I’d prepared for that phone call…

I’d even rehearsed it in my head.

I’d imagined what it’d be like if he died.

So when it happened I felt like it was my fault.

Like I’d somehow made it happen.

My brother had severe substance misuse issues. very likely linked to undiagnosed CPTSD. He was an addict and had overdosed a few times before. I think I realised quite how serious his problem was when he rang me from hospital to say he’d overdosed but someone gave him CPR and saved him. He couldn’t understand why I lost my shit because it was normal to him. After that phone call I imagined him dying many times, I imagined that phone call where it all ended. I saw his body in my mind, those thoughts played over in my head, and it sometimes felt very real. I hated myself for my thoughts and said to myself of anything happened to him, it’d be my fault. I was terrified for years that I was going to lose him.

Despite his addiction, he was pretty successful, so could afford rebab & got clean. Only to fall off the wagon time after time. He really started spiralling when my Dad died, as there’s was a lot of unprocessed shit for the pair of us there. Six months later I got the dreaded phone call. He was not coming back from the OD. He was dead. The guilt I felt was immense. I’d known this was coming, why couldn’t I save him? Why did I have to think those thoughts in advance. It was my fault.

I obviously know now that it wasn’t my fault, I had no control over his life. But here’s the kicker, it wasn’t his fault either. He was the sum of his parts constructed by many factors. He really tried to get sober. Neither of us it to blame. To this day, it still hurts that he’s not here with me, but the guilt and anger is mostly gone. So in that sense it does sometimes get a teeny tiny bit easier.