Rock Bottom
Offering Help
Things always get worse before they get better. You have to hit rock bottom before you can start climbing back up to the top. That's what they say, right? But how do you define rock bottom? How low do you have to go until you hit it? I'm not sure I can cope for much longer. I don't think I can stand to see him sink any lower.
These last few months have been horrible. I've had to sit and watch as my brother slowly destroys himself right before my very eyes. He says he doesn't have a problem, but that's what they all say, isn't it? He says he doesn't want help, but I know he needs it. I'm doing my best, but it's hard. I wish he could step outside of himself for just a second and see what we all see; a broken man who has plunged too deep to be able to make it out on his own.
He doesn't go out anymore. He just sits at home all day, watching the world pass by through blood shot eyes. I don't think he's picked up his guitar in weeks. He's pushed away his friends and the rest of the family and become a solitary stranger, living like a hermit. I don't even know when he last ate a healthy meal... or any full meal at all.
I don't know what happened to him. I don't know what caused this downward spiral that he's found himself on. I wish I did. I wish I could undo it and get him back. It's becoming increasingly harder to be supportive. It's frustrating, because he doesn't listen. He gets angry, or just ignores. Everybody else seems to have already given up on him, but not me. He's still my brother. I'll never give up. He can try and shove me away all he wants, it's not going to work. He's going to grow to hate me soon, but I don't care, he's my brother and I love him.
****
The curtains were closed. Again. I'd walked past his house every day for the past week and not once had I seen them open. He'd become a total recluse. I wasn't going to stand for it any longer. I refused to keep away and wait for the call telling me that my brother was dead. I wasn't going to let it happen, and that was why I had the handle of my suitcase clutched firmly in my right hand. I wasn't leaving until he sorted himself out, or at least agreed to let somebody help him back onto the right path.
Walking up the drive to his front door, I knew that he wasn't going to answer if I knocked. I also knew that the door wouldn't be locked; he was careless these days, but at least it made my job a little easier. Pulling down the handle, I carefully pushed open the door and stepped into the house, making sure to close it quietly behind me. I didn't want to startle him. God knew what state he was currently in.
The house was dark. There wasn't a single light on, no glow from the television screen; nothing.
I crept towards the living room. I knew he'd be in there. That was where he always was. Fumbling blindly along the wall by the door, I located the light switch and flicked it. The brightness was overwhelming but he didn't even flinch; didn't seem to notice. He knew I was there, but he pretended not to until I was standing right in front of him.
"Zack..." I said his name gently and he lifted his head ever-so-slightly to regard me. He looked like he hadn't slept in days, and he probably hadn't. His eyes were blackened; his beautiful green irises barely noticeable because of the huge bags underneath that drew my attention. He looked fragile, frail and weak; he must have lost at least ten pounds. "Look at me." It didn't come out as demanding as I'd intended and though his eyes were directed at me, I could tell he was looking straight through me.
"Go away, Sam," he muttered after what felt like an eternity. "Leave me alone." It sounded like more of a plea than an order.
I shook my head. "I've left you alone for too long, Z," I told him. "I want to help you. Let me."
It was his turn to shake his head now and his eyes drifted to the glass coffee table just a few feet away. My gaze followed his and I couldn't help but sigh. The table was littered with his paraphernalia and by the way he was looking at it, I could tell he wanted another fix. "No, Zacky," I said sternly, settling my eyes on a used needle. "No more. It doesn't help anything!"
Our eyes met for the first time. "It helps me."
"It's destroying you!"
He shook his head again, looking away from me. If he thought it was going to shut me up and make me go away, he was sadly mistaken. I waited for him to say something, but he didn't. "What has happened to you?" I pressed. "Have you looked into a mirror lately? Zack, you look like hell!"
"Leave. Me. Alone." He was still looking away; focusing on nothing in particular. I think he wanted to be angry, but he didn't have the strength or the motivation to put anything into the command.
"I'm going nowhere," I told him, standing with my hands on my hips. I may have been his little sister, but I could still demand authority. I could be just at stubborn as he could. "My suitcase is by the door. I'm moving in."
His head snapped to me and for the first time in what felt like forever, there was some kind of emotion on his face, though I wasn't quite sure what it was. Surprise? Disbelief? Something like that. "No, you're not," he said and I rolled my eyes at him. "I just wanna be on my own."
