With Michael

Chapter 22 - Struggles

3rd of February, 1992
Brooklyn is 26, Michael is 33

Brooklyn: I watched as Michael slowly emptied each pill bottle into the bag that was held up in front of him by Will, one of his treatment guys.

Julia, his therapist, was standing right next to them. She watched quietly, just like me.

It hurt me to see Michael like this.
When he told me everything about his drug problem, I felt so responsible. I felt like everything we went through, everything he went through, happened because of me.

I couldn't shake that feeling off.
He was struggling so much to do this. He said it was more for me than for him.

After I found out about it, I've made sure that he didn't touch anything.

There was one night, a few days before he started his treatment, that I found him crying in the bathroom, all curled up in himself.

It tore me to pieces; I've never seen my husband that vulnerable. I remember him screaming, saying he can't do it. He told me to cancel everything, that he'd rather die than do this, because his pain was unbearable.

"I need it, Brooke. Can't you see I'm in pain?! Please."

And all I did was take him in my arms, telling him it was going to be okay, that he'll get through this.

After that night, he just didn't sleep, or eat. All he did was either be up in his giving tree, or in bed. He occasionally agreed to eat a cracker or something small, but nothing more.

Michael was literally fading away from me until this very day.

I knew he wanted to get better, he wanted help.

I was snapped out of my thoughts when Michael paused his actions, looking at me with begging eyes.

"Michael, come on. It's the last one, you can do this." Will encouraged him.

It had taken us more than five hours to convince him to even do this, and every bottle took him at least fifteen minutes.
He was shaking like crazy at each one.

"How's it going?" I heard my brother whisper in my ear as he walked into our bedroom.

I sighed, "Last one. You have to leave, though, he barely let me be here."

"Okay, I'm going. I'll be downstairs when this is all over." he squeezed my shoulder tightly.

I took a deep breath and returned my gaze to Michael.
He looked like someone sucked the life out of him.

Earlier this week, I made sure no doctor, no one, was giving him any sort of medication. I found out who they were, pulled some strings, and their license was immediately gone.

I saw the last few pills drop into the bag.

Michael collapsed onto the bed, letting out a big sigh.

I hugged is shoulders tightly, "There, doesn't that feel a lot better?"

He nodded slightly, covered his face with his hands, and started sobbing.
I quickly signaled Julia and Will to get out as I let him cry.

"I want to sleep. Help me sleep, please." he looked at me with his doe-like eyes.

I nodded, wiping his tears.

~

I didn't know what time it was, but when I woke up from Michael throwing up in the bathroom, it was dark.

It happened way too often, his body was rejecting anything he put into his mouth. As if he even ate.

I got out of bed and ran into the bathroom, only to find him clutching onto the toilet.