Addiction: A Short Story

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I remember clearly the first, and only, time I took the invitation to leave a class because of a topic being discussed. It was a cold, mid-November day. A little less than halfway through my final quarter of seventh grade Health, and our usually bubbly teacher Mrs. Wilson had brought up a more serious topic. “...Addiction.” Mrs. Wilson expressed, a hint of hesitation in her voice. That would be our next topic. The class that was normally high in energy and roaring with laughter, anytime sex was mentioned, was uncharacteristically quiet. I, myself, felt a sense of unease. I came to school to distract myself from my problematic home-life, now it was being forced in front of my face! The word “ADDICTION” written menacingly on the whiteboard, …show more content…

My stomach did flips, I was sure I was going to be sick. My mind had put me back into my tiny eight-year old body, back to a night I had tried so hard to erase. One that gave the word “addiction” too much power over me. That night was unusually warm for early November. I remember sleeping in my parents bed after coming in crying about a nightmare, still young enough to do so. There was something heavy about the air, almost like a warning as to what was to come. The bedroom door opened a little after midnight. My eldest brother, Elliot, stood there, he spoke to my parents in a hushed tone. “Mom, it’s Ron, he’s not breathing.” He spoke anxiously, “I called 911, they’re on their way.” I laid silent, pretending to sleep as I took in what was happening. What does he mean “not breathing?” I thought, I had just spoken to him. My parents quickly made their way next door, where my two eldest brothers, Ron and Elliot, had shared an apartment. I was left alone, in the dark, both physically and mentally. Both the lights and the sirens of the approaching ambulance got louder, reflecting my increasing sense of panic. I couldn’t breathe, as if someone was wrapping their hands around my …show more content…

“It’s nothing, it’s okay…” She said in a shaky voice. Nothing was something, and it definitely wasn’t okay. Yet, I did not push her.
Within minutes, I was alone again. The only sound keeping me company was the agonizing screams of my mother as she pleaded with someone, something, anything, for my brother. The mixture of the bright lights and the ear-piercing cries of a mother in pain were enough to make someone sick. I was traumatized.
Only after the paramedics revived my brother and took him, along with my father, to the hospital did the wailing stop. It was around two in the morning when I was told what had happened. My second oldest brother, Ron, had overdosed on heroin. I also learned that this was not the first time, and it probably wouldn’t be the last. This concept was hard for my young, eight-year old self to comprehend, but at the age of eighteen, I have become numb to it.
Once my family had given the news to me, a seal seemed to be broken. The next ten years of my life were plagued by this monster my brother had become. We fought an chance we had, I was disgusted with him. He had ruined the perfect illusion I had of my family, he had only given us pain. He had only caused me

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