Happiness for those who beat death ... is hard to come by

Recently, I read an article from a newspaper located in my hometown about someone I went to school with and how they overcame a harrowing addiction to drugs and is now a successful business owner.  As I read the article, one part jumped out at me … the gist being the fact that all but one of this person’s group of close friends had died of heroin overdose although this person had overdosed multiple times. What feeling came next was not rational for me, especially since I truly believe we all make our own decisions and other people really shouldn’t be blamed for them.  However, I could not rein in this particular emotion.

Instead of feel happiness for this person to have found success in kicking the habit and in making something of their life, I felt anger.  After anger cropped up, it was followed by blame that this person was somehow responsible for making my friend do this awful drug.  I know I shouldn’t feel these things because of my inherent belief as stated above.  I also know I should let it go because it’s been 16 goddamn years already…but…still…I can’t.

So, after reading this article, I spent the next two hours or so perseverating over the fact that I was angry and asking myself why I couldn’t be happy for this person.  Of course, I knew the answer.  I just didn’t know the why behind it.  Eventually, my anger and blame gave way to sadness while the question of why some people get many chances while others get only one continued to loop in my irrational brain.  I mean, there’s no rule, rhyme, or reason for why things happen.  Shit, a person can get stung by a bee and die.  Scientifically, you could chalk it up to natural selection.

Still…I am bothered by the whole damn situation.  Not because of the situation itself.  I think I’ve made peace that it happened.  What I don’t seem to have a handle on (and I’m not sure if I ever will at this point) is the manner in which it occurred and the people that surrounded my friend when it happened.  I know that he’s gone, but I miss him and I wish that he had never gotten in with the crowd that liked to experiment with drugs.  I wish I had been more present in his life at that time to steer him away from that lifestyle.  I wish, I wish, I wish.  

What I’m really angry about is that he’s gone and I wasn’t there to help him.  I can’t blame the crowd he ran with because he made the choice to do the drug that eventually killed him.  I can’t fault that others are alive while he is not even though they did the same drug and some of them also overdosed.  I have to remind myself of these things so I don’t continue to hold anger and hate towards people who probably don’t deserve it.  I know I need to be happy that they are alive and have moved into a more positive place.  I just have to understand that it will take time … because my only wish is that my friend had also been able to change his path and that will never come to fruition.