[charlieweb]

I can’t even tell you if my only, and younger (12 months apart) brother is using drugs harder than marijuana. I feel naive even writing this, but it is true. He has so many signs that say yes, but I have never found anything or had him admit to such activity. It begs the question: Can mental illness mimic the lifestyle of a drug addict and then does it even matter?

My brother is 31 years old now. His whole life my parents were picking him up from school for suspensions, and having to attend to doctor appointments and counselling appointments to try to find “the right medication”. ADHD and ODD were the diagnosis – a typical child of the 90s. My mom became his primary advocate, and although she spent her life trying their relationship was quite toxic as she struggled with her own mental illness and unresolved childhood trauma. My dad dealt with things by going to work and providing for his family the way that he knew to do.

I have many frustrations, although pointless, about the way my brother was raised. He was a child who needed intense structure and routine, role models he respected, people who could take the time to find ways to engage and keep him interested. He needed help to embrace his niche – he loved science, animals and humour. When he wasn’t “being bad” he was the funniest, most charismatic and creative kid.

I don’t know where things went wrong, but being bad just became more and more his trademark reputation. I’m sure he felt it internally and found frustration in the way he was looked at among his peers and teachers. He struggled in school, always having a hard time paying attention in a class full of 30 different suited learners (and boring content). He was a boy with a lot of imagination and a short temper.

I spent the large majority of my childhood angry at him. Our family orbited around him. We couldn’t go to parties on the weekend, or out to family dinners. My parents argued a lot because of the stress of raising him and having opposing views and opinions of what should be done. They felt ashamed and frustrated. I, of course, became a perfect kid. I flew under the radar and didn’t create any problems. I spent a lot of time with friends families, or in my room. My mom would spend hours on the phone with her sisters discussing brother, and a simple “She is great” at the end of the conversation regarding me. There was just no room for more.

My mom got into a bad car accident when brother was in the 5th grade, it caused some brain damage and definitely had her evaluating the fragility of life. 7th grade we moved out of our childhood home for a new start, and within two years my mom had decided she had had enough of the family dynamic and wanted a divorce.

She was running away, and in many ways I don’t blame her. She was tired, and living with three people that didn’t respect her. She was constantly putting out fires between her teenagers and her husband didn’t want to fight with her or discuss anything. She was lonely and felt like a shell of herself. She wanted an exit plan.

Weirdly enough, this is when everything got worse. She was almost 50, starting over and learning to take care of herself and finances for the first time in her life. My dad was heartbroken over the demise of his family. He wasn’t happy either, but had committed to the family and would have taken care of her for the rest of his life. Brother was a 9th grader whose parents became too concerned with starting over (Mom) and grieving (Dad). Looking back at that time felt like the wild west.

I stayed with my dad, I liked the stability and consistency. Brother moved with my mom, ultimate freedom from rules. He stopped going to school, stole money from her, and just continued to make bad choices. She would kick him out and he would come stay with us, not be able to follow the rules or create dangerous situations for us (he could be quite violent when provoked) and end up back with her. A lot of bad decisions were made at that time on all of our parts (my role changing now to a third parent of both mother and brother), but we were all just trying to survive and sick of the warzone.

Brother is 31 now, as I said. Him and my mother have collectively moved probably 30 times in the last 15 years. Sometimes together, sometimes apart. She has finally claimed bankruptcy and moved into a seniors building that doesn’t allow long term guests. This is mostly due to self-sabotage, but I am also convinced it was the only way she could stop herself from continuing the cycle with him.

My dad has been better with boundaries over the past few years, only offering help with his vehicle maintenance and willing to have him for short visits when he is stable. He doesn’t have the patience for brother’s mental illness. My parents have zero relationship at this point because of all the drama that continued with my brother after the divorce and their frustrations with each other on how they dealt with it. Everyone just struggles on their own.

Just like everyone else’s story, their are always slivers of hope. A year ago he had a girlfriend, a new puppy, a job (the longest employment is less than 6 months), and was renting a new house with her. All of this felt so exciting, but we were holding our breath.

Flash forward to today and he has no job, no girlfriend, is squatting in the house he rented, I can’t imagine the state of it. My dad almost called the cops on him when he came over a month ago demanding money. He called me so angry that I worried he would show up at the house and be very violent. I didn’t sleep well for days waiting. Finally I heard from him a few weeks ago asking for $30 to feed his dog, and in the next sentence “and some cigarettes and some beers”. It broke my heart to not respond.

A few days later I text back saying if he would like I would take him to the hospital, hoping he was desperate enough to get help. In turn he sent me novel responses (much like this one to you lol) about what a terrible person and sister I am. It at least made me feel relieved that I didn’t have to feel guilt about the money.

I try to talk to my friends about this and really, maybe for the first time (even though I have had and continue a lot of therapy) just how not normal having to hold all of this is. They cannot relate and sometimes say the most unhelpful things.

Who is this young man who came from a hard working loving family? Where is my brother and how is he ever going to recover? How is it fair for a family to deal with this much stress from one person for this long?

I do not see my brothers life improving. I have been waiting for a call that he has suicided, and deep down feel that will provide relief although I am told it will not. It just doesn’t feel fair, survivor guilt. No one gets to thrive because underneath we all feel guilt for the way his life has turned out and none of us have the resources (whether financial in my moms case, or emotional availability for more pain and frustration in the case of my father and I). I read all of these stories from people who have not abandoned their loved one and feel guilt that I have. That we have.

But I also don’t want to receive calls for money, feel scared for my life, and watch him deteriorate for the rest of my existence.

How do you carry on when you have abandoned someone you love with mental illness or addiction. Of course my heart carries him, or I wouldn’t be writing this. However, I want to thrive and am tired of living in a form of preliminary guilt. I am sad for my parents too and all the pain and regret they must carry.

I realize some of the things I say could appear blunt and insensitive, but they are my current true thoughts and feelings. My brother is not a monster, but a sick traumatized child with no sense of self-worth and no hope for the future, and now to add on top of that no support. I love him, but I do not wish to know him anymore, it hurts too much. I am tired.

If you read this to the end, I assume it is relatable to you. I would love to hear your thoughts and appreciate you reading this.

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