remind myself I can't. For he is the only person who can pick up his pieces and reassemble them.

“Here I am trying to live, or rather, I am trying to teach the death within me how to live.” 
― Jean Cocteau

A Little About My Situation

My younger brother and I have always been very close. Being only two years apart all of my memories as a child contain my brother. Luckily for me all of those memories are happy ones. Going to the beach, dancing around the house, visiting our grandmother, making home movies, laughing, going to the park, setting toast on fire trying to make breakfast and the list goes on and on and on. At times those wonderful memories move me to tears. I cannot help but wonder, if my situation were different would those memories still make me cry? Unfortunately I don't have an answer. What I do have are those memories and I am thankful for them because the memories that are being created between my brother and I these days cause tears of a different sort.

I want to say he began drug use around the age of 17 or 18. I'm not really sure, it's all a terrible painful blur. As he got older  I noticed he began doing harder drugs, like pain pills and antidepressants. I understood that, I also experimented with them when I was younger. At times I feel a bit of "survivor's guilt", how come I never became addicted? Anyway, I would say around 20 is when his addiction started to spiral out of control, right after he came across oxycontin and roxycodone. At first I thought it would pass, but it didn't. He used, he lied, he stole from and embarrassed my family and he became the addict he is today.

He is 22 years old, has been in and out of rehab 3 times and in a halfway house for 6 months. Thus far he has been able to dodge jail (he is amazing at talking to people--his good looks and ability to lie have gotten him out of a lot of trouble) but with the path he is traveling it may be inevitable. I decided to begin this blog not only as a catharsis for myself but for anyone else who is in my position. I find comfort in sharing my story with others who understand and I'm sure others feel the same way. Sharing helps me heal and it gives me strength. I am beginning to learn how to handle my own addiction to my brother and hope my story can help at least one other person.

"We cannot change anything if we cannot change our way of thinking"
 -Santosh Kalwar