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Found 15 results

  1. I lost my 31 year old brother due to a heart attack/drug overdose over the weekend. He struggled with drug addiction since he was 15 and led a very difficult and arduous life. He was constantly riding a roller coaster of ups and downs, but he somehow always managed to hang in there over the many years. He had just come back from an eight month rehab in Arizona a few weeks ago. We were all so happy for him and had just celebrated his birthday on March 9th. Everything finally seemed to be falling into place for him. He was going to NA meetings and was soon going to get back into his union job. On the 12th my mother and I received the reality shattering phone call from my brother'e ex wife. The moment my mom broke the news to my dad over the phone continues to play over and over in my mind: Shakily, my mother asked if my dad knew why she was calling. He responded with a worried 'no...'. My mom then cried out in horror "They found Brian in Queens!!!". I don't think I'll ever be able to forget the sound of my dad's howl of agony and despair as it blasted through the receiver. My brother was found dead in a hotel room in Queens. My family and I are completely devastated. We had always feared this day would eventually come, but none of us ever expected it would happen at a time like this. I've cried more these past few days than I have over the past ten years. Every time I start to think I don't have any more tears to shed I have another break down. It's just so raw and surreal. He was such a strong, healthy, promising young man, and now he's gone. Everything feels different and hopeless now, like a founding pillar of my life has just crumbled away. I find myself appreciating all the things about him that I hadn't given thought to before. It makes me feel immense heartbreaking guilt. I just want to hear his voice again.
  2. This is a hard loss for me to deal with. To make a long story short I hadn't seen my younger brother in over twenty years. He was adopted by another family when we were kids. I had the right to stay in contact with him but as he got older and adjusted to his new family I could tell he was drifting away. I thought by giving him his space and letting him decide if he wanted to contact me I was doing the right thing. The last time I saw him was in 1995 when he was 12 years old. I came so close to reaching out to him so many times since then but didn't. I finally decided I had to let him go if I was going to be in a happier place. I thought it was the right thing to do. I still secretly hoped I'd see him again one day. Well I recently signed up for facebook and tried to look him up and found to my shock and horror that he died 4 years ago from a drug overdose. His adopted parents could have told me but didn't. The few details I found out was that he was abandoned by his adoptive family and was living with friends. I don't know how much of a drug problem he had but however bad it was he overdosed. At least his adoptive parents gave him a proper burial and marker. I was able to visit his grave last week. This is not in a million years how I expected to see him again. I have so many emotions to deal with I can't even being to explain them all. I don't really have anyone to talk to. I feel so sad for my brother who was only 29 when he died. The same age as my older brother. He hadn't truly started to live. I feel so angry. Angry at the senselessness of it all. Angry at myself for not doing more and being there when I should have. Angry at his adoptive parents for not doing more to save him. Angry at my parents for bringing children into the world who they couldn't take care of. Angry at my extended family for not taking us in when we needed them and abandoning us to foster care. I don't know how much of this anger is justified but I feel it. I guess writing it out like this is one of the few ways I can express myself and try to deal with this. He was the last of my immediate family. I used to be afraid of dying but now know that I'm meant to live a long, empty lonely life. Everyone I've loved I've lost.
  3. Loss my little Sister on the 18th to a drug overdose, had her funeral yesterday and it all still seems so unreal to me, I am feeling so much guilt, I feel that I should have done more to try and help her and my biggest fear is that my daughter will be next, I have called the crisis intervention team on my sister and they kept her for three days and released her. My family and I have tried and tried talking to them both, tried to get them to get the help that they need, needed but it's like it goes in one ear and out the other, they seem, seemed like an empty walking shell with no, heart, no morals, no common sense. I am afraid of what's going to happen when it sinks in that my little sister is gone, as of right now it still feels as if I am stuck in a bad dream, I don't know what to think, say, or do
  4. July 24th 2012. I found her 30 minutes too late. She was till warm and I gave her CPR & the EMTs said she was DOA. She had jut turned 14, June 2nd. I was 17. I raised her. We had a shitty childhood, it was ALWAYS us against the world. I let her use drugs with me...I thought it was safer than with her friends. She overdosed on methadone neither of us had never touched heroin. I quit cold turkey and begged to be sent to rehab. I was clean for 8 months...then I stuck a needle of heroin in my arm and haven't stopped. I hate myself. I want to give up. I can't do it without her. I'm scared iff I get sober I'll kill myself....
