My little sister is an addict.
A full-blown, non-stop, can’t see the rock bottoms she’s hitting, heroin addict.
It makes my heart hurt.
The last time I saw her, I was embarrassed, ashamed, and afraid.
That was over a year ago. My sister was so beautiful. She had two beautiful children, a fiancé that would have gone to the ends of the earth for her, a wonderful job in the medical field, and a family that couldn’t have been more proud of her.
We lost our brother very tragically, and she began abusing prescription drugs and alcohol. Years later, her mother died as the result of prescription drug abuse, alcohol, and mental illness, and my sister couldn’t find a moment of sobriety.
In the blink of an eye, she went from a doting mother to an addict who will do anything for a fix.
A girl who got straight A’s in school to a girl who walks the streets at night. A mother who wouldn’t let her daughter go to the movies without her, to one that hasn’t seen her children in ten months.
My sister had a contagious giggle and a charming personality. She has lost them completely. No amount of intervention has helped.
When she was gang-raped in a cemetery and walked home in a torn t-shirt, it didn’t stop her.
When the police arrested her in front of her daughters, it didn’t stop her.
When she contracted hep-c six months ago, it didn’t stop her.
When her boyfriend/pimp beat her until her teeth fell out, it didn’t stop her.
There is no saving her. No prince charming, no big strong father, protective brothers, or supportive sister; not even the cries from her children. Nothing.
I feel like she’s already gone.
I feel myself mourning her.
I remember her laugh, the way she looked at her children, the way she looked up to me, and the way she cared for our father. I’ve lost her. I can’t call her just to chat. I can’t hear that laughter I love so much. It’s been taken from me. I’ve been robbed, and no one will take the police report. My property will not be returned.
My nieces will never know the mother they could have had. Sometimes I hope there is a glimmer of memory in her oldest, but then I wonder if I really do. Is it better if they don’t remember at all?
I feel like I failed her. I failed my sister. I should have done more; said more, stopped more. When most of your family is spiraling out of control, who do you save first? My whole life has been about which fire to put out first.
I never even saw her smoldering. I had no idea she would ignite that quick, or blaze that high and that fast.
By the time I got there she was already gone. I remember our brother, saying “ I never want to see her strung out pushing a carriage down the street like the rest of those hood rats. We need to watch her.” I failed him too, by dropping the ball. Like my friend Julie says, addiction is a bitch.
I know as a rational person, I can’t save my sister, but my silly stupid heart screams I could have…should have. I live with it every day. Sometimes I drive down the street and break down in tears because I want to hear her giggle. I want to see her giggle with her kids. I want my family back.
But heroin took it.
Addiction is a fucking bitch.
This brave, heartbreaking post was submitted anonymously.