He killed himself and he made me watch.Karen Pope 2021
I have been neglecting my poor, poor blog for so long.
Several changes occurred in my life and I have discovered that I do not deal well with change. My brother who lived with me died and left me with a helluva mess to clean up. Not just a physical mess in his bedroom and the rest of the house, but the emotional mess, too.
He killed himself. Suicide. Not like putting a gun in his mouth or taking too many drugs. This was a slow alcohol-induced death. Liver failure. And he made me watch. Every day was a slow decline. Almost imperceptible, like when someone is on a diet and gradually looses weight, but doesn’t really notice until someone says, “Dang, you have lost a lot of weight!” He drank until his liver could tolerate no more. He didn’t have the fortitude to quick drinking years ago, when it could have made a difference.
My bother was a coward in every sense of the word. He used alcohol to bolster a personality that was defective. He didn’t want to be a coward, but didn’t know how to overcome. He didn’t try. He hid from his cowardice in a bottle. And he made me watch.
Like many alcoholics, he thought only of himself. He didn’t have room in his pickled brain for thoughts of others. He didn’t care, honestly didn’t care, what happened to the people he left behind. I was closest to him in the end. He burnt all other bridges, systematically, through unbridled selfishness and conceit. He was the only person who knew anything, understood anything or had the right to an opinion.
He picked fights with neighbors, friends, me. In the end, his degenerate behavior netted him nothing but cremation.
I am so angry at him. He killed himself and he made me watch.