Confessions of a Co-Dependent

(Note: This story deals with codependency, alcoholism and death)

“Grow up!”

That was what we told you, didn’t we? Time and time again. It was like a catchphrase from the old cartoons. We said it so much it was as if we couldn’t end the day if we didn’t say it. So we did. Jesus, man, I can’t count how many times we’ve said that to you. I bet you really got sick of it after a while, eh? 

      Who am I kidding? I know you did! Otherwise, how could I be standing here and you there? I hate that we’re in this spot, but there’s nothing now. What’s done is done. We can’t regret anything we did. But looking at you here, all I can do is regret. Jesus Christ, it hurts to see you like that. I honestly wish I could take those words back. Every time I told you to grow up, I wish I could erase it from our history. I’m sure you must’ve felt a lot of pain every time I said that. I suppose the joke’s on me since I’m the one hurting now.

      We were always together, you and I. I’d say thick as thieves, but that’s not entirely accurate. Though we were brothers, we might as well have been just roommates in terms of our type of relationship; we left each other alone except for pleasantries. Nobody could ever think we were related except when we said our last names. But we were always in each other’s circle. We had some of the same friends, and we shared some of the same classes growing up. There was never a time when we weren’t together. 

      But between the both of us, the personality gap was wide. Neither of us had anything in common. Some would say, ‘Oh, that’s alright! Siblings don’t always have the same interests!’. But they had no idea! You liked shooting; I enjoyed painting. You were into girls; I was into their brothers. You loved to party; I wanted to drink alone. Hardly did we ever mix! You had plenty of friends around. It goes without saying that you were a pretty popular guy. With every house party you attended, you brought a girl and a story to tell with you. 

      I’ll admit that it did get annoying to me after a while. I felt honest that you weren’t taking life seriously enough. I get that we were young (hell, I should’ve just gotten out there myself and stopped being so afraid of kissing the wrong guy), but something in me really began to resent you, man. I don’t know. I guess I thought I was shouldering all the responsibility. I was the one who went to school, studied hard, and got good grades. On the other hand, you only did enough so you could stay on the rifle team. Other than that, it was a free for all with you. You skirted by with how smart you were. I hated that a lot. I always felt so inadequate against you. 

      So, I took another route, acting like I was the adult. It was ridiculous. I paraded myself like I knew what I was doing because, hell, at least ONE of us was doing something right! I’m not sure if our parents thought it was hilarious or pathetic because they never said anything about it. My grades certainly kept them quiet. It’s funny, though. If I wasn’t thinking about school, I was thinking about you. All my thoughts were consumed about how wrong you behaved and just how bad you were. Honestly, it got pretty warped, man.

      I’m just going to be straight with you; I made you out to be the ultimate scumbag. The pinnacle of sloppiness, king of the bums! Even if it was good, whatever you did was never enough in my eyes. Here I was a slave to the responsibility of being the responsible one. In contrast, you were just a giant leach on the ass of our parents and me. You remember all those fights we had, man? I hope you forgot them all. All the stupid things I used to bitch at you about, man. All of it, looking back, was just junk crap I didn’t need to talk about. I bet you used to hate me, man.

      I seriously hope somewhere you can forgive me. I had no right to impede on how you lived. It was your life, man. You had to make your own decisions. I tried to put decisions on you, and you kept pushing back as I think you should have. My only wish was that you didn’t hurt yourself in the process when you did. You always got hurt whenever this happened. It was like a routine. Remember when you and I had that fight, and you went off to a party? The next day, I was told you were taken to the hospital for a broken wrist. Your buddy, Tony, said to me that you jumped off the shed roof trying to get into the pool or some shit! When I came to pick you up, I couldn’t stop making fun of you! So many jokes about your wrist, I even got the nurse to start laughing at you! You didn’t show it, but I bet you were pissed at me.

      This last time, though, I wish I could laugh. I wish I could’ve taken you back home, where you belong. I wish I could’ve told you more of those jokes just to see you smile again, even if it was just out of pure annoyance. I ended up getting the call the next day. Mom called me during my break and told me everything that had happened. God damn it, man, I wish you didn’t go out that way! When they found you…God, if only they had been decent enough to cover you up! I wish I could’ve listened to what all the other adults said and told you I loved you. Now…well, damn it, I hope you can hear me wherever you are. I love you, man. I’m so fucking sorry I was such an asshole. I hope you forgive me some way, somehow. Goodbye, bro.