I've Realized Now I'll Never Become Anything

Everyday was a battle; a struggle to be able to really live life. Nothing ever seemed to go as planned, or hoped for that matter. Everything just seemed to continue spiraling downhill at a rapid pace without any signs of slowing down. Whatever was done still seemed to just not be enough.

Sometimes help is all one needs to get through life. Sometimes they don't need very much to help them live, but other times, they need so much more than anyone could give at all. And that's how I'm beginning to feel. Everything that I do for him just seems to be doing nothing. It's as if I'm trying too hard, but I want the best for him. And at times, I feel that the best just isn't enough.

He deserves so much more in life, more than pills and alcohol. I try everything that I can do to pull him out of his ways, to get him back on track, but he seems to feel the need to do this to himself. And lately, it's been getting worse. His hands have many countless cuts; most of them have been reopened on numerous accounts. And there are bruises all over his body from God knows what.

He doesn't know how to stop. His habits are there that hold him back from becoming normal. He hurts himself and puts himself through so much pain that he doesn't know how to stop because that's all he knows. He knows how to be destructive; he knows how to be controlling. He knows what to do to make himself hurt since that's the only thing in his life that he knows he can control.

And sitting in this room, holding Craigery's hand breaks my heart. As much as I tried to assist him in any way possible, this is what happens.

His head rested on my chest; it would rise and fall with every breath I took. Craig's arm draped over my stomach while he watched the television and I played with his growing dirty blonde hair. Those perfect blue eyes lifted sporadically to meet mine and his lips would twitch with a smile.

A sigh escaped from his mouth; I could feel his thin torso moving along my hips as he inhaled and exhaled deeply. Craig placed a light kiss on my collar bone before snuggling into my body more. "I promise I'll try harder to better myself."

"What?" Craig caught me off guard that I wasn't sure if I heard him correctly. Moving my head, I looked down at his face that continued to stare aimlessly at the TV screen.

"I promise I'll do whatever it takes to be normal again. I want to get better, to be a better person," Craigery continued. "You know I need your help, Penelope."

Stroking his face and ignoring his facial hair, I made him look up at me. "You really mean that?" My eyes grew big with hope.

With a nod of his head, Craigery gently pressed his lips to mine as if he was sealing the deal.

That memory was a mere three days ago. And within that small time frame, our world just seemed to come crashing before our very eyes. This was now rock bottom; this was something greater that had never been expected, especially by me. I never even saw this coming when it was under my own roof.

Craig was at his appointment to meet with his therapist; I had gone to the store, planning to make a wonderful home cooked meal. He wanted chicken pasta; I was graciously going to make an attempt.

The brown paper bag seemed to want to slip from my grip as I waltzed into the apartment, scurrying to the kitchen to set it on the counter before it crashed to the ground. Not a single sound echoed through the premise; Craig seemed to still be at his meeting. Unpacking the groceries, I noticed a red "1" blinking on the answering machine. Clicking play, I waited for the message to begin as I pulled a pan out of the cupboard.

"One new message," said the voice on the machine, "Mr. Owens, this is Dr. Wallace calling. We have a scheduled appointment today; you aren't here. Please, give me a call." Craig's therapist spoke in a rather disappointed tone; he never missed an appointment. "3:47 pm. End of messages."

My eyebrows furrowed; I was confused. Setting the pan atop the stove, I brushed my hands on my jeans and made my way through the hallway.

"Craig, honey, are you home?" I called out, thinking that he could maybe have fallen asleep. "Craigery?" I pushed open our room door, but the bed had still been neatly made.

The bathroom door was barely open; curiosity got the best of me as I slowly walked over. Gently, I started to push it open, but it stopped as if something was blocking its path. "Craig?" I asked again as I used a little force to get through.

My eyes stung with tears as the horrible memory flooded through my mind. His lifeless body wasn't something I ever wanted, or imagined I'd have to see. I remember his prescribed Xanax pills being scattered about the bathroom floor as he laid there. Twelve hours ago, I literally felt my heart shatter.

Everyone was here for Craigery in this hospital room. His band mates, both Chiodos and Cinematic Sunrise, his mother, his brother Travis, and his step dad were all here for him to make sure he was alright. His mom and Travis were on the right side of him; his mother devastated and crying, and I was to his left, holding his hand ever so gently as I tried so desperately not to cry; I felt that I needed to be strong not only for his mother, but for Craig as well. But that wasn't working as well as I'd hope.

The doctor told me if I hadn't called 911 when I did, it could've been too late. If I hadn't came home when I did, Craigery would no longer be alive, and I would've blamed myself for his death. Hell, I blame myself for him being in the hospital with an IV stuck in his arm.

Craigery's eyes fluttered open; that perfect shade of blue seemed hollow and still lifeless on the inside. He looked away, ashamed and embarrassed. A heavy sigh departed from his chapped lips before he licked them and looked at me.

I wiped my eyes with my free hand before placing it onto his cheek. Craig leaned into my touch, closing his eyes and taking it all in. "Un día a la vez," I whispered. "We'll take this one day at a time."