  5. I met my husband when I was 19. He was 30....we met in a treatment center for drug addiction. I remember fantasizing about being his wife. After about six months of sneaking off to meet each other, passing love notes, ect., we ran away together and started a life. We were together every night since then...worked our way up into a house and really good jobs. We were so happy. It was my first (and very brief) run-in with drugs, and I never had any problems with relapse. He did, though. About a year in, he relapsed. He could never confide in me about it though, I always had to catch him. I told him that if he did it again without depending on me as his partner, that I would leave him. Couldn't life with all of the lying and the danger it put me in. He showed me how badly he wanted to be with me, and to be healthy, and we were fine for years. We got married, were talking about having a baby- I even had the appointment to have my IUD taken out so we could conceive. I think this was a distraction from the fact that we had been drifting apart and I didn't understand why. We were intimate less often, I felt like I couldn't trust him and would sneak and look in his phone and find texts that I knew were drug related, but I would always let him convince me it meant something else. I knew was using, but I didn't know. Then I met someone and was unfaithful, not sexually...but still. He found out and we got in a huge fight. He admitted to using again, but only after I told him I was leaving again. Almost like a last ditch effort to get me to stay. He said, "You knew I was an addict when you got into this." And he was right. Why was I surprised?! Why did I leave?? What happened to "in sickness and in health?" I'd never meant words more in my life than when I said that on our wedding day. How did that change? I think I just felt so betrayed, so I betrayed him. I don't know...I spoke out of anger so many times in the last year and a half. I can be so cruel, and now it's just suspended out there forever. He'll never know how sorry I am or how much I love him. He overdosed in a gas station bathroom two weeks ago. Two days after my birthday; I just turned 24. I have so much guilt, grief and regret. He was "dating" someone. They met a few months ago. His obituary said, "survived by his family and fiance." We're still legally married! It hurts so much more. I feel like he never loved me. Or what if he loved her more than me? Logically, I know that it isn't my fault he died, and I know that a relationship where both parties are actively using is very different than a healthy, loving 5 year relationship/marriage, but my heart doesn't know that. I feel like our relationship is totally invalidated. At first I was so upset that I felt physically ill every day. Now, I've completely immersed myself in school work and I don't even stop to eat most of the time, much less process anything emotionally. I just want him to contact me somehow, even though I don't even think that's possible. I can't talk to anyone in my real life...they're all my age. They don't understand the weight of this, or the complication of losing a spouse to something like this. I haven't even told my professors. I have no idea what to do. I don't think I even have words to talk to another human about what I'm feeling. What do you do if your soulmate dies before you're in your mid-twenties? His mom told me once, "thank you for keeping him clean all these years." So, naturally they blame me for him using again. His family hates me and ignores any attempt to contact them about the memorial service. I'll never get closure. I just want to go back to when things were good. I miss him. I miss being like that with someone. I am so broken, and no one really knows.
