Before I get started here, I want everyone to know that this is not a thread where I'm asking for guidance or advice. The reason I left last time was because people thought the stories I was telling for fun were cries for help. This story is not a cry for help, but it is also not a fun story. I want you all to know that your advice will be receipted and appreciated, I won't take it personally if you decide to give it to me. With that out of the way, on with the story.
Yesterday, someone I know died. I don't know what to label this person, so I'll have to give a bit of a backstory to explain it all. 33 years ago my dad knocked up my mom, while she was visiting her OB/GYN (thats the vagina doctor for those of you who don't know) she met another pregnant mother and they became friends. To cement their friendship, their expecting babies were both born on the same day. One was my older brother, the other (was of course) the other woman's youngest son. When I was born, I knew the other woman's family ( her name was Joyce) as my own family. When her oldest child and daughter, had children, I played with then and became close to them. Her oldest daughter was named Tammy, had three children and the oldest was Bill. Bill was a quiet kid, the older than his twin brother and sister, a little heavier and had horrible grades. When his parents got divorced he took it kind of hard, but I was there for him most of the time and played games with him and babysat him. However, when I got older (we're 8 years apart) I lost touch.
I just found out yesterday that at the age of 14, Bill is dead. A month ago he was fine, but he became horribly ill, withered away and died. I had no idea that he was even sick and when I found out he was dead...I didn't feel anything. Thats how I know I'm an addict.
This little kid, who used to come to me when he was sad, tell me his deepest secrets and show me all types of love is dead and I didn't know he was dying and I still don't feel anything when I think on it deeply. I've realized that I do drugs to detach myself from reality...and it worked. I don't know anyone anymore, I don't feel anything anymore and I don't care anymore.
The only thing that really got to me, was when my mom told me about his last few hours on Earth. I was told that he knew that he was dying a few weeks before he died and even though he was trying his best to cope with it; his last few hours made it real for him. Minutes before dying he told his mom "I'm going to die, I'm scared".
You'd think such a tradegy close to home would get some type of reaction out of me right? Well...you're reading it. I realized I'm an addict because I don't feel anything anymore. Have a bad day at work? Get fucked up! Have a good day at work? Get fucked up! Get sad, get mad, get...nothing, Get fucked up!Get fucked up!Get fucked up!
The biggest thing I think I should feel is guilt, I've felt like I should feel that way for a long time. People around me always get hurt, the people around me always die or have misfortune succumb them. Yet nothing bad ever happens to me, at least not in the same magnitude as everyone else. I should've died 20 times over by now, but nothing bad ever goes down for me. Some other people have noticed this and told me I'm "blessed", to me it feels like a curse.
This post isn't a call for empathy or sympathy, I'm using it as an outlet to get this off my chest. I want you all to know that you can feel free to say whatever you want in this thread, I won't take it personally like last time.