By Courtney Keesee
They say addicts have no regrets for how much it tears apart the ones they love, but I disagree. She tried her best not to let it tear us apart. Deep down, she knew what she was doing, she knew it was wrong, and she knew she didn’t want it to hurt us.
Some say I believe this, because it’s what makes it easier to sleep at night. Truth is, no amount of reasoning, no amount of excuses, covers the pain. It doesn’t ease that constant empty feeling. I can tell myself anything I want, but words won’t bring her back. Nothing will make it easier to sleep at night.
No, she genuinely tried. I know this. There is proof of this. Like, she would tell me everytime we talked never to touch drugs or alcohol. She would stay clean for days if she knew I was coming to town. That’s a person who didn’t want me to feel the pain.
We were inseparable, despite living a two hour drive away from each other. I was her mini-me, and I surely was just like her. She could read my mind and I hers. We were both passionate about art and fashion, reading was a hobby we shared, not to mention our undying love for writing and poetry. Often our conversations were through poems, each explaining how we felt without ever having to truly say the words.
No one will ever understand the bond we had. She was my life line when I was down, and I was her reason to fight.
I was 13 when she died.
February 3, 2011 will forever be one of the hardest days of my life. Nothing can quite compare to the feeling of losing an older cousin who was always more like an older sister and a best friend.
She was 22.
Looking back, I can tell the signs had been there, and I had been oblivious to her pain, her struggles. To this day I believe I could have gotten her the help she needed and she would still be here.