Recently, while catching up with a long-time friend, the conversation shifted toward the overwhelming opioid crisis that continues to grip our nation. It’s not just a story we hear about others; it has become a personal saga, often filled with heartbreak as we witness loved ones succumb to this devastating disease.
Late that evening, around 11 p.m., I opened up about my fears regarding my dear cousin, “Tommy.” The childhood hero I once admired had been engulfed in his battle with addiction for years, and I honestly thought I might never see him again. It was a painful realization, one that weighed heavily on my heart.
Tragically, I would soon learn that Tommy had overdosed earlier that day. His fight was at an end, though we hadn’t yet grasped the full extent of our loss.
Receiving the news didn’t lessen the blow; our family was shattered. We were left grappling with the same questions that plague families in mourning: “What if?” “How did it come to this?” and “Did we do everything possible to help him?” As we mourned the loss of our beloved 31-year-old son, brother, nephew, and cousin, we couldn’t help but think back to the goofy, warm-hearted boy with big ears and thick glasses that still lived in our memories.
We struggled to comprehend the depths of Tommy’s battle. Our attempts to reclaim the boy we adored paled in comparison to the hell he faced every day just to remain sober for an hour, a day, or even a week.
For nearly half his life, Tommy fought against his inner demons while striving to become the man he wished to be. An exceptional athlete with an enormous heart, he ultimately found himself overpowered by addiction.
In the aftermath of his passing, his mother discovered a letter he had penned to himself nearly 21 months prior, hidden in a drawer alongside an old Bible and a list of daily tasks. The letter revealed the pain he had endured. During those fleeting moments of clarity, he recognized his illness and desperately wanted to overcome it. His words now serve as a poignant testament from beyond the grave, reflecting the turmoil experienced by someone grappling with substance use disorder:
“I AM STRUGGLING…BAD! Inside I’m screaming. Each day, I’m confronted with my life. I loathe myself! I feel utterly out of place, and it disgusts me. The pain I’ve faced is relentless, and it’s driving me to the edge. I feel completely drained. I’m sick of hurting, man.
Look at where I am right now. It’s just pathetic. In one week, I’ll be thirty years old. I haven’t had a driver’s license in over nine years. For nearly a decade, I’ve relied on others for rides. I’ve walked countless miles, trapped in my own thoughts. How can I advance in life when I can’t even get up and go? I feel confined everywhere I’ve lived. I couldn’t even finish college. After all the money my parents invested in my education, I couldn’t make it happen. I’ve let down my family once again. Football? That’s just a distant memory. The sport I excelled at, the passion I cherished… I ruined that too. It tears me apart, especially knowing it hurts my Dad. I guess “other things” took priority over playing football. Relationships? I’ve ruined them all. The people I’ve hurt over the years make me sick. Since high school, I’ve felt like I’m always playing catch-up. Gradually, you fade away, and the negatives overshadow the positives until you accept it. I’ve learned to accept failure; it’s all I know. It’s as if I expect it! I’m a thirty-year-old degenerate junkie!”
As I listened to Tommy’s words, I glanced around the room at my family, many hearing the letter for the first time. My gaze landed on my uncle—Tommy’s father—a former football player himself. The line, “I know it really hurts my Dad,” hit him like a punch to the gut.
This sentiment resonates in families worldwide—the feeling of disappointment in loved ones struggling with addiction. But we were never disappointed in Tommy; we were simply heartbroken. It was devastating for our family to observe his decline, as he slowly “began to fade away.”
He continued: “Addiction has taken a toll on me. It has chewed me up and spit me out. I wasn’t raised to do drugs; I’ve always known how harmful they are. Yet, here I am, destroyed emotionally, physically, and spiritually. My relapses have battered me over and over again. The last five years have been a nightmare, and I can’t shake off the things I’ve experienced. The damage I’ve done to my family and friends weighs heavily on me. I don’t even know where home is anymore! I’ve lived in four states in the last five years. I’ve become a RUNNER, always picking up and leaving. I’ve met so many people on this wretched journey who have lost their lives to this disease. The number of towns I’ve lived in exceeds twenty-five. From twenty to twenty-five, I can excuse my lack of accomplishments because I was in college. But now, from twenty-five to thirty… WOW, I’ve achieved nothing. The only thing I’ve gained in the last five years is PAIN. It’s unbearable. I don’t know how to cope. I’m merely existing!”
