Thoughts.

There seems to be a romantic air to intoxicating substances, they are shown to represent freedom in the true sense of the word; something to ensure happiness, euphoria, a sense of living unparalleled to anything else.1

It is this that causes fresh faced girls and burly boys to dabble, to taste what is forbidden. Unlike the biblical forbidden fruit however, one taste can kill, maim; scar for life. This is what is not glamorised. It is hidden behind smoke screens, secreted away like the Hunchback of Notre Dame; too hideous to impose upon others.2

I have seen the synthetic peace and blinking ecstasy that they give to those who try it, also have I seen the frantic mania they cause after they have left. I have seen them shatter lives and cause more damage than any divorce of break-up ever could or would. This I have seen whilst watching one close to me; this I have seen when I had to say goodbye to a family member. But, no, they are not dead, they have sentenced themselves to a lifetime of slavery. Yet they are not a slave to the wage, they are the polar opposite; a slave to a life destined for unemployment, instability and constant wanting.3

They have sold their soul for a substance, given up all those who always stood by them. But no longer could we stand on the sidelines and watch this horror story unfold in front of our tired, worn eyes.4

It was a tough decision to make, one which we had dodged for years, avoiding the inevitable, a pain too tough to face, too lonely, too everything.5

We had slowly been saying goodbye, taking baby steps back, withdrawing. We had been doing so for years, as we could no longer turn a blind eye to the behaviour; the manic, god-like highs, the bitter, angry, sinister lows. The screaming fits, the secrets, the lies, the homelessness. The complete U-Turn of opinions, of points of view. The angelic, sweet-talking motivator, and the insulting, degrading monster. Convincing you that its YOU with the problem, not them; that its YOU who is wrong and that you're the enemy. That society is out to get you, that you're too good and over-qualified for everything to be employable.6

It all had to stop, come to an end where the road disappeared. There was no need to pull vigorously on the emergency handbrake, all we had to do was slowly let it out, and in the end it seemed easy, natural, meant to be.7

I no longer feel guilty, no longer feel like a horrible person, a horrible sibling. I feel as if it was the right thing to do. It is now almost six months since we have spoken to each other and the last time we did was because we were joined together in a mutual pain; brought together to pay our final respects to the man who in our minds was father, although biologically he was our Grandfather. We were brought together and during the funeral mass and the following day, in the crematorium, we were a family; like old times. It was you, mam and I with our sister, as always, outside the bubble. You played the role of the loving older brother and I needed you to. For those days you were your old self and you gave me a shoulder to cry on, and you knew it was a big brother I needed, and I knew that you needed a little sister, and time rewound ten years, maybe even five - it's hard to tell sometimes - and it felt right because it was. It was the way it should always be. You should be the one frowning upon my actions, telling me what's right and what's wrong and I don't even care that it's the opposite way around anymore.8

I have shed my last tears, my eyes aren't even damp as I write this, and it's not because I don't care about you, it's because I simply can't. I do think about you and worry about you, but I have to do so from a distance, because whenever I am near you you are never fully with it. You half listen to the things I say and I want to scream at you, and punch you and kick you because you have wasted your youth, and have taken away from mine.