Explination
I’ve always hated myself a little bit more than most and it seems I was never told I was wrong in my beliefs growing up. They say it takes a village but I didn’t have a tribe. You have to love yourself to let someone love you but I don’t know how to love myself because I never witnessed it from anybody else. Now I’m struggling to find a place I belong in the world and completely failing.
I found it keeping my brother alive because he suffered the same childhood that I did and I failed at making him understand that it wasn’t his fault sooner. I didn’t find a home or a safe place to go. I thought I had more time. I thought he was okay i thought I thought I thought and I thought wrong. That’s all there is. There’s no fixing it. you don’t get to do over when they’re dead.
My brother actually got out of the sober living because I came home and the worst thing that I’ve ever done for either of us was allow either of us to do that. I shouldn’t have allowed him to come back I should not have allowed myself to come back. I believe he was in sober living because he was going to come to Texas with me and my daughter. Then I came home and he thought that was no longer possible he realized I’d b
Failed him again and I failed her. On the third night that I had him I couldn’t find him a ride for work the next morning and I had to let him stay with mom and dad and my mom wouldn’t let me stay. He had made me promise not to leave him under any circumstances except for work. I didn’t know that she was the problem and when he said that he couldn’t come back here or he would die he meant that she would pull the trigger and not himself. I’m not exactly sure what happened but I know that he was obviously comfortable enough to use on my mother’s bed and that she saw all the signs of an overdose and didn’t stop it but I still blame myself completely for him being in there and for not believing him when he told me about her using. After his death I blamed myself so much that I felt I needed to help somebody get sober in order to forgive myself. I refuse to date an addict but then an addict of course lied about being in recovery and I believed him and it didn’t take long for me to realize that that was not the case but I had already cared and chose him to save. I thought he was worth saving and he thought I was worth nothing and and I told him that if he continued to inject drugs he would have to alsoinject me and he injected me with Suboxone and meth 8 times that day. I allowed him to continue to be the one too push the plunger because my brother always told me that I would like it too much and I didn’t want to be good at it like I am. When I finally did it for myself I was shocked at how easy it was and became addicted. I don’t have any physical withdrawals from alcohol but I can’t stand not having the sting. It’s the idea, possibility and potential of getting away from everything. The drugs didn’t get me high but I still was seeking an escape a reason for my brother to have looked the other way, a break from my own mind. I sought a vacation from my own self while trying to help others live a life that didn’t need a vacation from. My ex and I actually became very close before and after our breakup and except for the fact that he’s currently obsessed with his new girlfriend we’ve stayed that way and I consider him to be my best friend. He lived with me briefly. Unfortunately I didn’t save him from himself because he now uses fentanyl. Go figure. So do I. In the last year I’ve died 17 times by intentional overdose. For a long time I only used fentanyl to die but I was never any good at staying dead. I kept dying trying to show my next person what was going to happen to him after he started back using while we were together and claimed it was because of me although I never touched it. I still wonder how he could ever say he cared about my life if he continued to use knowing I would continue to die if he did. He kept reviving me and he kept using.
I never made it back to Texas and am still in my small dead end home town where half the people I grew up with are dead and the other half are one foot in the grave. I’m mostly sober but still have trouble turning down a syringe. There are more people burying their children than the other way around and there are more orphans than should ever be natural.
.
I’ve always hated myself a little bit more than most and it seems I was never told I was wrong in my beliefs growing up. They say it takes a village but I didn’t have a tribe. You have to love yourself to let someone love you but I don’t know how to love myself because I never witnessed it from anybody else. Now I’m struggling to find a place I belong in the world and completely failing.
I found it keeping my brother alive because he suffered the same childhood that I did and I failed at making him understand that it wasn’t his fault sooner. I didn’t find a home or a safe place to go. I thought I had more time. I thought he was okay i thought I thought I thought and I thought wrong. That’s all there is. There’s no fixing it. you don’t get to do over when they’re dead.
My brother actually got out of the sober living because I came home and the worst thing that I’ve ever done for either of us was allow either of us to do that. I shouldn’t have allowed him to come back I should not have allowed myself to come back. I believe he was in sober living because he was going to come to Texas with me and my daughter. Then I came home and he thought that was no longer possible he realized I’d b
Failed him again and I failed her. On the third night that I had him I couldn’t find him a ride for work the next morning and I had to let him stay with mom and dad and my mom wouldn’t let me stay. He had made me promise not to leave him under any circumstances except for work. I didn’t know that she was the problem and when he said that he couldn’t come back here or he would die he meant that she would pull the trigger and not himself. I’m not exactly sure what happened but I know that he was obviously comfortable enough to use on my mother’s bed and that she saw all the signs of an overdose and didn’t stop it but I still blame myself completely for him being in there and for not believing him when he told me about her using. After his death I blamed myself so much that I felt I needed to help somebody get sober in order to forgive myself. I refuse to date an addict but then an addict of course lied about being in recovery and I believed him and it didn’t take long for me to realize that that was not the case but I had already cared and chose him to save. I thought he was worth saving and he thought I was worth nothing and and I told him that if he continued to inject drugs he would have to alsoinject me and he injected me with Suboxone and meth 8 times that day. I allowed him to continue to be the one too push the plunger because my brother always told me that I would like it too much and I didn’t want to be good at it like I am. When I finally did it for myself I was shocked at how easy it was and became addicted. I don’t have any physical withdrawals from alcohol but I can’t stand not having the sting. It’s the idea, possibility and potential of getting away from everything. The drugs didn’t get me high but I still was seeking an escape a reason for my brother to have looked the other way, a break from my own mind. I sought a vacation from my own self while trying to help others live a life that didn’t need a vacation from. My ex and I actually became very close before and after our breakup and except for the fact that he’s currently obsessed with his new girlfriend we’ve stayed that way and I consider him to be my best friend. He lived with me briefly. Unfortunately I didn’t save him from himself because he now uses fentanyl. Go figure. So do I. In the last year I’ve died 17 times by intentional overdose. For a long time I only used fentanyl to die but I was never any good at staying dead. I kept dying trying to show my next person what was going to happen to him after he started back using while we were together and claimed it was because of me although I never touched it. I still wonder how he could ever say he cared about my life if he continued to use knowing I would continue to die if he did. He kept reviving me and he kept using.
I never made it back to Texas and am still in my small dead end home town where half the people I grew up with are dead and the other half are one foot in the grave. I’m mostly sober but still have trouble turning down a syringe. There are more people burying their children than the other way around and there are more orphans than should ever be natural.
Overwhelmed astronaut 