  6. My older brother was 29 and he had struggled with heroine addiction. He got involved with the wrong person and ended sitting in jail for almost a year because he had a roommate taking advantage of his addiction and started producing narcotics inside my brothers house. Finally they saw that my brother didn't have much to do with what his roommate was doing and we were able to get him out on house arrest. The first few months were great it was awesome to have my brother back because he was clean and I could have a normal conversation with him. I always looked up to my older brother so it was very hard for me to know that he had gotten caught up in something that could potentially kill him. About a month a go i was sitting in my room playing a video game. My mom began to call upstairs to my older brother because she had not seen him that day. I did't think much of it because my brother put headphones in a lot and listened to it really loud so he could have just been doing that or napping. after a few times of calling up the stairs my mom decided to go check on him but the door was locked. she went and got a screwdriver so she could get into his room. If i would of known what she was concerned about i would have done it myself way earlier but hindsight is 20/20. After she opened the door I heard the most terrifying yell i can imagine from my mother and i rushed over there because i had a feeling what had happened i just couldn't believe it was true. My brother was laying on the ground inside his room with blood and foam coming out of his mouth. I ran downstairs with my mom to get a phone to dial 911. My mom was so upset she couldn't dial the number so i took the phone and called 911. The 911 operator started asking me to check and feel if there was a pulse. I didn't feel one but i wasn't sure because my heart was racing so fast. I went on and followed the instructions from 911 and tried so hard to bring my brother back but it was just too late. at one point I got really dizzy and thought i was going to pass out when I was giving him mouth to mouth and then pumping his chest as the 911 operator instructed. I remember at one point his eyes opened up a little bit and i thought maybe it worked. after an eternity it seemed the ems showed up and they looked down at me and said "you wanna let us take over from here". They announced he had passed away shortly after and I am pretty sure he was already gone when we found him. I am not a doctor though and wasn't sure so I did everything I could just in case. I mean how could I just sit there and assume that he is dead when my mother has just seen her first born laying on the ground like that. I told her to wait outside of the room because she didn't need to see anymore of this and she was very upset to where i couldn't hear the 911 operator. I really wish i realized something was wrong sooner than she did because it kills me she had to see him like that. The night before this happened he came and home and brought me a hot dog and some fries and i noticed he was talking in a manner that he may be using something again. I just chalked it up to him being tired though because he had been doing so well and I guess i just didnt want to believe it. I called in to work sick that day and I am glad I did. I can't imagine my mom going through all that by herself. We went above and beyond to get my brother help and to give and second and third chances to clean up. unfortunately he got involved with something that was stronger than he was. My brother wasn't a bad guy by any means. He wasn't the kindest person in the world either but he was my only brother and I love him no matter how rough the past few years of his life were.He graduated from Clemson university and had bought a house and began saving up a good amount of money before he got wrapped up in heroine. I have been on this earth for 22 years and my brother had such a huge impact on everything I did growing up. Anything my brother did I would try to do the same thing but better because i am just a super competitive person. Drew was really good at baseball. I remember going to more of his baseball games when i was younger than i can count. It was fun watching my brother hit pop up home runs that none of the other kids could dream about doing at his age. He also hit the game winning hit in the state championship the send his team to the regionals. He was a lefty and he hit a lazer beam down the third base line that drove in the winning run. He also introduced me into tennis one summer when him and a friend went to Daytona and played a bunch of tennis they came back and still wanted to play a bunch. after two nights of playing i started dominating him and his friend. i was 10 years old and he was 17 at the time. That summer we went out almost every night and played tennis from 9 pm at night to 1 AM in the morning. I loved it. I ended up getting a scholarship for tennis as well as playing 6 years of varsity tennis in high school. I played number 3 in 7th grade and #1 from 8th-12th and idk if i would have ever even picked up a tennis racket if it wasnt for my brother. He was very protective of me and would never let anything happen to me when I was little. I love you Drew you will always be a hero to me. Rest in Peace and know you will be remembered for the awesome things you did and not the tragic way that you left us.
