When I first started reading into psychology and drugs I thought that this was the end. This is what would lead me to finding myself. Mind you, I have changed things such as no longer smoking weed (it's psychedelic to me. full on audio hallucinations and such), I have a shitty 15 hour a week job, I just moved to a new state, going to college, and finally feel guilty. What? I'm changing my life for the better slightly and feel bad? Yeah...
It all started a few months back, in December. You see it actually started much earlier and I know exactly what it was but it hurts to bring up. To put this into the easiest most condensed version, I lost my father to cancer and my oldest brother to drugs in the same week. My father was my pastor and had been battling cancer for many years and it came to the end of the road. He fell into a deep coma the night of Christmas, December 25th. The next day the nurse who took care of him in our home brought the new drugs such as lorazepam and such. My brother was off at work and abused these as if they were his source of happiness. He was fighting addiction to Xanax which started from anxiety surfacing over losing Dad. We all knew it was coming...
The night of December 26th I saw my brother stumble in just like many nights of his overdone benzos. This time it was my fathers liquid max strength lorazepam which was for the cancer. He took the whole 60mg. I'm not sure how it affected him but he walked off and came back to steal my food I had. On the couch he began saying messed up things to me. Things like, "some tribes eat the sperm of their dead relatives who had power in life to gain it themselves" then a nod so much that yelling was the only thing to bring him back. At one point in my mind I said, "I wish you would just overdose... you cause too much pain to us". And this is where my guilt comes in.
That morning of December 27th I can still hear my mom's voice at 10:00am getting louder and louder to wake him up for work. She shook him and then yelled out "he's dead" with a shriek that haunts. I immediately jumped up, put my ear to his mouth, fingers to his carotid, and stood quietly. I got my wish. He was blue in some parts, extremely cold, and had vomit in his mouth. I remember hearing the wheezing the night before and ignoring it as if it was comparable to yawning.
So that day my dad was transferred to a hospice as police and nurses came and went. Friends and church members from all over the state and country came but I didn't care. I need someone to have told this to. My brothers death was my fault. I was and am only 18. My dad's birthday was this 21st of September, mine the 29th. Anyways we lost him on the 30th around 9:00pm. Never being able to say goodbye to now my grandfather, father, or brother, I am completely dead inside.
I have experimented with some drugs like 4-aco-dmt to try and get through it. It helps, really, I see death as such a lighter topic than just 6 months ago. The thing that eats me is feeling like I am destroying myself. Since my brother who informed me of such things as kratom or DMT or Kava or benzos (he never touched a hallucinogen which is all I touch).
I just can't live with myself though I have to. I want the world to end such as the "tribulation" I was told about in sunday school or WWIII. If I go the christian route, my brother is in hell. Was it a suicide? WAS IT!? He just turned 26 on December 13. The irony that December 26th was the day of his death...
I'm so alone in a home full of people who don't know, save my other brother who is 23 and we have discussed this many times. I have no friends in this state. My dreams switch from happy times with my father and brother to demonic in nature.
If you ever come across this story again, it might be because I got my mind out. I plan to become a shoulder to lean on for people with drug addictions, I just don't know if I can stand myself.
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