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[skeptically17-blog]

11.2

Well congratulations, I'm so glad you relapsed so hard on cough syrup and nitrous you think that this was a good experience. I'm so thankful that you had in your words an "Exorcism" with your so called "Best mate" who following your harrowing, traumatic experience told you "you've had enough" - apparently something so profound of him in your words even though he sure as hell is not the first to say that to him, although unlike when my father does it, he didn't threaten to fight him in public.

I wake up at 10 or 11 after I'd just arrived home 5 hours earlier from my ball afters  to find him sitting there in his down in the slumps state. I figure, new leaf, why not. I'm feeling great after a great night - time to rekindle my relationship with my brother while my parents are away on holiday in Bali.

And immediately after I ask how his night was I regret it. "Oh…I don't know." Already wish I didn't ask. He proceeds to tell about how he relapsed and had taken nangs and ribotussin with his "buddy" who always seemed like the nicest of his friends. I rarely have interactions with his friends anymore but last night before I'd gone off to ball we talked about honey and the bees he kept. Slightly on the spectrum but nice all the same, he seemed fine, someone Charlie always claimed was a good friend. Don't get me wrong, I knew he did drugs but he didn't seem like the kind of guy who influenced someone to go off the rails. And I still believe that. I simply think my brother is an idiot.

Charlie continues to tell me how he was exorcised and demons fought angels in his head and how there was this other side of him - the "bad Charlie" who he was fighting against and how he had seen his life flash before him. What a hoot.  

Don't get me wrong, I'm sure he saw what he saw - but I don’t believe literal angels and demons were fighting like his fucked up perception has clearly convinced him. I believe him, I just don’t believe in it.

I think his heads so fucked up when its on drugs he can see anything - that doesn't make it real. Anyway, he sits there trying to convince me of his trip and his tails and how he's a changed man and how this was it - this was the big turn around for him, in his words "a good experience I needed to have so I'm thankful".

I was sceptical. I'm always sceptical with him these days. God knows how many years of him battling his addictions and yet I'm still here, on the edge even having a normal conversation with him - as normal as we can have.

But the more he talks the more im reminded what different people we are.

He says "Hopefully…within the next 10 years I can heal myself."

Healing. Always going on about the healing, the irony to an unbelievable degree. To which I respond, "Why wait? Why not just start a fresh now? 10 years is so much time to waste."

Time is important to me, so much so an hourglass was the first tattoo I ever got just to remind myself not to be a fuckhead like him and waste it. But clearly time isn't as important to him and he just shrugs and meekly agrees - my pearls of wisdom are continually wasted on him. Despite his desires to be more like me and his needy begging for advice he still refuses to adopt any ideas i give him that might go against leisurely addiction and/or being a decent human being. 

We leave it on a sombre note when our surrogate grandmother returns from the doctors and I'm reminded he went off his head while she was home and while I was out. What a selfish cunt.