  7. It was his funeral yesterday - so that means it must be true, its not a prank, or a cruel hoax, or a mistake. My son is dead and that's the truth
  8. Hello, I lost my Husband to an overdose about 18 months ago. I began a group Widows of Overdose - Our group meets Wednesdays at 8:00 in Patchogue, Long Island. I know it can feel very isolating when dealing with this type of grief so please feel free to contact me if you'd like to chat. It's been my experience that the world views this type of grief differently, almost discounting it given the way the person died and the automatic assumptions that this person was a "drug addict" and that we are "better off" without them. These assumptions only intensify our grief. Please feel free to post on our site your experience as well as any memories or photos of your loved one that you'd like to share. I hope we can speak soon. Best Wishes, Maureen C: 516-870-8058 E:
  9. I lost my only sibling, my older brother, who was 24 and I am currently 22. I lost him a week after my birthday, Nov. 19th, 2014. I was at work when I got the call that my brother lost his battle with Heroin. He was very good looking, he didn't know that though, he was very insecure. I was always the angel growing up, he was the cool, bad ass. He was popular and did drugs and loved to party. Once I turned 16, you can say I joined him and we shared that bond. We became so close and did a lot of adventuring together. Just enjoying life and living on the edge, he molded me into the adrenaline junkie, I am today. I miss our long car rides to nowhere, blasting music, I miss us talking crap about everyone who doubted us, I miss our inside jokes, I miss him being over protective with me and the guys I date. I even miss his anger, his harsh words, his selfish actions. We had so many plans together, my memories with him are now from one perspective, he's not here to argue what really happened. He was so loud, his presence was so aggressive, he was so animated. He called me at least 10 times a day, if not more and if he was in the room, don't expect to get a word out, this loss is great. My life is now nothing but silence, my mother and I have drifted apart. She's always zombified off of her Xanax, so no use in talking to her. She usually doesn't remember our conversations anyway. So i've been going out a lot, getting drunk and high. Feeling very alone these days. I just feel like i have no one. Even when people try to reach out, I don't accept their calls or texts. I just want to sit and miss him, and I don't want to get better. I don't want to lose him, even though he's already gone.. I don't want to succeed without him, I don't want to live happy without him here, It feels so wrong. I'm not suicidal but sometimes I wish i would just get into a freak accident. That way me and him can be together and I won't feel bad...
  10. I am the eldest sibling. My brother was/is/will always be 16 years younger than me. My sisters 8 and 18 years younger have so many different ways of dealing with this. In two days my brother will have been dead 2 months and I still don't know/accept or understand it. 22 years old and done in by a concoction of alcohol and heroin. How do you even begin to accept that this happened? He was clean for so long (as confirmed by his last texts) so why did he decide to do this? I know he would never want my mother to find him, but she did. I have only questions and no answers. How do you move on from the emptiness that is a drug overdose. People don't use because life is awesome. What did we miss? How did we not know he was using again?
  11. Filling the Holes in My Soul: Recovering from a Multitude of Losses By Carli R. Stewart It began with the loss of my Grandma at age 7. My family’s silence over the matter was deafening. I was very curious about what ‘death’ meant, so I questioned everything at my Grandma’s funeral. The dimly lit Funeral Home smelt of a musty rose and my mom and dad appeared emotionless, their faces blank and pale. Their forced hugs toward those who attended, seemed heartless even from my 7 year old perspective. In response to my streaming tears and constant questions, my mother offered me a white frosted cookie with hopeful star sprinkles on top. She told me that it would make me feel better, at the same time it shut me up! I learned quickly to remain silent, while eating to guide myself to a fuller solution. At Age 13, the morning after my best friend Kelly and I had a routine sleepover, I found her dead in her bathtub. She had ingested everything she could get her hands on from her addicted mother’s vault of a medicine cabinet. This was the beginning of an entourage of tragedy that hit me at least once seemingly every year of my life since. Every single time I pictured her lifeless purple body and stringy dirty blonde hair escaping the tub, I turned to the cupboard full of comfort foods to hopefully distract me from this haunting memory invading my mind. Like a bottomless pit, I could never seem to get enough to satisfy this deadly feeling of emptiness from the loss of Kelly. Still, to this day I refer to her as the sister I never had. Over time, these undeniable pains began to pierce holes in my soul. The subsequent deaths in my family of 2 young cousins throughout my mid-later teens made me the pillar my family would look to for strength. These deaths saw me taking care of the arrangements that all other family members tried to evade. My family members’ inability to function created a pattern where I would stand up and take action, while others simply crumpled. Because of my love for photography, I began to notice this theme of being the one to call upon when a death occurred within friendships as well. It became all too familiar as loved ones kept dying. I was the one with all the photos of cherished memories for these tragic young deaths that came in waves every