They say addictions come in all forms. They are a way to escape from a feeling we don’t want to feel. Perhaps a dark hole of emptiness within us that we want to fill. Some time ago, the dead visited me in a dream. It was eerie and surreal. Never one to remember my dreams, this one somehow lingered. Countless days later, I can still recollect the details with remarkable clarity.
My cousin Martin was the kid with the heart of gold, much misunderstood but always loved. He represented the epitome of a rebel.
Echoes of the Past
Martin was the cousin brother I was close to growing up. He was my 3 am buddy when I needed one. He never judged me and was very grounded. He was someone I could run to when I needed protection or advice. I relate the church and rock songs with him. He was an Ozzy Osbourne fan and a hardcore musician. He could strum his guitar with sweet nostalgia.
On the flip side, he would call a spade a spade, even if the offending person were an elder. Everyone in the family hated his guts, but we, the younger lot, found his candor refreshing. Besides, his parents doted on him while his sisters adored him, present company included.
Martin had a girlfriend named Kareena, whom he loved with all his heart. During college, Martin fell into bad company, and things went from fun and games to dangerous. There was the ADHD and addiction spiral; Martin got into drugs and the fast life… big time.
Sometimes, I think the tales from my family crypt could scandalize the average person… Although rebel isn’t a bad word, to some, it depends on the context. Still, my family consists of rebels like Martin and me… and though I loathe saying this, even my mother. Yeah, Mom. Like it or not, I am like you… including our birth numbers… Then there is my niece, Pia, who shares the same master number, 22. What’s more, she is a lot like me: fearless and outspoken. They say, “Good things come in 3s.” Sorry to digress. Oh yes, our family has its share of oddballs, the kind who have laughed in the face of fate and blazed a few trails… But you can never accuse any of us of being a bunch of bores.
Now, this part is scary. I remember once when Martin showed me those needle marks on his hands and laughed; I thought he was kidding. The next time there was something in his pocket, he told me it was a party drug. I told him to keep that dopey thing away from me. He thought I was funny, laughed, and said I was too prim and proper.
After that, Martin seemed to grow awfully thin. The drug addiction had slowly taken its toll. I did my bit of nagging, scolding and what have you… for Christ’s sake, this was my brother, but to no avail… Martin wasn’t the kind to take anybody’s advice but his own.
I grew worried, as did his parents. He was constantly fighting at home; there were mood swings and dark rage… temper tantrums and filthy clothes. My eyes fill as I write this. He went off the edge. His physical appearance became gaunt; he hardly bathed and spoke very little. Those who loved him berated him to get his act straight, and yes, he tried.
Martin tried to get off drugs and straighten out for a while. He completed his education and found gainful employment with a travel bureau. His job demanded that he tour extensively within and outside the country. For a while there, he seemed to have gotten it together; he even found his niche. Tragically, the career phase ended when he relapsed into his addiction.
The Downward Spiral
After that, he was in and out of rehab several times. His parents and the rest of us were devastated, especially his girlfriend. By then, I am ashamed to say, I had lost touch with him. I was living my own hellish nightmare, mind you (as I have written in my first book). The last I heard of him was when my aunt told me his tragic story.
And that’s how my cousin, a man full of energy and verve, with a girlfriend, a promising career, and a bright future, was gone. Many years later, I continued to search for signs in the world around me. We had exhausted every possible avenue to locate him… Yet, deep down, I sensed he was truly gone… from this world.
The Ripple Effect on Family
Martin’s life was shrouded in numerous secrets… struggles with addiction, cycles of rehabilitation… he faced these challenges repeatedly. However, breaking old habits proved to be exceedingly difficult… and likely, they ultimately probably cost my dear brother his life. How do I know for sure that he’s gone? Well, for one, he’d never have been so callous as to abandon his family for so many years without so much as a whisper. Deep down in my gut, I just knew.
Before he left, Martin managed to summon the strength to get his girlfriend married to a suitable guy. He has never been seen or heard of since. We understood that addiction had taken over. He didn’t want to ruin Kareena’s life or the family’s. There was no letter, no conspiracy theories, nothing…he just upped and vanished from our lives. As for his parents, my aunt grew sick with anxiety, which turned into a deadly disease—cancer. She battled her condition for many years; I know what pain and love can do to the physical body; it eats away your soul. Martin’s parents are no more; they passed away within a year of each other.
The Night the Dead Visited Me
About a year after I began writing my first book, Martin appeared to me in a dream. I was afraid at first. He was the same, only leaner, and as I looked at him, something in his demeanor calmed me. Slowly, I began to feel quite tranquil… I was surrounded by a strange white light … He watched me with a deep, soulful expression and earnestly asked me to write his story. He wanted me to hunt down his journals and chronicle his life. Since I am not really on great terms with the family, I do not see how I can do so. More importantly, with the passing away of his parents, his sister had the onus of responsibility, and I didn’t want to intrude on her. You see, Martin is a sore topic with the clan; asking for his journals would likely stir a hornet’s nest. Still, I have a feeling whatever he may have written during those years may still be lying around somewhere.
Summing up: There is No Shame in Seeking Help!
My dream made one thing clear: I am now certain beyond doubt that Martin is an angel up there. He has passed on. The one thing I will forever be grateful to Martin for is that while he was sober, he was an exemplary brother. He never once judged me; he always protected me from the wrath of my dysfunctional family and didn’t encourage idle gossip about me. I regret not checking the alarming signs or intervening. I will always love you, brother. Your short life with us lives on in our memories. Your love won our hearts even if the addiction took you.
There are some things that we will never get the chance to redo. That is why, if you are reading this and you or a loved one suffers from addiction, I sincerely urge you to get help soon before it’s too late.
Photo by K. Mitch Hodge on Unsplash
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Jenney Clark is an Indian author and poet, best known for her book “Don’t Be Afraid to Love.” She has published eight books, including “Magic of the Ancients,” and hosts a podcast titled “Awakened Souls.” After leaving a successful job in the service industry, she pursued her passion for writing and became a life coach. Raised in a small town in India she discovered her psychic abilities at a young age and developed a strong interest in Tarot, astrology and numerology. She enjoys connecting with a diverse range of friends, including artists and writers and lives in a cozy “cubby hole” in Hyderabad with her dog, along with her beloved books and music
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What a heartfelt story,thank you for sharing