My brother Michael is addicted to pills and alcohol. This is heartbreaking to me and our relatives and his friends. At this point he is lucky to have any of us around. For the past six months he has been heading downward and now he is close to homelessness. I am not in NY and either is my sister, our parents are dead. My oldest cousiin Carol, (my closest) has gone above and beyond in our absence.
As far as I know his addiction started when my father got sick. I don’t know what caused him to start taking pills but up to and after my fathers death he was addicted. I haven’t told anyone this, I feel that he kept my father drugged too. Out of the three of us, Michael was the closest to our parents, (mother’s favorite). When we would visit my father he was in his recliner totally dependent on Michael. My brother sold his car and everything my father had in the garage and basement. He had the garage outfitted with custom toolboxes and tools. This included my nephews wife’s china that was her mothers when she passed away as a young child.
Michael enlisted my son to help make a ramp outside from the back door to off the deck around the house to the driveway. I suggested a stairlift be installed so my father can get down the stairs and into the garage into the car. This way he didn’t have to be outside at all. He told me that they were known to break and this was better. I knew he didn’t want this because my father would see what he had done with all his stuff. He charged all his new equipment to my fathers Sears charge card, (they had the same name) with no intention of paying. That is some background which I told the basics.
Anyway he did come out of that addiction after a few years and was clean and we all thought back to his old self. He was with his last girlfriend for 8 years and they broke up early last year. This really set him off and he started with the pills again. He had some health problems which he couldn’t deal with and took pills to escape. He tried to commit suicide last May while we were in Hilton Head. His friends found him and called an ambulance, he was taken to the hospital. I got contacted by Michael’s good friend Mark, whom is a friend of mine too. He had slit his wrists. I called my cousin Carol and she took over telling people. Her and Jimmy visited him and tried to help. They were continually lied to. My sister and husband came up and visited him, my nephew and my cousin Laurie too. His friends were always around and worked with the family to try to help him. How serious was he I don’t know. My nephew said there was hardly nothing on his arms. I was in contact with him on the phone, when he chose to answer.
When we came up in October we visited him at his apartment. He seemed better, we brought him lunch and food for his apartment. He didn’t eat while we were there. He was drinking a soda, I was sure there was booze in it. We had a good visit, looked at pictures, reminisced. He gave me what he thought was my grandfathers birth certificate, (he knew I was doing Ancestry, making a family tree). It ended up being service records in Italy for my grandfather. The story around his suicide attempt was a total lie. I did not call him on it. After our visit I felt better.
When I spoke to him In November he was looking foward to “cousin’s night” at Carols. Next I heard he had checked himself back into the hospital, came back home and checked himself into another hospital, same thing, next yet another hospital, (we felt this was so there was no history of his previous visits). where he said he checked himself in for addiction. They wanted to send him to rehab but he said he couldn’t, he had to work and agreed to attend an outpatient program.
Meanwhile he had no money and his bills were piling up. My cousin offered to be a trustee/ health proxy, but he refused. He kept lying. I know my sister paid his rent for a month and my cousin Carol and Jimmy also paid a month. Carol repeatedly bought him groceries and cleaned up his apartment. The last time she went, there was blood everywhere, he said he fell and refused to go to the hospital. The bed had no sheets,, they were bloody, rolled up on the floor. Under the kitfchen sink she found a bunch or empty vodka bottles. Carol washed everything and her and his friend cleaned the apartment and bought him food. His friends paid his shop rent and apartment rent too. We had a hard time getting to know if he even collected Social Security, (he’s 68). He has a 1979 Corvette and a 34 foot cabin cruiser. We all kept telling him that he needed to sell them. He is a boat mechanic with a thriving business. Two weeks ago he asked my sister to pay his February rent and she said no, he hung up on her. He has never asked me for money. If he did I wouldn’t give it to him.
I speak to him every week. I call or he calls me. He continues to lie. I spoke to him yesterday and he had been in the hospital again. I will talk to him as long as he wants. After a half an hour he asks the same questions and repeats himself over and over. I don’t confront him, I just listen and he likes to reminisce. He told me he is going to be kicked out of his apartment. I had previously told him that he shoud think about selling his business, at the very least his equipment. He insists he has to work. I said that his health is getting worse and if he sold the business, the vette and the boat, it could set him up for awhile. He refused to listen. I thought it would be better than losing it which is what will happen if his shop rent isn’t paid. Then he’ll have nothing. He lied about selling the vette, when I know he didn’t.
I asked him a couple of weeks ago, if he had plans for when he died. He laughed and said he never thinks of things like that. I told him that I was to be cremated and my ashes set free on Perkins Drive over the Hudson River. I said I had specific instructions including a playlist to be played at a party. He was incredulous. I said wouldn’t you like your ashes spread over the Hudson. Michael has always had boats and we spents years boating, swimming, fishing, fireworks and fun on the river. He said he didn’t want to be cremated. That’s all I got out of him.
My concern is deep because one of these days I know I will get a phone call that he is dead.