Irrelevant Details

Ahh the quandary of details.

Here's the problem with details. On the solitary level. I believe, if one partakes in the self sided conversations for too long, one tends to wallow around in said issue long after it has dissipated. I, being of sound mind and common daily practice, does not like to influence the fires of potentially drama based problems. Does not like and actually accomplishing, are two different things. On this individual level, the battle of self (thought) indulgence is admittedly a tough fight. Draining self thoughts are worthy adversaries and they rarely wave white flags of truce. Meaning, inside my head, civil war is a constant threat.

I got that scenario down pat, solid, well executed, ya for me. However, sometimes a problem just won't go the hell away. A problem you never asked for. A problem you had no hand in creating etc etc..... even when you sic the police on reoccurring problem it just keeps coming back for more and more.

This week, my problem, my drama and my own flesh and blood is back with a vengeance. I've kept the details to myself, because this problem, this so called brother of mine, has no one other then myself to call and unleash on. Legally, because of a protection order granted this week, he can no longer harass my parents and for that I am VERY Thankful. I can handle it much better then they could, or should, or have already. Today, I am tired of dealing with him, again. 

Details, oh the glorious juicy tidbits. He was spit out of the system once again, booted from the mental hospital with a neat little stamp called 'discharge.' He called me to come pick him up. I declined. Officially he is homeless. He walked to a dank dingy hotel riddled with fleas and god knows what else. A stray dog has a better chance then him, at least strays have the animal shelter to be taken to.

The calls started in. I ignored 90% of calls, however I did agree to take him some personal items. First visit reveals beer cans and a whiskey bottle hidden under the blanket I sat on. I removed myself immediately from hotel. More calls, a few fights, blah blah blah, the list could go on and on. Messages from hell, messages begging for forgiveness, declaring his love and full of despair to messages full of rage and vile threats. Last night was the breaking point once again, and I feel I was given no choice but to call the police, words are powerful and if someone in his state of mind threatens killing people, as a simple human I see no choice but ask for help from the authorities.......again.

His last call, a message on my unanswered phone, was one of fuck off and die to me for sending the police to his hotel. His parting words, "I'm going to die in this hotel and it will be your fault" I don't think he'll do it until he officially runs out of money and alcohol, but I could be wrong......

Lovely.

I wonder, even with him and his extreme to this concept, why people in tough situations can always find a way to blame other people for their actions. I hate blame. I also loathe excuses and people who avoid personal accountability. Even a small child can understand the principles of cause and effect. Action and consequence. I've done some actions that produced some clear reactions that I don't love (regret is more like it), but accept as mine and mine alone.

I wonder today, how I will feel when he finally ends his personal hell on this Earth. Will my non-action and refusal to give him a home, answer his calls at his beck and call, give him money, calling the police, and refusal to subject myself to the deliberate hell he's created, produce a reaction deep down inside me of regret and guilt when the end comes? The boy in a 32 year old body is screaming for help right now and I feel no choice but to let him keep screaming.

Today, and again, I am trying to convince myself that I will try, should, and can be at peace if he makes such a choice. Maybe if I say it enough, affirmation style, when it happens I will internally believe it. It's worth a try I suppose.

Details are so irrelevant to a situation like this, unless your talking to the police or stuck in an Al-Anon meeting. What I'm truly left with is a bag of emotions that aren't the type I like to embrace, pack around and flame the flames into a bonfire. But bonfire it is, and I crave some water just as much as my brother craves his poison.          

Tags: alcoholism