Breathing my Mind into Your Face

Last wednesday morning I bought a ticket to Atlanta so I could help my sister-in-law find my brother. The next day my brother and I drove the six hours to my mom’s house on the coast of South Carolina, he had divorce papers in hand. 

Before my flight from Detroit to Atlanta my sis-in-law said she had heard from my brother and that he was safe but that I should still come. He’d finally reached out from a Hilton hotel room downtown after two days without communication. 

I arrived around 2:30 to find him standing in the kitchen, bloated, red-faced and utterly defeated. He apologized to me for having to be there and reiterated that he had really fucked up. SIL was there as consoler, stating that she was just glad he was alive.

In an aside she told me he’d spent the day Monday in a solo crack and alcohol binge without care of whether he was living or dead. I told bro I was happy to be there and that it could get better. Told him he could hit the reset button. Tried to relay my own experience of the transfer from hopelessness to hope from addiction. 

SIL had been working the maze of bureaucracy at the VA all day. Her constant Karen-ing had gotten her in touch with the head doctor who’d vowed to help fast track bro’s inpatient rehab approval process. Apparently they require first time treatment seekers to do outpatient first, then a stay at a sober living house, then if all else fails they will cover inpatient. This is the reverse of how it should be. Inpatient needs to come first. Despite docs offer to help, she still recommended we head to the VA psych ward and act crazy and suicidal as the only way to get immediate attention. Since bro had spent the previous day sleeping and he hasn’t taken acting class, it would be difficult for him to hit the crazy switch to gain admittance. His friend had slit his wrists, which helped him get attention. Bro not doing that. 

He missed a call from the facility in Atlanta where he could potentially stay so we decided to drive over just to check if maybe they were calling to say they had a spot for him all setup. You can’t call places back directly. You have to call a number where they then connect you someplace else and someplace else and so on down the line. Crashing the gates seemed like a better option. I felt the fear fumigating from his soul as we rolled up there, his overnight bag in hand. There was no concierge that welcomed us with open arms. There was no bed waiting. Just some heavy doors and security. We did run into a kind nurse on the way out who told us not to lose hope. She looked at him and told him it was okay to feel the feelings and let them out. Tears fell. My man is in so much pain.

We went back to the house. Despite being afraid to leave him alone, SIL took me to track down his truck that had been booted. He said he wouldn’t hurt himself. I paid the $150 to have the boot removed. Before getting out of SIL’s car we talked for 45 minutes about the divorce papers she wanted him to sign. I relayed that this was the absolute worst time she could do something like this and that it could be the final push he needed for suicide. I pleaded with her to wait, to give treatment a chance. She was going to AA herself, who knows what kind of couple they could be with both in recovery. She said she was giving him a fair deal, she just wanted the house and to move on from this ‘savage drug addict’. She agreed to at least let him get settled somewhere before serving the papers. She seemed surprised that I would want our own lawyer to review the papers prior to signing anything. Like she was going to pry a signature from him at his least reasonable. I believe she was doing something underhanded because her motives are rarely pure and she lies constantly.

The next day bro and I went to the main VA. We hoped to get approval for an inpatient program but if it didn’t happen were ready to pay out of pocket somewhere with a VA discount since this country clearly doesn’t give two fucks about the people they hire to kill strangers. I tried to act as his mouthpiece since he’s not good at expressing himself or operating within the works of a broken bureaucracy with tact, on account of the PTSD from killing all those aforementioned strangers! We were able to secure a phone appointment on March 8th. On that call he hopes to get the approval he needs to go to a facility in Delray Beach, FL and have the government pay for it. Otherwise he may have to go to the place in Atlanta. He’s worried about going there because he thinks he’ll be the only white dude. 

We departed for my mom’s house around 1 o’clock last Thursday. Bright side is we got to celebrate her birthday in person on the 3rd. When he was incommunicado she’d been picking out potential funeral outfits. I repeatedly conveyed to him the joy I feel in my life since embracing a life of recovery and sobriety. I gave lots of examples in lots of ways. I’m hoping something sticks to him. He’s willing to do 45 days inpatient. That should be enough to get the reset button pressed. After that he wants to hike the appalachian trail. Then he wants to open a bar in key west. I told him to focus on the day in front of him. He can do anything, he’s only 37. He can meet someone new and start a family. They’ll tell him to do 90 meetings in 90 days and avoid all triggers. Thoughts of opening a bar should fall away if he embraces the recovery program and commits to changing his life. I hope he does. I’ve done what I can to help. He’s a good kid, he just needs to be nice to himself.