year. From my former years, I always had the urge to talk until I was blue in the face over these deaths. These were the instances where I wasn’t silenced for doing so while putting on a Service to celebrate each life. This would all be fine for a few months until others were more-or-less back on their feet and I could no longer hide my feelings behind the work at hand. I started calling this the 3 Month Rule. From my experience, the 3 Month Rule is a dooming point in time that seems to come after every death. Once this marker in time strikes, the phone calls and condolences stop. No one wishes to speak or hear of your heart aches anymore. They simply feel that you should have already moved on. So the fight response in me disintegrated and I crashed! As my helpfulness is less needed and I am no longer able to bury myself in the service work of the grieving, the support system behind me fades as well. I became reliant on this 3 Month Rule after so many deaths had been established, so that I could collapse into an eating coma after holding it together for what it seemed a lifetime! By the age of 18 I took on the world as a natural caregiver, which ultimately lead me to a graduate degree and career in such. While helping others, I found momentary relief from my own losses. But this was just the second of many temporary fixes. My mother based the grief of her own parents from her formative years on workaholism as I grew up. So my mother – my mirror of expertise and so called strength – simply taught me to remain busy and I’d hopefully forget about my sorrow. I found that helping others had certainly been the most socially acceptable outlet I could find while running away from my own grief. But all the while, I continued eating to fill this emptiness inside. Like most people using this outlet to escape oneself, I ran myself dry and obese! This was ongoing to the extent that I no longer had anything remaining to offer myself at each day’s end. My desire to seek outside of self and choose mentally taxing professions was coupled with the learned belief that if I just keep myself busy, ’Time Will Heal’. I willingly participated in perfection toward exceptional grades and workaholism, as I found that the admiration by my colleagues, family, and friends for my achievements were ever so delightful. Meanwhile, I was dying on the inside. These spurts of recognition and awards only erased the pain growing in me for mere seconds. Yet I continued to chase it, for even minute relief was better than nothing. Meanwhile, my weight grew to be of such an uncomfortable capacity for my 5’2 small boned body! I was now 22, just before the finals of my senior year of college, when my brother Blaine died. It continued the spiral effect of incurring losses that I didn’t know how to face. I already had too much left unfinished emotionally, and Blaine’s death only compounded the problem. The pain was far too immense to even catch my breath. I’d begun to link his death and all preceding deaths to their common denominator: me. I no longer allowed others into my bubble for fear that their contact with me would cause them to die as well. Every time I blinked my eyes, I saw the picture of my brother huddled on the floor, with the needle still in his arm. I was told he was found on his hands and knees, as if it were to be a praying position. Somehow, this gave me hope even though I didn’t have a God. Maybe there is something he turned to in his last seconds of life? Once again, I played the pillar. I aced my finals, then drove the six and a half hours to take over as sole proprietor of my brother’s funeral arrangements. The slide show for his Memorial spoke wonders to his early life. But out of the 4 boxes of childhood memories, I couldn’t find one picture of him smiling after the age of seven. My father was increasingly hard on my brother from that age on for reasons I found out much after Blaine’s death. Blaine did everything that was done to him, unto me. This revelation created a whirlwind of hurt and revenge for my father after hearing the intimate details of certain events. Out of haste, upon learning of these truths after the Funeral, my father set everything my brother owned on fire in the bonfire out back. A decade had passed since Kelly’s passing. And time seemed to encroach more holes in the space I feel is my soul. I was an ever-struggling, hopeless shell of a woman. But I truly felt that there was something missing, I just had no clue what it was! I continued to displace my energy into modes of distraction, which further led to mass destruction of my body, mind, and soul! I finally had had enough of the discomfort and humiliation of my weight, so I threw myself into working out and partying with the same abandon with which I’d been overeating before. I was treating the symptom instead of the condition, though I didn’t know it at the time. The vain superficiality of it all did do wonders—I slimmed down and surrounded myself with people at all times—but at night I couldn’t sleep. I turned the music up to drown out the noise in my head. You see, the committee in my head reigned over my every move. When all fell silent and I was alone with myself I was so uncomfortable in my own skin that I wanted to scream. I wanted to quite literally tear off my skin, just to show my internal suffering that no one else could see! The alcohol, I found to be another way to self forget. With this method of escapism, it sure created a false sense of feeling ok. Well, in the beginning that is. When the party stopped, I never did. These behaviors slowly took precedence over hitting the gym while instead choosing hard alcohol as my daily nutritious intake. Mountains of sorrow began to unveil. I was almost relieved to have found a way to unleash my wrath of emotions without the feeling of repercussion or embarrassment by my speaking of it. This became quite the pattern