The toll of addiction isn’t just seen in lost opportunities or fading relationships; it manifests physically and mentally. The consequences can include depression, anxiety, severe health issues, and more. Imagine watching your child deteriorate before your eyes.
He went on: “I have no friends. I’m so lonely, and because I can’t drive, I can’t just visit my brother and his kids. I’m the Uncle stuck in a dead-end job, unable to buy them Christmas gifts. I’m pathetic! I keep making the same mistakes. I know the consequences and I’m terrified. I don’t know if I have anything left. I’m completely exhausted. I’m so sick of this struggle. I’ve lived a hopeless and miserable life. It’s complete bullshit, and I’m tired of it. I hate myself… I genuinely hate myself! I have a big heart and I’m loving, but it gets me nowhere. I just endure more pain. If I married tomorrow, who would attend my wedding? I can’t think of five friends who would show. That’s embarrassing. What if I died? Who would be at my funeral? These thoughts haunt me.”
The question “What if I died?” hung heavily in the air, punctuated by heavy breaths and stifled sobs. Every person in the room held tightly to someone, desperately fighting back tears. He was a loving person, always striving to bring joy to others. Understanding the depths of his self-hatred was unbearable, particularly as we recognized the potential he had lost. Sadly, many individuals facing addiction find their lives and futures cut short before death ultimately claims them.
But here’s the truth: We would have always been there for him. Yes, life moves on—jobs, children, and personal ambitions take precedence. But I would have gladly sat front row at his wedding, and I did sit in the second row at his funeral. To anyone who wonders “Who would be there?”—the answer is probably more people than you realize, and in your darkest moments, there are those eager to help you through.
To answer his questions: Yes, Tommy, we would have been there. We would always be there.
Finally, he expressed: “I’m so SCARED right now! I hate myself for messing up, AGAIN! I’m struggling to see a way out of this mess. I’ve made a disaster of my life. Is GOD not on my side? What do I need to do? I keep falling and I don’t want to get back up. Why keep fighting? Should I fight just to exist? Well, I’ve taken one hell of a beating. I’m completely worn out! I’m trying to attend meetings and reach out to people. I’m just terrified for my Mom. She doesn’t deserve to witness my downfall. I love her more than anyone. I’m so tired of this nonsense. I can’t stand struggling every moment of my life. Something positive needs to happen in my pathetic life. SCREW THIS PAIN!”
When I spoke with Tommy’s mother about sharing his letter, she eagerly agreed. Both she and my uncle had decided to be honest about the reality of Tommy’s struggle. What good would it do to sugarcoat the truth? She opened up about the daily torment of watching a child slip away—experiencing anger, pain, and doubt. Had they done everything possible to save him? What if… essentially every conceivable parental question filled her mind.
Ultimately, she recognized that they had done everything within their power to assist Tommy. Like countless others, they attended meetings, sought counseling, paid for rehab, and read every relevant resource. They attempted tough love, but when that didn’t work, they brought him home, fearing they might enable him. The cycle never shifted, and his cravings and behaviors—like many battling addiction—remained unrelenting.
One crucial message Tommy’s mom wishes to pass on to other parents is this: You are not defined by the choices you make or the lengths you go to in trying to help your child. Recovery is not a one-size-fits-all solution, and it does not happen overnight (if only it were that simple).
Often, the outcome is the worst nightmare imaginable. There is no right or wrong way to save your child or to love them. You will forever love them because, deep down, you still see the child you’ve always adored.
Our family hopes that by sharing Tommy’s letter, we can help reshape the narrative surrounding addiction and the love we hold for those grappling with substance use disorders. For more information on navigating these challenging situations, you can visit this excellent resource on pregnancy and home insemination. Additionally, if you’re exploring options for your fertility journey, make sure to check out Couples Fertility Journey for valuable insight.
Summary
This poignant account reflects on the personal impact of addiction through the lens of a family grappling with the loss of a loved one. It emphasizes the struggles faced by individuals battling substance use disorders and the deep love that remains in the hearts of family members. The hope is to change the narrative around addiction and encourage understanding and compassion for those affected.