"And I want my brother back," I half-snapped back at him. "Sometimes we don't get what we want."
"Sam, just..."
"No, don't ‘Sam' me, Zacky, I'm staying!" By this point I think he knew I was serious. "You want me to leave, I want you to get clean, so we'll make a deal, huh?"
"I need-"
"You don't NEED it, Zack!" It was so frustrating to see him so weak and miserable. It wasn't him at all. "You don't NEED to jack that shit into your veins. You don't NEED to be alone. You need help, Zack... and I want to help you."
He looked away again, mumbling my words back at me. "You don't always get what you want."
I let out a sound akin to a shriek and slapped him hard across the face, shocked at my own actions but he definitely deserved it. "Let me help you! I'm not going to just watch as you kill yourself. I'm not ready to lose you yet, Zacky, I need you! I need my brother back! I need his hugs and his jokes and his love and his—"
I couldn't go on anymore. I was starting to get hysterical and the next thing I knew, I was beside him on the couch, sobbing uncontrollably. My vision was blurred by tears but I saw him moving closer to me and then he wrapped me in his arms. "Sam, calm down," he almost begged.
In my anger, I tried to push him away but he held tight. "You're an asshole," I screamed at him, thrashing madly in his arms. "You don't care about anybody but yourself!"
"Sam..."
"We want to help you and you ignore us! We beg you to stop and you don't even try!" Again, he tried to quieten and calm me down, but it wasn't working. "You're selfish, Zack! You're a selfish asshole and I..." My breathing hitched. More sobs wracked my body. "Don't want you to die."
He pulled me against him, cradling my head to his chest and I could feel the great big gulp that he took. "Don't cry, Sammy," he soothed. "You can stay. I'll try."
I moved my head, rolling my eyes to look up at him. It was hard to form words; my breathing was still erratic from all the crying. "Y-y-you... p-pro-promise?"
He nodded slowly, stroking my hair. "For you."
For just a moment, I felt safe and like everything was back to normal. This was my brother. The guy who looked out for me and cared; the one who held me when I cried and told me that everything was going to be OK. He didn't need to tell me this time, because I already knew. He was letting me help, and there was no way I wasn't going to succeed in getting the old Zacky back. Whatever it took, I'd do it. It was me and Z against the world.
These last few months have been horrible. I've had to sit and watch as my brother slowly destroys himself right before my very eyes. He says he doesn't have a problem, but that's what they all say, isn't it? He says he doesn't want help, but I know he needs it. I'm doing my best, but it's hard. I wish he could step outside of himself for just a second and see what we all see; a broken man who has plunged too deep to be able to make it out on his own.
He doesn't go out anymore. He just sits at home all day, watching the world pass by through blood shot eyes. I don't think he's picked up his guitar in weeks. He's pushed away his friends and the rest of the family and become a solitary stranger, living like a hermit. I don't even know when he last ate a healthy meal... or any full meal at all.
I don't know what happened to him. I don't know what caused this downward spiral that he's found himself on. I wish I did. I wish I could undo it and get him back. It's becoming increasingly harder to be supportive. It's frustrating, because he doesn't listen. He gets angry, or just ignores. Everybody else seems to have already given up on him, but not me. He's still my brother. I'll never give up. He can try and shove me away all he wants, it's not going to work. He's going to grow to hate me soon, but I don't care, he's my brother and I love him.
****
The curtains were closed. Again. I'd walked past his house every day for the past week and not once had I seen them open. He'd become a total recluse. I wasn't going to stand for it any longer. I refused to keep away and wait for the call telling me that my brother was dead. I wasn't going to let it happen, and that was why I had the handle of my suitcase clutched firmly in my right hand. I wasn't leaving until he sorted himself out, or at least agreed to let somebody help him back onto the right path.
Walking up the drive to his front door, I knew that he wasn't going to answer if I knocked. I also knew that the door wouldn't be locked; he was careless these days, but at least it made my job a little easier. Pulling down the handle, I carefully pushed open the door and stepped into the house, making sure to close it quietly behind me. I didn't want to startle him. God knew what state he was currently in.
The house was dark. There wasn't a single light on, no glow from the television screen; nothing.