of after work behavior. I would resort to an establishment revolved around drinking to over-dramatize my several losses during bouts of the drink! My reminiscent discussions over people already gone, soon turned to waterfalls of tears and victim-like despair. I still awoke, EMPTY. I was never refueled as I thought I would be after yet another cry spell. By this time I was 27 years old and lived in a world of anguish, for I could not even open the drapes each morning. I had since released any glimmer of hope to see a light again at the end of the tunnel. Not knowing that the tunnel was the illusion all along. Now unemployed, I channeled my depression to social media and watching consecutive series all in one sitting on Netflix. While mindlessly searching Facebook one night I learned of the death of a young quadriplegic man I use to care for. He’d died months before and not one person thought to call me. I was no longer the pillar people called on for strength—that realization was crushing. One day shortly thereafter, I was compelled to walk into Half Priced Books. This felt strange to me, as I was always a skimmer throughout college, rather than a reader and would not normally be urged to go into any bookstore. The gift of desperation caused me to look for answers in places that felt outside of my comfort zone. While inside, I turned around and saw a book – plain and cream colored—yet it seemed to jump out at me as though it had colors blasting from it’s every essence! A halo-like appearance surrounded it, summoning “Pick Me!” written as the title! I picked it up and opened the tattered cover. On the title page was a handwritten inscription. It read, “Dad, this book helped me find peace over Blaine’s Death. I sincerely hope you will someday become willing to find forgiveness in your heart for him. Love, Carleen.” I dropped to my knees in disbelief. My brother’s name, a father unable to forgive his son, a name just a few letters off from my own… Needless to say, I read the whole book in one sitting. I didn’t even notice the cold linoleum floor below me in the aisle of that bookstore. As I was engaged in my reading, the people passing by felt like gusts of wind from angel wings. I could not wait to turn the next page to soak up more of a different way to thinking, acting, and whole-hearted living. I became acutely aware of just how ill prepared I was in dealing with the conflicting emotions revolving around each independent death and how it affected me to such an inner core, that it ruled my every waking existence! Each subsequent death struck deeper and deeper until the clutter of rage and fear ruled my life. This book, titled the “Grief Recovery Handbook” changed my entire perspective on death in general. I finally faced the facts that I would do anything to run away from my grief, rather than work through it in strides. Up until that point, I had a set of learned beliefs about death, chief among them that “Time Will Heal,” and I could not fathom that there actually be a different way in dealing with loss. I learned to first question what I always believed to be true. My problem all along began with my thinking. In order to polish myself to a clean slate, I had to actually take note of what my automatic thoughts were throughout each day, to acknowledge and replace them. Repetition became new habits. I learned to accept my feelings fully, without judging them as good or bad. Feelings have a stubborn habit of resurfacing, if denied or hidden away. Feeling the pain is an essential part of growing beyond unresolved grief. Over time, the transformation was so slow, that I did not truly see how incredibly inner-changed I had become until the next catastophy struck me like a ton of bricks! My mother was hit head on by a drunk driver on a cold, rainy January evening as she headed home from work. This was thankfully after I had begun my journey toward healing from loss. The now, 30 year old me took full reigns of the situation at hand in a far different light than ever before! I chose to let go, and let God. The prayer chains that went out for my mother were miraculous! The book speaks nothing of a God if I recall correctly. But it was most certainly a means to a belief system in something far greater than myself. With this concept of belief, I found peace in even the most cataclysmic of situations since. I found peace with death. I fully believe today that loss is an opportunity for spiritual development. I now get to claim my circumstances, instead of my circumstances claiming me and my happiness! I’ve built an identity that includes these losses, while channeling the enormous amount of energy learnt to now help others. There no longer exists a 3 Month Rule of my understanding. I embrace the only thing constant in a spiritual way of life, which is change. I even found myself grateful for every single day that I get to remain in this life. It brings me comfort to believe that death is only a continuation date, preparing you for your next journey! So don’t count the days, make the days count! It’s important to note that there is no correct way through sorrow. The only correct thing is that one finds their path and embarks on that journey to wellness, whatever that may be for them. As you see, this book quite literally went on to save my life! It was my journey to wellness. So I write today, not to share a story of hardship. But rather – my embrace to live with a soul so full – that I’m constantly overflowing with the power of healing for others! I challenge you to look inside to your own unresolved grief and seek like-minded individuals to work through any necessary losses. As you can clearly see from my personal experience, One thing is for Certain, Time Does Not Heal. You do! It takes action! For it is what you choose to do within the time, that will make you or break you. You may also find to be a helpful resource.
