Destined Addicts
I feel as though my brother and I were both destined to become addicts. I’m very grateful that it stopped at weed for me. My parents didn’t drink much and the alcohol in the house was more for guests we hardly ever entertained. So, they didn’t notice that at 12 years old, my brother, Bill, was sneaking beers from the fully stocked fridge out in the garage. They didn’t notice all the watered-down bottles in the unlocked liquor cabinet either.
My parents didn’t do drugs. My mom smoked one or two newports in the evenings and sometimes had a few more with cocktails on the weekends. My dad has been smoking a pack of marble lights a day for as long as I can remember. There is no known history of drug use at all on my Dad’s side, but my dad’s brother’s son who is 10 years younger than me is currently struggling with addiction. Gauging by frequent suicidal comments he made and by the fact that he did kill himself, I think my dad’s father might have struggled with depression or some mental illness.
My mom comes from a large Irish Catholic family. She was one of nine kids. Her brothers and sisters like to party but keep it contained to just alcohol and marijuana. Except for one of my mom’s sisters, I would not say any of them have a bad problem, but several of them are mild weekend drunks. They drink responsibly, don’t drive drunk, don’t ruin their lives, but they drink to get wasted all by themselves at home. The one exception, my mom’s sister, moved out west after high school and cut ties with the family for many years. We later learned she was a heroin addict and she died in her 60s of an addiction-related infection. All of my cousins on that side smoke pot pretty regularly.
I’m not sure if any of that is evidence of a genetic predisposition, but I just somehow know we were both destined to become addicts.
Bill was using alcohol, marijuana, and cigarettes all through middle school and no one noticed. He made friends with a new guy- Jim- that moved from New York to Florida when they were 12 or 13. I know Jim influenced bill, but at that time I didn’t know the extent. Jim’s dad owned a phone sex service business. When they were in high school, Jim would steal his dad’s ATM card every day and go withdraw hundreds. Then Bill and Jim would go buy drugs with that money. This was all happening in the mid-90s at the height of the FDA and Big pharma created opioid epidemic. Bill and Jim had figured out some kind of scam to steal prescription pads and have them filled at a pharmacy after the doctor had left for the day. The pharmacy would fill these prescriptions that night, give them to the ‘patient’ and then call them in the next day to the Doctors office only to find out they were fraudulent. They were smart and never had the same person hit the same store twice. They never got caught. They would upsell the pills to rich high school students and use the profits to buy more pills and get high for free.
By the time I was in tenth grade, Bill had dropped out of high school. He wasn’t really going to school that often anyway and he was failing most of his classes. He was not dumb. Bill was among the kids who were just too smart for school and could not be confined by its conditioning. That and all the drug use probably made it hard to be in school. He says he suffered from a lot of anxiety. He said he was nervous around people but I always thought he was outgoing and confident. Maybe the drugs gave him the confidence? Maybe the drugs gave him the anxiety?
My parents didn’t care that he had dropped out. They had a lot of other problems on their hands. A few years earlier, my dad’s businesses had been shut down after he had been indicted on bank fraud charges. He managed to find ways to support us and even bought a few cheap businesses with other people’s money after we lost everything. They were stressful and unstable times; Foreclosures, moves, lost friends, rumors, and unwanted attention. After bill dropped out our dad welcomed Bill to come work for him and we moved to Tampa.
Three years after my father’s indictment, he took a plea deal that included a 1-year sentence at a prison camp in Miami. Even though Bill partied a lot, he could hold down multiple jobs. After my dad went to jail his business went under and Bill worked at restaurants a few nights a week and did some phone sales during the day. The rave scene featuring ecstasy was trending in Tampa, and Bill began doing MDMA regularly. Several pills a night, several nights a week. This scene also attracted heroin dealers who offered a field of poppies to bring these ravers back down from their intense night. That’s about when the raging anger started with him. He could be a pistol as a child but he never got violent before using H.
One Friday night I had my friend Suzie over. I’m 15 years old, Bill is 18. He has his girlfriend over. Everyone is high on their respective substance (us weed, them heroin) and in a fantastic mood. I am showing them this box I made in ceramics class. It was 4” X8” X6” painted glossy black with a pattern of raised red dripping tendrils expanding several inches up above the lid and tendrils stretching halfway down the box. Bill was admiring it and picked it up by 1 tiny tendril. Before I could warm him to hold it lower in a more secure spot, the tendril broke off and the box cracked in half when it hit the floor. Bill felt so bad, he apologized profusely. He and his girlfriend were so sympathetic to what happened it was hard to be mad about it.
