too weird to live, too rare to die

why do i only come back to this page when i'm expecting the worst? i've renewed my commitment to this blog because lets face it, who else can i talk to? friends and co-workers who couldn't begin to understand? sympathetic nods behind veils of judgement. hell, i'd judge. and family. oh family. a mom who hopes for the best and a dad who expects the worse. a teenage sister who doesn't understand why our love isn't enough. our fractured conversations don't leave the us 4-- immediacy only. the rest of the family just simply cannot know.

last week we thought my brother was dead. i had a mental picture of a cold body somewhere in my parent's condo. the car parked outside and a cell phone plugged in to the wall charging. all the while he's in there dead from an overdose or suicide. nobody had heard from him in days and thought that perhaps "this was it." he finally hit rock bottom.

lets back track. my brother has been living in florida for a few months now. he had a "job" (that turned out to be fake) and pawned off almost everything to his name (including things that weren't to his name). most recently, he was part of an elaborate robbery and credit card theft incident. though his level of participation is still in question, he's in a lot of trouble. stealing to buy drugs. no one is ever surprised.

my dad imposed a 4pm deadline to hear from my brother. no response by then and he was heading down to find out what was going on. for 3 hours i mourned the death of my brother. i cried like he was dead. in my gut, in my heart and in my head, maybe he had already been gone for longer.

at approximately 4:15, my brother surfaced with no regard to the phone calls, texts and voicemails. apparently he had been sleeping.

and so my personal battle today is this: should families shoulder the guilt for planning for death?

my brother is an addict. every single day he will wake up with a choice. he can chose to be clean or he can chose to use and be that much closer to the inevitable death that surrounds him. he's been lost for so long-- how can i not think about what it will be like when he dies?

16 days. 384 hours. 23,040 minutes.

the amount of time my brother has chosen to stay alive. this time. at last check-in (july 2010), my brother was back in detox. 2 failed drug tests later here we are in september.

i originally abandoned this blog days after creation in hopes that ignoring a problem denies its existence. oh dream world.

today i'm ridden with what we'll call "survivor's guilt". it's the idea that though i am the primary introduction point to my brother and all drugs, i've managed to come out completely unscathed. things i do: drink alcohol, smoke recreationally. things i don't do: snort anything, pierce my skin with needles, smoke things manufactured by man. but yet, we all started in the same place. an underage boone's farm here and some really shitty pot there. where did it all go terribly wrong?

there's no progression if you can't stay sober

relapse number 1 million and one. we've been here so many times that my expression doesn't even change upon hearing the news last night. this time dad breaks it. "your brother got kicked out of the halfway house. he failed a drug test."

no audible gasp. no tears. no anger. this is life. for as long as i can remember, my brother's addiction to opiates has controlled our family.

put the highlight reel on repeat. he leaves for treatment and the collective weight is temporarily lifted. no more hiding money. no more examining pupils. no more suspicion every time he's gone 15 minutes longer than expected. no more blackouts or emergency room visits. no more weight loss. but wait for it. the gut punch will come.

my brother is a different generation of junkie. 23, handsome, a talented musician and athlete, and a scholar. the guy who started recreational drugs around 13 but still managed to have a college scholarship. he is the upper-middle class face of young drug addiction. he's been there 12-step treatment, new-age treatment, and the list goes on.

it's july 2010. and here we are. there truly isn't any progression if you can't stay sober {unidentifiable song lyric}, so i guess the only place to start is from the beginning. hop on.