  12. On October 29th I received the worst news of my life. My partner was found unresponsive. I was pregnant with my first child, a baby girl that he was so excited about. I attended the funeral on November 6th and our daughter was born on November the 10th. To say I'm devastated is an understatement. I'm trying to find joy in my baby while grieving at the same time. I don't know if I'm coming or going. To top it off he was found in the home of an ex girlfriend and they are saying the cause of death is a possible overdose!? How am I supposed to digest this when I didn't even know there was a substance abuse issue in the first place. Granted we are awaiting autopsy reports but as you can imagine the circumstances make the death that much worse.... Each day I learn a new secret. Praying for some sort of peace because at this time I don't see any light at the end of this dark tunnel.
  13. Hi forum, I stumbled across this page in the hopes of getting some advice for my current situation, which I'm sure you all can relate to in some way or form. We lost my younger brother 5 years ago this July, to an accidental heroin (with other drugs) overdose. Matthew was 24 years old and at the time I was 25. It was such a shock to everyone, we all knew Matt was a little wild and had tried a lot of things to help him, which ultimately didn't. He wasn't known to use heroin either, which was another shock. At the time also, I was in a committed relationship for about 4 months and really, without my partner being there for me, I probably wouldn't have found the strength that I did to keep going. I did all the organising for his funeral, sitting up through all hours of the morning organising his photo slideshow, writing a eulogy, picking the music and speaking to the priest. I felt it was my duty as Matt's older sister to do this for him. I didn't even cry much during my eulogy - which I'm still surprised at today. Basically, 5 years on, my partner believes that I haven't dealt with his death 'properly'. We are going through some dramas and I believe this might be stemming from holding a lot of hurt in. I feel at this point in my life that I am at a crossroads - and I am really unsure of how to deal with this. I feel I have gone through some major changes as a person and now my partner is the one copping the brunt of these. As the eldest, I have always been the 'good' one so this might have some reason as to why I am feeling the way I am. Also, I have another younger brother who is just getting worse and worse since Matt's death. Constantly getting in trouble, unemployed, doing drugs, stealing from EVERYONE (even our from grandparents) and has a young daughter who he never sees. It is taking toll on our Dad as he says hurtful things like 'If you don't give me money, I'm just going to kill myself' things like that to make Dad feel guilty. Does anyone relate to these feelings? I have never spoken to a therapist or counsellor, which is maybe something I need to do. It feels like I am going through a 1/4 life crisis of some sorts? I would love ANY info/advice from you guys, as I feel no one really understands where I am coming from. Please help! Lala
  14. My 28 year old son passed away in March from a drug overdose. I am still shocked and hurting from his sudden passing. Is anyone else struggling with this kind of loss? asb
  15. I lost my big brother, and only sibling, Joey to an accident drug overdose on Nov 7, 2013. He was only 30. I feel I am having an exceptionally difficult time dealing with this. My mother and I are the most affected and it seems no one understands us. My very best friends, who have been there through thick and thin for the past 10+ years don't even know what to do with me anymore and I live with them. All I want to do is live normal life again but situation are making it so hard. I can barely get the image of him in his casket out of my head. I'm reaching out to anyone that's lost someone, do you ever live a normal life again? When did it get easier for you? What did you do? Any insight please.