Guest Post by Ester Jean

Michael asked me quite a while ago if I would write a piece regarding the wedding he attended while detoxing from G.H.B.   I’m not sure if he really thought that request through, because I’m not about to write a fluff piece.   If you have never seen, been around, or lived with someone who is on drugs, it’s an experience.  …A junky, heartbreaking experience.  I don’t remember the details well, so I called my little sister, who was also there, and asked what she remembered.  She has retained many colorful details. 

I don’t remember the ride down, although I am sure it could fill up a whole blog because we had an 18-year-old, a 16-year-old, and a 9-year-old in one vehicle, plus Mom and Dad, and Dad is not and was never fond of 9- or 16- or 18-year olds.  Pure bliss! 

I hadn’t seen Michael in about two years, I think.  He moved out of the house when I was 11 or 12, so though I remember growing up with him, I didn’t know him very well.  I vaguely knew that he used drugs, but 75% of the people I knew at the time used drugs… just not hard drugs.  I had little exposure to people under the influence of hard drugs – meaning I was not surrounded by them when I was growing up - and I definitely knew nothing about GHB. 

We stayed in log cabins in the rolling hills of Indiana. 

Nothing seemed much out of the ordinary.  The younger three of us were excited to see our older brothers, who arrived separately, both with accompanying friends.  I had stayed with Mike a couple years earlier, and I knew he drank a bit, seemed to have bursts of energy, but was always patient with others and always ready to make everyone laugh.  He could steal a scene in any crowd just using humor.  By the time our little brother was old enough to remember much of anything, Michael had moved out of the house.  For Spud, the baby of the family, Michael was a kind of mysterious visitor to our house.  He would come up every couple of years, everyone was excited to see him, most of us felt we didn’t get to spend enough time with him, and then he was gone again.  Many of our family friends called Spud “Little Michael” because he looked so much like Michael had when he was a very little boy.  All of us looked forward to being together as a family.

I don’t remember how many days into the trip it was… I think it might have been right off the bat that Mike’s friend found his GHB and dumped it down the toilet.  He was pissed.  I asked her why he was so mad and she told me that he had brought GHB in a mouthwash container and she dumped it down the toilet.  She told me GHB is what is more commonly known as the date-rape drug (I needed a refresher course).  I remember thinking, ‘Why the hell would anybody want to use that shit?’

Seriously, why the hell?

We went to dinner: Mom and Dad, five of their children, and our brothers’ friends.  My sister remembered that we were seated and everyone was looking over the menus.  Mike was impatient because of the time it was taking, and offered the server some money to make things speed along.  He lit a cigarette in a non-smoking restaurant.  The server came over and told him he couldn’t smoke.  She was carrying a tray of glasses and he put the cigarette out in one of them and called her a bitch. 

Our dad is an intense personality.  He was rather obsessed with being in control of situations, and in this case, he was not in control of his adult son.  Somehow - both Grace and I forget how – Dad and Mike ended up going outside, and Mike was acting like he was going to fight Dad.  That part doesn’t surprise me, and might have little to do with Mike being on or coming down off drugs.  Mike and Dad hadn’t been able to live together years ago, and they were struggling to have a civil dinner together. 

I do remember walking out into the foyer of the restaurant, which probably looked like I was concerned, but really I would not want to miss it if Mike were really going to take a swing at Dad, or vice versa.  …And then I would have called the cops.

I don’t know what kind of conversation they had, but I remember Mike breaking down and crying.  Sobbing big fat, hot tears and talking to each of us through them.  I did not feel sorry for him.  I was pissed.  I am 100% sure that I haven’t discussed this with him before, and it’s the hesitancy I have in writing this post at all.

My little brother was 9 years old.  Many drug-users might think that 9 is a perfectly acceptable time for a child to learn about drugs.  I was not the drug-user in this situation, however, and I had no sympathy for Mike or the circumstances in which he found himself.  I should also mention that all of this was taking place within a month after I moved out of a house where I found out the hard way that my roommates were using crack.  I had seen how erratic and hurtful drug-users can be, and so my thoughts did not go to Michael needing to get off drugs, my thoughts went to my little brother, who didn’t need to see such a display.

Most people I know have struggled with addiction.  Unfortunately, this was not the first time my little brother had seen someone spiraling out of control on drugs, but it was the first time I knew about it.  Mike was crying and hugging our baby brother and confessing that he had a drug problem, and he was sorry he was acting like this, and he wanted to quit.  Spud was crying too.  I wanted to beat the piss out of Mike. 

I know this sounds heartless and awful, and maybe it was.

My sisters have called me their overprotective big brother because our own brothers left home early, and I wasn’t about to let anybody hurt my sisters.  I felt the same way about my baby brother.  …Like a Mama bear. 

He is 8 years younger than me, and I’ve felt a connection with him not much different than a mother to her child.  In my eyes, at that time, Mike was a grown man who definitely needed to get his shit together, but I didn’t think it was something a 9-year-old needed to see or have any part in.

On the way back from the restaurant, Mike said repeatedly that he wanted to go to an old fishing hole he used when he was a little boy, growing up in Indiana.  He was promised that we would take him there the next day, which Mom did, and I took our little brother swimming at the hotel where we were staying. 

I don’t think that Michael knows how angry I was at the time.  And I wasn’t an angel either.  After Mom and Dad took Phillip back to the hotel, once the wedding was over, I definitely got piss-drunk.  It was a long trip.  They were bad days.  And it definitely wasn’t the last time our baby brother saw any of us on drugs. 

Gracie reminded me on the phone that even though Mike was a wreck, he still intervened during yet another family squabble later on, standing up for Gracie and made sure she didn’t get hurt when she was threatened.

I know this isn’t a becoming portrayal of Michael, but I’m sure he knows already that it wasn’t a becoming time for him.

For me, it highlighted the ways he had changed.  I remembered him as someone humorous, someone who, even after he moved out of our family home, would pick me up from school when I was sick.  He, like many teenagers, was self-centered and did what he felt he needed to do for himself with little regard to how it affected others.  I did the same thing to my own younger siblings years later, without recognizing or remembering the ways it hurt when my older sister and brothers had went off on their own, leaving me behind.

I don’t write all this to cast a shadow on my brother.  I loved him then and I love him even more today.  If you’ve been reading the blog and haven’t left yet, I am guessing it’s because you have found something you can relate to.  Perhaps you have struggled with addiction, or know someone who has.  It’s not something you struggle with alone.  Families serve many purposes, and one of the most important purposes I know of is the service as a support group.  I didn’t follow up my anger with and concern for Michael by offering to be a support.  Just as he was selfish by using drugs, I was selfish by treating him in a way that said, ‘this is your responsibility.  You need to get your shit together.’

Worst, I said nothing.  I don’t remember telling Michael ever that his drug use upset me so much.  I left it alone.

If anybody has a right or a reason to talk with their loved-ones about drug use, it is their family.  Our family has been through many tumultuous times and major battles together.  We are seasoned battle buddies, even if we haven’t seen traditional warfare.  You’re not supposed to leave anyone behind.

Brother, I am so sorry you were left to your own devices.  I wish I had been a little more grown up and known how to offer help and support instead of turning my back on you and your struggles.

Thank you for forgiving me and loving me. 

Thank you for being mine.