Unwritten Letters: Dearest Stepson

Dearest Stepson,
    I know that I have been silent. I cannot find the words. I suppose that I am in shock. My heart is breaking for you and broken for your girlfriend and her family. I cannot possibly fathom what you are going through. I cannot imagine what it would be like to be strung out on heroin. I cannot imagine things in my life so terrible, that turning to drugs seemed like a welcome escape. I cannot imagine the horror at learning ‘those friends’ in your inner circle went and got your girlfriend hooked on heroin. I cannot comprehend the need for ‘sustaining’ the heroin in both of your systems so as to avoid the sickness. I cannot imagine the guilt you must be feeling from providing her what would turn out to be her fatal dose. I cannot wrap my mind around the depth of you grief. Finding, upon waking, the girl you that you had fallen in love with, cold and lifeless in her bed beside you. The horror at not being able to rouse her, and upon further discovery, finding her really and truly dead, and all that encompasses. DEAD from the drugs you provided. I cannot
Imagine having to run upstairs and tell her mother that she was dead.

I want to scream,”We told you, begged you to stop, and now …” Well this is what happens in the life of a junkie. This is the heroin lifestyle. If you play with fire, you are going to get burned. I just wish you weren’t smack dab in the middle of the fire. I am heartbroken that you are on this path. I pray that you are not charged with her death, but at the same time, is this what it will take to save you? To get you clean? Or will this be the catalyst that makes you take your own life? Will you take the life of the boys that began her addiction? Will your life end before it should, by your own hand or by the hands of the boys who swore that they were going to kill you to avenge her death? I am afraid that your heroin induced haze and thoughts of revenge is going to cause yet another tragedy. Let it stop here. Let it end now.

I am sorry that her father punched you at the funeral, in the midst of your incomprehensible grief. I would love to wrap my arms around you and hug you so tight, and tell you it is all going to be okay. But alas, I cannot. Because it is not all just going to magically be ‘okay’ ever again. Heroin has led you on this journey, down this path, and you made that choice. You are a legal adult and a grown man. Hugs won’t dix this. Now unfortunately, you must face the consequences of your actions, whatever they may be. Jail time, death, grief, sorrow, guilt, anger, depression, denial, and whatever other feelings are involved in the knowledge that you directly contributed to the heroin overdose and death of your girlfriend.

I assume that you knew that the heroin was laced with propofol? You stated that you should have stayed awake to make sure she woke up. What the actual fuck? You are smarter than this son! You were going to be a veterinarian or a pharmacist! I just want
To smack some sense into you. But  I wouldn’t because I am afraid that it wouldn’t do any good. I am afraid this drug has it’s claws into you so deep that if this senseless tragedy doesn’t smack you into rehab, that nothing ever will. Nothing I can say will make any difference.

I just want to yell and scream why my sweet boy? And the answer is already known. You became hooked on heroin when you stopped dealing. When your maternal side of the family pulled some strings to keep you out of jail before, you were never held accountable for your actions. You got off with a felony and no jail time. For
Dealing. And you never had to pay the piper. You decided dealing drugs on our streets was faster, quicker, lazier way of making lots of money. And in the aftermath of that glorious disaster, you turned to heroin. And it became your best friend. A cold, callous, non forgiving friend who loves you and leaves you, and  eventually took that which you loved most in all the world, your girlfriend. Heroin always gets hers. You always pay the piper. I hope you choose rehab and sobriety. I hope you choose life. I hope you learn from this experience that eventually we are all held accountable. My heart is breaking for you and there is nothing I can do. I did not wish this for you. I want you to know that I love you. In spite of everything that has happened , I still love you. I always have and I always will.

Love ,
     Your Stepmother
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Unread Letters

Dear ______,

I can’t ever say what I’m thinking without butchering it. It always sounds better in my head. Somehow the words get lost in translation and I am misunderstood. My written words capture my heart perfectly. This heart is tired from constantly giving and rarely getting anything back. It’s just exhausting to care so deeply for others. It’s my curse.

I don’t know that I will ever give you this letter. Maybe I shouldn’t pour my soul out onto this page for you to see. Will you even see me? Do you have any idea who I really am? I’m not certain that I know myself anymore. I’ve clawed my way back from the bottom more than once. I may have put myself there a time or two. I’ve let my own mind destroy me. Sickness stole my joy. Depression left me crippled. I came back. I’m not who I want to be. I’m spread too thin. I’m a terrible mother and a horrible friend. I want to be better. Truth is that I can’t do all the things I need to at once.

I don’t know how much of my dysfunction you can handle. My sadness is overwhelming at times. I’m moody and angry for no good reason. I’m afraid of everything and of nothing all at once. I’m a damn mess. You should run away. I’m no good for you or anyone else. The kindness I have for others completely hides the hate I harbor for myself. It’s hell being me. I’m not easy to love nor am I easy to deal with. I’m so complex. It’s ridiculous. I guess what I’m trying to say is I’m broken.

I’m not who you think I am. The ugly will start to bleed through eventually. I don’t want you to care about me. God forbid you fall in love with me. I will destroy you. I will shut down. I don’t know when I will come back to you. I am damaged beyond repair. It pains me to admit the worst of myself. I can’t lie to you. I won’t. You need to know there is a darkness that won’t leave me. I don’t know if it ever will. This is me. There is beauty in the darkness. I am living proof.

-B