Guilty and Scared

My guilt had mounted. I was growing apart from one of my best friends and the other 3 thought I had lost my mind. Looking at it now, I think I had lost my mind. I stayed with Marc. He continued not to work and I continued to support him and all of his bad habits. Yes he had many. He loved to shop. He would go out and buy 200$ shoes and I would be worrying how I was going to pay the house payment. He would strut around town in GQ fashion and I would not even buy myself a t shirt from Wal Mart. The biggest problem was not the excessive shopping but the drugs. I issued ultimatums stop the cocaine. He would stop using that but moved on to something else. When I would figure out what his drug of the week was I would issue another ultimatum. I knew in my gut he was an addict, but every time he said he needed me , he had no one else who cared, I gave him another chance. A chance to change.

I had always felt guilty for not doing more for my brother. I knew when he was out of control and I made pathetic half hearted attempts to get him straight. Then I just ignored it. Pushed it from my head like it was not even happening. I was the big sister. I was supposed to protect him and watch out for him, and I didn't. Marc was going to be different in my eyes. I was going to do everything I could, be everything I could and give all I could to try and alleviate my own guilt at Jason's downfall. did I also mention Marc had serious mental health issues. He was manic depressive, possible schizophrenic, definitely personality disorder. He told me about his childhood abuse. Sexual, physical and emotional. He had many scars inside and out. I am not sure how much of it was true, but something or someone really fucked this guy up.

Marc used my guilt to keep me with him. He knew just what to say to pull me back in. We were having a particularly bad week. He was restless. I was weaning him off his current drug. Withdrawl symptoms were there. He wanted to go out. He was over the worst of the withdrawal so I agreed . He was going to go to a friends house close to my parents. While he was there I would hang out with mom and dad. He threw a fit when I went to the drivers side of my SUV. I gave in, it was not worth the hassle and let him drive. He ranted all the way down Preston Hwy from Shepherdsville. Eleven miles of 2 lane road. We had just passed the turn to my old high school. I was ignoring his rant. Then he pulled out the gun. He was screaming and crying, waving the gun in the air, while pushing down on the accelerator. The truck jumped to 60 miles per hour and he jammed the gun in his mouth. He was almost inaudible over the barrel. I could hardly make out what he was saying. I have never been so scared in my life. There was no way I would be able to control the truck if he pulled the trigger. We would both die or He would die and i would be seriously injured.

Then my psych training kicked in. I very calmly talked to him. I gave him the reassurance he needed. I let him him talk without escalating. I brought him down and talked him into handing me the gun. My hands were shaking so bad I was afraid I would accidentally hit the trigger. I found the safety and made sure it was on. Marc pulled over to the side of the road and we switched seats. I drove him the rest of the way. That night I stayed at my parents house. I told Marc that my mom needed my help with my father. I told my parents I was afraid of him. I wanted to leave him but I was scared.

The next night my mom told him to come get his things from the car. She told him that her and my father had to hospitalize me. They told him I had a nervous breakdown and was in a locked unit and no one could see me right now. I had no phone and could make no phone calls. I was really hiding in the den bathroom. In the tub , with the shower curtain pulled. He got his things and stayed perfectly nice to my parents and left. He made call after call to my cell phone . Left lovey messages like he did when we first started dating. I stayed with my parents for over 2 weeks. Afraid to go home.