If Nathan were here

Hey brother,

Things are weird down here. I know you already know about the whole president thing. Here's something new: Tomorrow, I’ll be completely sober from drugs and alcohol for one year. AND the crazy part: I’m not even lying about it. Don’t fall out of your casket and stuff. Life is still chaotic and unmanageable, especially when it comes to accepting and feeling the fact that you’re no longer here.

I found this book at an AA meeting :0 It's about a boy
grieving the loss of his best friend Nathan.

Your name seems to follow me everywhere. Nathan was here. I can’t decide if I find it comforting, or if it’s another nagging reminder of your absence. Nathan was here. 

There are moments when I think, 'I’ve got this. I’m going to be okay. I can do this, sober, for both of us. I’m not alone.'

AND then I     B\R/E\A/K    . My heart, so heavy, I can feel my legs giving. My whole body collapses to the floor. Alone; I am weak. I can see no other way. I am so close to relapse, I can taste it. I can feel the warmth of the codeine and ethanol seeping through my veins.

They are lodged into my chest. All of your stupid plastic army men, all of your bottles and needles, all of your friends and the words they couldn't say, every scene from a movie far too short. I can’t catch my breath. My chest physically aches. I’m shaking all over. I fall to the ground. I pray to something, anything: please let me fall asleep. I don’t know how long I can endure the weight of this, without surrendering, seeking refuge in the pills and bottle.

I’m crying on your bed. Your bedroom is so cold. I think your body must be too. Why do we bury them so deep and dark in the dirt? I still don’t understand why we do the things we do.

I remember I don't have a choice. There is only one way to get through this-- and it's sober. (yeah, this realization sucks every time I come to it.) 

Yet, by supernatural occurrence or not,  I have NOT had a drink for almost 365 days.

Saturday morning we made a couch fort. You wouldn’t let me in. There was an invasion, you said. I stole the remote, and invaded your head, before changing the station back to Aaahh!!! Real Monsters.

We watched the movie Cry-Baby 300 times that year. You loved the scene where they play “chicken”. You used to practice outside, laying on top of the car, as mom pulled out of the driveway, hoping she wouldn’t see you--at least until she got into town. She didn’t see you, she felt you. I finally know what she meant. I feel you too. More accurately, I feel the lack of you.

We moved-in together under the table. You told me I brought too many things.

We were playing tag in the house and tripped on Mom’s iron. It was still plugged in. We burned our legs. We did not cry.

We climbed on the roof. Dad didn’t see us and put away the ladder. We were too afraid to make ourselves known. You jump, I jump.

We ate cookies for dinner. In the summer, raspberries for every meal. Together we broke all the bones. And yet we still climbed higher.

I’ve lost my desire to climb now. There’s no challenge without you here. I put all the effort of climbing in, but I do not move. I think perhaps there isn't a point.

I read over old words in my inbox; I'm back inside the flashback. 
I try to confront you. I look at your eyes and see that you can’t stop. Something died inside you, and something else has come alive. They look like our mother’s eyes. Ravenous and rabbity, impossible to appease. They look like mine.

When did this happen, I think. Are we not any different then the ones we resented, the one's who provided the egg and sperm that made us suffer so perpetually? How can this be? I was careful and strategic. Like cleaning our room, I hid it all in the closet, so nobody could see.  But you, you totaled more cars than chairs at our dining room table. Our family wasn’t small. 

The stars are out again. We fell asleep on the roof of the barn. We both want privacy. You sneak off into the cornfield. I pretend I don’t know. Just like Mom and Dad. It’s better this way.

[The fort collapsed while you were on the roof.] [I fell out of the top of the tree] [I ran you over with the go-cart] [You flipped the four-wheeler down the hill] [The wasp’s nest landed on my lap] [You rode down the mountain on your bike.] [I could see your bone coming out of your skin.] [The ashes lit my pants on fire.] [The exhaust on the motorcycle made my skin peel.] [I shot your arm with my bow and arrow.] [Your BB gun bullets shattered my glasses.]

{I blacked out and woke up in a different city.} {I passed out at the edge of the cliff.} {I passed out on the bench, below zero.} {I lived on gin and sour patch kids for weeks.} {I don’t remember having sex in bacteria-infested waters in Tanzania because I drank too much wine and then snorted so many of those peach-coloured pills.} {I got in a fight with a glass bottle, there was so much blood. I couldn’t feel the broken glass tweezed out of my arm. I had more Vicodin then stitches they could give me.} {I jumped on the back of a motorcycle with someone I didn’t know.} {I left my friends in the city because I needed to find more alcohol.} {I left the club alone, took all the pills offered, without question.} {I had alcohol poisoning five times.} {I jumped from the bridge. I jumped from the plane. I jumped from the moving car.} {I climbed to the top of the crane in a blackout.} {I attempted suicide by drinking the fifth of vodka filled with Ambien and Klonopin. Then I took some of your Methadone, for good measure.}

I'm still here.

