* Warning: This post is going to be raw.
When the term family is in question, I run emotionally cold. Especially after the last five years.
So, I'm sorry that you think you are in love, because I'm not. I tried to tell you I can't.
While I was in college, my younger brother broke my father's jaw in two places. My father had his jaw wired shut for 2 months. The only caloric intake he had was from liquids through a straw because he couldn't open his mouth wider than that. It got infected.
Did I go home to help? No. I visited, but didn't spend more than 8 hours with him.
My little brother od-ed on heroin and was diagnosed with Hepatitis C. He was in the hospital for days.
I drove to Salt Lake City to see my sister.
My cousin od-ed on heroin Christmas morning. People used to think that we were twins.
I haven't talked to him since then.
My nephew was put into foster care, and my older bother and his girlfriend were sent into rehab.
I've only seen my nephew 3 times.
He got cancer. She fell down the stairs. He went to prison. He was hospitalized for psychological issues. She through herself across the house. He publicly pleaded for help for his life. She lives in a tent.
And when I was sitting in your living room, after he got bailed out of jail, I begged you not to give him money. I watched as his fists knocked the front door off of its hinges. I sat against the door keeping you both apart. And then I watched as he took pieces of your flesh out and ripped a handful of your facial hair out.
And I left. I went to college and talked about Hegel. I lived in a house more concerned with the amount of sodium in the food, and whether someone was vegan/vegetarian than someone's character.
In the process, I left my biological family, and let my ride-or-die made family think I didn't give a shit about them.
Man, I feel all kinds of shitty guilt right now.
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