I crept towards the living room. I knew he'd be in there. That was where he always was. Fumbling blindly along the wall by the door, I located the light switch and flicked it. The brightness was overwhelming but he didn't even flinch; didn't seem to notice. He knew I was there, but he pretended not to until I was standing right in front of him.
"Zack..." I said his name gently and he lifted his head ever-so-slightly to regard me. He looked like he hadn't slept in days, and he probably hadn't. His eyes were blackened; his beautiful green irises barely noticeable because of the huge bags underneath that drew my attention. He looked fragile, frail and weak; he must have lost at least ten pounds. "Look at me." It didn't come out as demanding as I'd intended and though his eyes were directed at me, I could tell he was looking straight through me.
"Go away, Sam," he muttered after what felt like an eternity. "Leave me alone." It sounded like more of a plea than an order.
I shook my head. "I've left you alone for too long, Z," I told him. "I want to help you. Let me."
It was his turn to shake his head now and his eyes drifted to the glass coffee table just a few feet away. My gaze followed his and I couldn't help but sigh. The table was littered with his paraphernalia and by the way he was looking at it, I could tell he wanted another fix. "No, Zacky," I said sternly, settling my eyes on a used needle. "No more. It doesn't help anything!"
Our eyes met for the first time. "It helps me."
"It's destroying you!"
He shook his head again, looking away from me. If he thought it was going to shut me up and make me go away, he was sadly mistaken. I waited for him to say something, but he didn't. "What has happened to you?" I pressed. "Have you looked into a mirror lately? Zack, you look like hell!"
"Leave. Me. Alone." He was still looking away; focusing on nothing in particular. I think he wanted to be angry, but he didn't have the strength or the motivation to put anything into the command.
"I'm going nowhere," I told him, standing with my hands on my hips. I may have been his little sister, but I could still demand authority. I could be just at stubborn as he could. "My suitcase is by the door. I'm moving in."
His head snapped to me and for the first time in what felt like forever, there was some kind of emotion on his face, though I wasn't quite sure what it was. Surprise? Disbelief? Something like that. "No, you're not," he said and I rolled my eyes at him. "I just wanna be on my own."
"And I want my brother back," I half-snapped back at him. "Sometimes we don't get what we want."
"Sam, just..."
"No, don't ‘Sam' me, Zacky, I'm staying!" By this point I think he knew I was serious. "You want me to leave, I want you to get clean, so we'll make a deal, huh?"
"I need-"
"You don't NEED it, Zack!" It was so frustrating to see him so weak and miserable. It wasn't him at all. "You don't NEED to jack that shit into your veins. You don't NEED to be alone. You need help, Zack... and I want to help you."
He looked away again, mumbling my words back at me. "You don't always get what you want."
I let out a sound akin to a shriek and slapped him hard across the face, shocked at my own actions but he definitely deserved it. "Let me help you! I'm not going to just watch as you kill yourself. I'm not ready to lose you yet, Zacky, I need you! I need my brother back! I need his hugs and his jokes and his love and his—"
I couldn't go on anymore. I was starting to get hysterical and the next thing I knew, I was beside him on the couch, sobbing uncontrollably. My vision was blurred by tears but I saw him moving closer to me and then he wrapped me in his arms. "Sam, calm down," he almost begged.
In my anger, I tried to push him away but he held tight. "You're an asshole," I screamed at him, thrashing madly in his arms. "You don't care about anybody but yourself!"
"Sam..."
"We want to help you and you ignore us! We beg you to stop and you don't even try!" Again, he tried to quieten and calm me down, but it wasn't working. "You're selfish, Zack! You're a selfish asshole and I..." My breathing hitched. More sobs wracked my body. "Don't want you to die."
He pulled me against him, cradling my head to his chest and I could feel the great big gulp that he took. "Don't cry, Sammy," he soothed. "You can stay. I'll try."
I moved my head, rolling my eyes to look up at him. It was hard to form words; my breathing was still erratic from all the crying. "Y-y-you... p-pro-promise?"
He nodded slowly, stroking my hair. "For you."
For just a moment, I felt safe and like everything was back to normal. This was my brother. The guy who looked out for me and cared; the one who held me when I cried and told me that everything was going to be OK. He didn't need to tell me this time, because I already knew. He was letting me help, and there was no way I wasn't going to succeed in getting the old Zacky back. Whatever it took, I'd do it. It was me and Z against the world.