You did coke and shot up heroin. It had Fentanyl. You’re dead.

I’m still here and you’re not. And I cannot know why.  

 The cold metal of your toolbox feels familiar on my finger tips. Everything is slightly more uncomfortable.

Since day one, we were so used to having all the decisions made for us. So much, that we didn't realize when we started making them on our own.

Today, I know I'm making the decisions. Even though I don't always want to. Even though my soul still feels insatiable. Even though the only decision I really want to make is for you to be here.

Somebody somewhere who once said something:

"The one thing you have power over is your perspective." 

I’m told I have power over my thoughts, but I don’t seem to be commander nor chief.

Nathan was here.. Now, he is not. Colors don’t seem as bright. Your face definitely doesn’t seem as stupid. The cold air feels more cruel and the nights endless. Some nights there is no refuge from the depth and darkness of my mind. 

Nonetheless, I will be 365 days sober in less than 365 minutes. I’m making the choices and I’m feeling all the shitty, scary things. I hate it, and I hate this, AND I wish that you were here.

I have control over my perspective. I perceive that you are here. 

I am not getting sober alone.  We we're not fighting alone. Us against the world never was; Neither of us ever were. 

I have a different dream this time. The world is standing behind us, pushing us back down the mountain and into the light. I don't push you off this time. Instead, I watch you fall s l o w l y, peacefully. I yearn to fall with you. I fight to let go, but my fingers wont move. I keep holding on, for dear life. 

A year ago and a week ago. I look so deceivingly functional.
I had no clue what the next week, the next year- would bring.

.  

This world needs you here.

I'm sorry baby brother

that life was so unkind

I wish I had the power

to hit stop, eject, rewind.

life wasn't always easy

I never found it fair

but, the battle: never solo

I always had you here

at times there was great distance

there were secrets, lies, mistakes

but the beginning that we shared

formed a bond that could not break

our paths were very different

I played the game; you would not

I always admired you for this

though it made me worry- a lot

I knew when I felt fearful

that you felt this fear with me

and when things felt far too difficult

I remembered where we used to be

I knew you felt the same way

that our pain cut way too deep

we both masked our fears with ego

AND refused to claim defeat

we held our breath till we turned blue

to prove a point, to win a fight

we held our hands above the fire

until we heard the words, "you're right"

we would rather sleep out in the cold

then ask someone for help

we knew that being too needy

left you fending for yourself

secrets, lies, manipulation

became the tools to get our way

for when we tried "the right thing"

our loved ones never seemed to stay

we couldn't talk about our feelings

they were too big for us too share

when we had to make them stop

drugs and alcohol were there

we went through this together

crying, "me against the world"

we found refuge in the alcohol

and soon the lines got blurred

we were not sure where 'too far' was

the drugs, they made us feel so safe

but after a while we lost that feeling

and so continued with the chase

we coped through our addiction

not in such a different way

both of us, persistent

fought every fucking day

regardless of our drug of choice

it never was enough

we were willing to do anything

there was no giving up

I hid the pills and drinking

behind a job and two degrees

but spent my nights in misery

wishing death could set me free

I know you felt this same way

I could see it in your eyes

but I also know you fought so hard

and didn't really want to die

I hugged you by the back door

you rolled me a cigarette

I didn't say, "I get it"

and for that I have regret

are you coming home for Christmas?

you said "yes, I'll see you then"

we said 'goodbyes' and 'love yous'

not knowing what we meant

the truth is I wont see you

nor ever speak to you again

the thought of this weighs so much

my lungs start caving in

My legs give way beneath me

I thrash my limbs on cold cement

it hurts so much to say goodbye

not knowing where you went

I don't know how to do this

I don't want to without you

I can't accept you're really gone

I fear I'll never make it through

I tell myself-- Nat, just hold on. 

don't give in, just for today

then it comes, the fog of anger

and I cannot see a way

they tell me anger leads to relapse

they tell me this takes time

then they tell me seize the day

that feeling is no crime

I feel all the the things at once

Then I cannot feel at all

I lay in bed, no will to move

I'm on the floor rolled in a ball

what hurts most? the way they think

an immoral sinner; wouldn't quit

In reality you were trying so hard

aching, shaking- fighting it

you couldn't find relief

from the darkness, pain, and fright

the addiction was an illness

and there was no hope in sight

you were such a thoughtful human

your friends all knew this well

you were generous and giving

you are NOT burning in hell

you were kind and you were loving

we all knew how much you cared

you were so quick to help everyone

THIS. WORLD. NEEDS. YOU. HERE.