self medication

When I was a little girl, after my parents separated, but up until the time my father "forgot" to return me after a weekly visit, one day, he often left me in the care of his mother. As I explained a few days ago, my grandmother wasn't exactly the care-taker type so I was often cared for by his sister, Carolanne. A brief mention of whom was made in a post from several months ago and linked to again, last week, when I spoke of my grandmother.

Carolanne was at some time or another, addicted to Heroine and Cocaine from as early as I can remember. More recently, she apparently added Crack to the list. Save for the one incident I spoke of in the link above, she has always been sensitive, kind, gentle and loving if a bit morose and lonely, in my company.

My earliest memories of her were mostly good ones, though I knew she had a problem with drugs and can recall with vivid detail, her constant companion, the coke spoon she wore around her neck throughout my childhood. (it was silver and shaped like a cresent moon with a diamond chip set just off of the inner edge as a star) But, what I remember the most was the fact that she was constantly seeking approval. Approval from her mother, her step-father, and her brothers and sister. She even sought approval from me, a child of... maybe 3 or 4. And, she said, "I love you." every time she greeted me and every time we parted.

My Grandmother would not let anyone talk to her, or intervene in any way. My father said she would have "put him out of her house" if he even tried. I say, it's your sister. Do it, anyway. But, I suppose it's easy for me to say. I haven't seen what he has.

When I saw her, last week, she was excited about her new job. She would be working the graveyard shift at the local Acme, pulling shop-from-home orders for shipment, the next day. Carolanne said she had only to finish the paperwork and take a drug test, and she would start this week. When she mentioned the drug test, everyone turned their gaze to the floor. It was obvious that she was still using. There was no light left in her eyes and she spoke, using only the most basic, childish language. She was pencil-thin and covered in bloody scabs from the scratching. Her teeth were grey and rotting. But, there she was, with more love to spare. She told both, myself and Zane how very much she loved us and how much she missed us.

My Aunt Carolanne died, alone and unloved, this morning at the age of 49.

She committed suicide by overdose and left a note, saying simply, "I'm sorry mom, I love you."

What makes me feel saddest of all is the fact that she never made so much as a fleck of a mark on the world. She lived her whole sad life with her mother. A mother who never saw fit to say a word to stop her daughter from destroying herself, slowly and methodically over decades, right in front of her eyes.

There won't be a wake or a funeral, as no one would come, save for myself and her mother. Her siblings are smug in their apathy, at her passing. My father says, simply, "The burden is finally gone. I only feel sorry for my mother... that poor woman doesn't need this, right now." His older sister apparently wanted to know why he even bothered to call and tell her, at all.

What I want to know is, how the hell am I possibly related to these people?!? Not one of them feels the slightest personal responsibility for what happened to their baby sister. Even I feel like I should have said something.

I lied when I said Carolanne died unloved. I know that I loved her. I pitied her, but I also loved her and I should have said something, if only because not saying anything makes me just like them.