Sister of a Drug addict

At 13 years old I sat in a park with my sister, 14, and a group of her friends. No we weren't on the swings or sliding down slides, we weren't anywhere near any of that. We were sitting at the edge of a field, between a few trees. I didn't know anyone except my sister. Most of them were much older, 18 and up. All of them were drug addicts. I will never forget one in particular. He was shaking, sweating and barely making sense. I looked at him and in horror thinking what the hell is wrong with this guy? My sister saw the look on my face and said "He's coming off heroin". Then the guy looked at me, and his (I assume) girlfriend, as she helped him sit down and handed him a bottle of water and he said it had been 24 hours since he last took a hit and this is what happens when you're coming off heroin. My sister looked at me and said "Don't ever do drugs".

Fast forward 8 years.

It's now 2017 and my sister dies of a drug overdose. A mixture of drugs, prescription and not. We assume heroin, crack and her prescriptions, of which she didn't take orally as recommended but instead mixed them and shot them into her veins. She was 22 and left a 5 year old son behind.

Shortly after my nephew was born I saw her going downhill. I was 15/16 at the time and I knew that I was watching the downfall of my sister. I couldn't do it and mentally I couldn't watch as she ruined herself. She biologically was my step sister but her, along with my other step sister have been apart of my life since I was a baby so I never saw them that way. Because of her addiction I watched my step dad crumble. I watched my family fall apart. Not in a way that people may have even noticed from the outside. But from the inside we were all breaking. So I took a step back from her.

The last time I talked to my sister I was 16 years old. I never got to say goodbye. I never got to tell her that I love her no matter what. She never got to know I was pregnant at the time she left this world. I will never again get to hear her voice or see her smile. And the experience of losing her has truly broken me.

I never knew how broken someone could be. I didn't know how broken I could become. I loved her more than she will ever know. I looked up to her as a sister, a mother and a friend. She was beautiful inside and out and this disease stole her. It stole her too early from a family who was far from ready.

I was so mad at her and part of me really still is. Before she died, when I chose to walk away, I thought she was choosing drugs and boys over me, over the family, her son, her two brothers and sister. I hoped when I stopped talking to her she would learn a little. Maybe it would hurt her enough to reevaluate her situation. I didn't realize how the disease had already taken control. It wasn't about not loving us or us not being important. It takes hold and turns you into someone you never wanted to be. I know she was depressed but sadly I will never truly know what was going on in her head.

Truly I don't know the purpose of writing this story. I really wanted to tell my story from the other side. Maybe let someone else know they aren't alone or to let an addict see how much it hurts family and to please please get help. Instead I think it turned more into a vent session, so for that I'm sorry.

Maybe next time I'll get my thoughts together.