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.
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