Bubs isn't Breathing ( is bubs still breathing)

I am hoping to help addicts and their families understand each other in a way that helps them survive their fight with society as a whole. We don't have a drug problem we have a people problem so much that many of us don't want to be people anymore so we turn eeto sutbstance to find the will to be alive. We have addictions to feel less dead inside and lack of compassion and knowledge about other peoples battles makes us the unknowing murders without us ever lifting a finger. Until reading my brothers journal I didn't understand my obsession with memories and truth. Remembering things is just because memories are all you have when people leave and the good times are over and the truth is because once you have it it doesn't change. At the end of the day it's one of the few sturdy things that always stays the same. It's always there and it's going to stay true to itself whether you like it or not unlike people or places. The truth is that my brother is dead and he's never going to be undead. He isn't coming back. The Opinion that my mother and myself share is that I killed him. she believes it's because I some how got him on drugs, I assume that's what it is I'm not really sure, and I believe that the blame falls on me because I was not supposed to leave him alone that night or at all unless he was at work and even then I was supposed to be his ride. The morning of his death I didn't have a ride... Because I was not there and my overpowering guilt I've made it my mission to help at least one person enjoy the life their living enough to not want to end it. I figure if I can do that I can forgive myself for not being there. I just have to help someone live a life they don't want a vacation from. Maybe that person will help another person and in a chain of events I save humanity as a whole but if I don't change the world for everyone, I can still change someones outlook on everything. It's easier said than done while I myself hate my own existence so much that I want to do the same thing my brother did. Since he died I've been looking for my purpose or a reason I deserve to be alive. When I started writing this book it was a book of poetry, and then it became a book of letters directed towards those we've lost to drug use and those we blame for our losses. I asked a million people and everyone agreed to help and write letters but no one actually did. Everyone likes the idea of helping people so I wish more people would turn their ideas into reality. Just a place to stay for the night with my brother or a ride to work for him the next day could have saved his life. The small favors that don’t affect your life much could be the thing that saves someone else’s.