As a recovered heroin addict, I understand very well what it means to enslave oneself. I have battled for over a decade with heavy addiction. As of this writing, I have been clean for two years, six months, and six days. I cost my family and loved ones immense amounts of money in hospitalizations, overdoses, rehab programs, and bail money to get me out of jail again, not to mention the intense emotional and psychological turmoil I put them through.
Through it all I was supported by a big brother who hasn’t ever genuinely understood addiction for himself (for only an addict can truly understand the mind of an addict), but has gone above and beyond his responsibilities as my big brother to try to understand ME.
12 days before I was to be his Best Man at his wedding, I attempted, and succeeded, in killing myself with a massive overdose and sliced wrists. I was found in a bloody bathtub not breathing and without a pulse, and resuscitated by my father. I spent the next seven days in intensive care fighting for my life, and another three in the psych ward being “treated.” In the end, I was released in time to make it to Drew’s wedding. Still weak from blood loss and weighing in at about 130 pounds, I had to have a chair on the stage in the church. But I was able to sing for Drew and his wife during the ceremony, and carried out my Best Man responsibilities.
This was just one of many times when I took my brother for granted, and when he loved me unconditionally, nonetheless. We’ve developed intense bonds over the past ten years as he has helped me to crawl out from under addiction. He’s helped me learn how to eat better, how to exercise and heal my body. And now two and a half years sober, I’m weighing in at a healthy 175 lbs, and I’m constantly chasing Drew in the weight room, trying to catch up. My scars have been written over with Love, and every day I heal and grow.