20 Questions

Chapter 3

This year hasn't been a great one. My job was going well and I had purchased my first house, but I was worried about Jansen constantly. He had an emergency appendectomy earlier in the year. It scared me, even though I knew it was a routine laparoscopic surgery. Still, what if he hadn't made it in time and he became septic and died? I was a nurse and I knew too much. I knew the terrible things that could happen and that freak accidents occur. Jansen was given some pain pills and sent home to recover.

That was the beginning of the end.

Jansen had an addictive personality. We all knew it. Hell, he knew it. Over the next couple months, there was a change in him. His appearance changed, his behavior changed, his relationship with me changed. The person that I was so close to didn't really want to hang out with me anymore. He started hanging around these low-lives, scum of the earth. He was kicked out of his parents' house and jumping from couch to couch. I knew what was going on. Addiction isn't a pretty thing and it can destroy a family. It did mine. He kept searching for that high. He couldn't get it from pain pills anymore, so he searched the streets for Opana. Opana didn't get it anymore so he moved on to heroin.

Fucking heroin.

"This can't be happening" were the words that escaped my mouth more times than I can count. The same Jansen who never drank too much, who passed on marijuana when all his friends were doing it in high school was doing heroin.

The next couple months were hell and I mean that with every ounce of my being. There was erratic behavior, theft, homelessness, rehab, relapses, withdrawals and every terrible thing that I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy. It was infuriating and embarrassing and I felt helpless. This wasn't the Jansen that I grew up with. He loved his family so it doesn't make sense that he would do this to us. He pushed everyone away unless he needed money, but we all knew what that money would buy so we refused. So, he disappeared.

One Friday night, a chilly one in the middle of fall, my mother and I went out to dinner to catch up after an excruciating work week. We finished our meal, walked outside to leave and that's when I saw him. Not the handsome and charming Jansen. This was a person I didn't recognize. This was addict Jansen. His cheeks were sunken in, his once-thick hair was brittle, he was covered in scabs and bruises, and his lips were dry and cracked. His once muscular and athletic build was replaced with a skeleton. He looked sick, anorexic, he looked like death. His eyes were glazed, his words were slurred. He was high and I was pissed. He tried to hug me and say hi, but I shoved him away. This wasn't my best friend; this is someone who broke me. I couldn't be mad at him; I was mad at the drugs. I was mad at the piece of shit "friends" that did this to him. He would have never chosen this life for himself. I couldn't blame him, I wouldn't. He was perfect to me and I couldn't wrap my head around who this figure was standing in front of me.

"Get your shit together and come back to me when you do," I barked at him. I got in the car and buried my head in my hands. How could this have happened? How did it get this bad? What else could I have done?

He didn't answer when I called him anymore. I was just another person to tell him how bad he was messing up his life. He didn't want to hear it. He wasn't going to change until he was the one who wanted the change.

The drugs wouldn't let him.

They stole his soul.

They stole the perfect Jansen from me.

They stole a huge piece of my heart and I would never be the same.