The next morning Suzie and I were watching a movie in the living room, which was my bedroom. This was a very cheap apartment and the door to Bill’s room was 2 folding closet doors right next to where we were sitting. His alarm went off and minutes went by. He didn’t budge, I peeked in and saw he was breathing. 20 mins go by and this blaring alarm is ruining our movie. I enter his room, I say his name, I call his name, I lightly shake him I really shake him hard, I shout his name right in his ear. They are breathing, but neither he nor his girlfriend budge. I turn his alarm off and figure he must have set it by mistake, it was Saturday, he didn’t work on Saturday.
I return to the movie. At least an hour goes by. The creatures begin stirring in the room. The doors to the room crack enough for Bill’s head to appear. His eyes barely open and using his junkie voice his tone indicated I’m already on trial, “did you turn my alarm off?”
“yes, but after 20 mins and I tried to wake you and you wouldn’t-“
“Oh my god,” he interrupts, desperation in his voice. He throws his door wide open. “We had a job interview and now we’ve missed it. He flies into a rampage yelling obscenities, telling me how stupid I am, berating me for my actions. He walked over to my ceramic box, which was still glueable, and smashes it till only dust was left. Then looks at me. I could see the rage in his eyes and because it was not the first time I knew it was serious. I ran into my mom’s room and slammed the door, locked it, and stepped back. She was at work already. The door handle is wildly rotating from the other side, the light in the crack of the door grows thick then thin, thick then thin as he attempts to break the door down. He slams into the door with his shoulder several times making a dent. He tires after a few minutes and punches a deep hole in the wall next to the door before giving up completely. I am so embarrassed my friend had a front-row seat to this horror flick.
When things calmed down and it was safe to come out, I sat near the pile of ceramic rubble and wondered what I had done to deserve this. His girlfriend came over and was being genuinely sweet. She spoke like a fairy, airy and soft “You’re an amazing artist, you’re going to make so many more amazing things.” Then she left with Bill. How could you romantically be with someone that you witnessed being so violent to his little sister? She stuck around a few more weeks until my mom’s allergies started acting up and she realized Bill had allowed his girl and her cat to move in. My mom made Bill give me his room and he had to sleep in the living room. I had just gotten a job at McDonald’s and was the only one helping her with rent anyways. He moved out and I wasn’t around him much for the next year. We found out that the girl he moved in with us drove herself into a tree and died out in California a few months later.
Through a series of miracles, I managed to get myself into The University of the arts in Philadelphia on scholarship and financial aid. Shortly after I started college my dad got out of jail. He started a business and Bill started to work for him again. Both of my parents would call me and tell me they thought something was wrong with Bill, he might be on drugs because his eyes were rolling back into his head when he would talk to them. They would ask me what should they do? Me, their daughter who lives a thousand miles away. I told them he needed help and to get him some help. They ignored it to his face and complained to mine. I came home from college for Christmas in 2001. My parents were separated or divorced by now. I flew down and didn’t want to rent a car so Bill had to drive me between parents that week. They lived about 30 mins apart, one in Largo, one in Palm Harbor. It was difficult to see Bill in such bad shape. We’d leave largo, get almost to Palm harbor and he would get a phone call. We would turn around and go back to largo. He’d go inside a gas station and disappear for a while before returning and taking us all the way back to our destination in Palm Harbor. I assumed he was dealing drugs but I didn’t ask.
It was Christmas morning, and we were switching parents for the day. We were at that same gas station again and it had been 30 mins since he left the car. I was wondering if he was ok but afraid to check on him. When he returned to the van he offered no explanation and just started driving. At the first stoplight, he fell asleep. I had to wake him up to start driving. Later, at mom’s condo, he kept disappearing to go to the bathroom. He’d be in there 15-20 min each time. After mom went to sleep he looked at me at one point and said, “Hey, since it’s Christmas and all, I have a gift for you, would you like to do a bump of heroin?”
“NOO!” the words were out of my mouth before I could even say them. It was loud and it was powerful and we both sat back a little from its impact. If ever there was a moment of divine intervention in my life, I am sure it was that moment. I did not say no, something said no through me. I have chills just typing this now.
My brother gave me almost every drug I tried for the first time. This is the first time I said no. I saw what it was doing to him and it scared me. He continued down that path for another 20 years. His cycle of opioid abuse ultimately took his life. If we were both destined to become addicts, I’m so grateful my addiction stopped at weed.