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Jameson Hedin Professor Dursema English 1010 7 February 2014 A view from the bottom

The end was near. My experience assured me this. I had seen drug addicts before. I had dealt with them and argued with them before. I had seen people at their worst more times than I cared to remember. This time it was different; this time it was my brother. There is always a breaking point in that ever so sensitive relationship between a junky and their dope. I sat in my parked car staring at the decrepit house. An old, useless chain-linked fence leaned toward me from the edge of the property, its dysfunction foreboding. The grass grew shin high leading to a structure that clung to the last remnants of an ancient paint job. I stepped out into a world that I had forgotten. Immobile cars sat aimlessly in yards. Multiple properties took on the appearance of a defiant 8 year olds bedroom. Power lines seemed low enough to touch, and appeared to double their necessity in number. I walked around my car toward the house. I stepped up onto the crooked curb and passed a useless mailbox that must be repeatedly ignored by the carriers. As I walked up the steps to the front door of the hobbled house I remembered the agony of my own breaking point. Chills ran up the back of my neck as I relived the feelings of panic and desperation that stains the memory of that final week of my love affair. I was going to lose my best friend and ally, and I knew it. The darkest moments of my life had been when my love relationship with heroin turned to a love-hate relationship. There was no longer the release or

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escape. Heroin had once been Gods best comfort blanket but it had stopped taking me away from the misery of what my real life was. It had stopped loving me back. Brian was in the midst of that right now. I couldnt drag my eyes from the broken and cracked concrete moving slowly under my reluctant feet. The sun bore a hole in the back of my neck as I stopped short of the front door in

attempt to justify the procrastination of my objective. Birds chirping vaguely at the edge of my consciousness mocked the weight of the situation. This time, procrastination would win. The front window of the house was a reflection the outside world. I quietly approached the pane of glass and looked through my hands to seen inside . . . nobody. On the coffee table was a regular IV starter kit. A syringe lay on the table next to a small bag. A belt had been lazily strewn so that the buckle dangled off the edge of the table. No one had undressed here. It became clear to me then. Though my intentions were to try and convince my brother to get help, I knew that this situation warranted reinforcements. There must be an intervention. I drove home in my silent car. The reality of the situation with my brother was all too real now. The subconscious tools that had worked so masterfully to distract me from the feelings surrounding Brians situation had, today, been rendered useless. The thick vapor of pain that I felt was dark and heavy. I drove unknowingly. I gazed forward mindlessly; the car was on autopilot. My family thought that I held the answers to my brothers problems. Having had been there before myself my insight into how he felt was useful, but the strength to sober someone up completely came only in numbers. It was going to be shocking for them to hear that they were going to have to be a part of the plan.

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I turned onto the street of my childhood memories. The familiar trees towered above majestically overhead as they had for so long. My mothers house stood out from the rest. In a land of beige stucco, red brick, and the familiar grey of stonework, the homes wooden siding and inviting front porch made it unique. I parked in the driveway on the side of the house and walked past part of the perfection that was my mothers landscaping. As I walked through the door I could feel her anticipation before I even met her eyes. She sat hunched in a chair at the kitchen table. A stark departure from the upbeat greeting that usually welcomed my entry. Her eyes were bullets piercing me with expectation. Her body visibly shuttered has she raised an arm to dry her sunken face. She was at the head of a silent audience of four waiting for the news of my assignment. My oldest brother was next to her. He knew that his gift of conversation was no good here. His frail, skinny body seemed fitting for the occasion. My younger sister gazed at me with tears streaming down her face. She stood next to Brians best friend Mike who was cracking tiles with the weight of his stare. They looked at me expectantly. My younger, but much larger brother entered from the other room and paused against the wall behind Mom. His athletic build and aura of confidence couldnt hide his current worry, and fear. He was the first to break the silence. What did he say? I could feel their expectations on my shoulders. I could see it in their faces. I couldnt do it. He needs all of us. This admittance seemed to bolster their spirits. The pressure and tension built up from their assuredness of a negative report from me was relieved by the neutral news. Each person seemed to gain confidence with a newfound sense of usefulness. So what do we do? my mom asked.

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We need to come up with a game plan. I think that we all need to be there to confront him. We need a show of force by way of overwhelming love and support. There cant be any room left for him to wriggle his way out, or he will. This needs to be an all or nothing proposition. I tried to keep my voice steady and firm to reinforce the motivated atmosphere. All or nothing? my sister asked with concern in her voice. At the end of the conversation we have with Brian he needs to be on his way to treatment, or out of our lives completely until hes ready. This statement seemed to hit home. My mother and sister couldnt choke back their tears. The five of us sat around the table to plan the meeting. There were many things we needed to consider. Though the idea of waiting for another day was kicked around, we decided that a same day return to his house was best. We were together, and it was fresh after all. Arrangements had to be made at the hospital in case he decided that today was the day to save his own life. A bed had to be reserved so that he could detox before treatment. But most importantly, his life was at stake. He may not have another day. I explained the importance of complete honesty. Only a perfect account of how his drug use affected each relationship would have the desired effect. This was a no holds bar discussion. We didnt have the luxury of worrying about hurt feelings in this situation. It was life or death. We agreed on the direction of our conversation. The atmosphere was heavy as we got ready to leave the house for the drive to Brians. A thousand words hung silently in the air between us. Our stony glances between each other begged for words to be spoken, but there was nothing left to say as we left. With wide,

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unblinking eyes we robotically made our way across town. There was no way to distract ourselves from the truth that a life could be depending on our impending decisions. The small, rundown living room fit the mood in the room perfectly. A stench of smoke and mildew seemed to penetrate my body. The broken chair in the corner, and the cracked walls with peeled up wallpaper seemed to tell the story of the past hour. It had been a battle. My brother sat opposite us and hung his head in what we could only hope was near defeat. Though I couldnt yet see any physical signs as proof, I knew he was crying. We had valiantly stood our ground while under verbal fire. Brian had played out every strategy. He blamed us, made excuses, and tried to convince us to wait a week. He yelled and accused us of attacking his character. He used combinations of profanity for affect that didnt make sense. He had stood up at one point and screamed at us. Veins bulged in his neck and sweat dripped from his hairline as he pointed an accusing finger at each of us violently. His tank had run empty. His last attempt to win a war with death as his potential reward had failed. He had run out of ammunition. I sat silently on the front lines, my fellow soldiers at my sides. The anticipation in the air could have caused pain. I watched intently, hopefully, reservedly. The future of my brothers life hung in the balance. His head slowly started to rotate upwards. His cheeks were wet. His face was red. His eyes were filled with tears. He blinked, sending a waterfall of pain down his cheeks. He let out a sob and started to weep. His chest started to heave with the relief that he must have been feeling. He looked at me in the eyes and managed a simple sentence. . . Im ready.

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