It’s 2016 and we walk down the streets no longer paved of gold but swamped with zombies sluggishly dragging their feet down the sidewalk either looking for a place to nod, or looking for their next fix. Numb to other humans bustling around them, some late for work, others rushing to get their kids from school, people jogging to keep up with their fitness. We are losing the battle along with these people who are pale with sunken in eyes, skinny frail bodies, with scabs on their arms, dirt under their nails. Some have lost everything by accident, and some by choice of choosing their disease over everyone and everything they ever loved. Its an epidemic many ignore, but it’s real. We are losing the ones we love to Heroin. Luckily, Narcan exists and first responder's are all carrying it. I am so thankful for all the lives they've saved but in my eyes that's just an excuse for an addict to justify using. They know someone can save their life if they overdose, which makes them less afraid to use. Many will or already do live with regret because they were too afraid to say something, too afraid to anger the user and be cut out of their life. But me, I've hit a point where I am sick of people writing to their dearest friend they've just lost. Writing on their social media walls about the fun times they had together and expressing the pain they feel with the absence of someone they love.

I think it's time to maybe start writing that letter when they're still around. Maybe tell them how you feel when you know you’re running out of time and you think there’s nothing you can do. I am now running out of time. I feel helpless and even though I have been through this before as many of the people I know have; it’s imminent what’s to come and I am no longer afraid of voicing my opinion. This one’s more important than everyone else. I am completely petrified to bury someone I’ve loved for years. You can not help someone who doesn’t want to be helped, but please don’t keep your silence. Please at least try. Every situation is different, and this I understand. But I hope this means something to you. I hope this helps you in some sort of way and gives you light to at least tell them you love them, at least have a conversation, and try.

Dear Mully,


I think back on those times in our life, the years we spent so close; partying, sharing secrets, crying together, battling family problems together. I remember being on your bed crying about my mom's cancer when I found out and you rubbing my back promising everything would be okay. You were always there for me. For all of us. You were always our Mama. I remember those times when we were 17 hanging around on Prince Street. On your trampoline burning off adolescent energy; sitting on your computer chatting with boys on AIM. I always loved hanging upstairs in your room that smelled like Escada Hippie which was your all time fave. And getting ready to go out in your bathroom with that awesome tub. We'd spend hours together, talking and going through your photo albums which somehow were always the best out of everyone's. God, remember how we thought to ourselves "those were the good ol' days" when it was just a month prior? Id always steal your disposable camera and take all the pictures, makes sense now why. But you took good ones too. I'll never forget the time your Dad came to pick us up at C's way sooner than we had expected and wanted you to drive home. You were so stoned and the look of panic on your face when he asked you to drive is something I'll always laugh about. I always loved talking on the phone with you and Whit late into the mornings on three way until shit changed with her. We did that for years. We created our own tradition! The things we shared as sisters are times that were so precious in our lives and I wish now a days that you had never met him, and that things didn’t change. But I saw the love in your eyes and I wanted you to be happy and experience love for the first time. So I did. I had no idea what it would turn out like.

I want to apologize for spacing myself away from you. I wish I had stuck by your side while you got involved with someone I didn't care for. I wish I had stuck by your side to guide you away from the path you were choosing. But as the saying goes “love is blind”. Am I the only one questioning how I could have steered you away from where you are now?

I sit with my thoughts completely brokenhearted thinking about you injecting that spike into your vein and numbing it all away. The stories I've heard about your living conditions; it murders me to think about you living in that filth; with people you consider to be “family” when in reality that shitty dependent “love” is all you’ve ever known. It's not what your life was supposed to turn out like, Babe. I SAW your life and what it was supposed to be. I saw you with babies. Healthy babies. And the cutest house that fit your homey style to a T. A husband that made alright money but adored your humor and vulnerability. You were just so good with kids, you were made to be a mom. You were made to have a job that helps people in need. Your curious soul was made to be weary, and always be a voice of logic, but still always afraid of your own shadow.

I sit here now with this festering anger inside my gut frustrated that you're not afraid to die. You're not afraid! You’re blind and comfortable with what you’re doing and if your girls had the power, we’d get you better. But you’re not afraid. And you should be because you haven't lived the life you were put on this Earth to live. You're a broken heart that is breaking other hearts due to your Demons you're running from. I will never regret sitting you down that day and talking to you about this addiction. I needed you to know I know, I know and I care. I'm mourning you already, yet looking straight into your empty defensive eyes, pleading with you to be afraid. Pleading with you to stop, clean up, and have the life you were put here to have. Because there’s still a chance but we are running out of time. I'm mourning the lack of urgency in your family’s guts. I'm mourning that I apparently can't do more. I lay at night staring off sick inside. I never want to have to stand over your grave, pick a rose out of that arrangement and feel it leave my fingertips while saying my last goodbye.

This wasn't your path. I beg of you to open your eyes and leave this demon behind you. Start a new chapter. It will be the hardest chapter you'll ever face. But it will be worth it. You're worth it. You are so worth a beautiful life, with a back yard to have your friends over for tea, a cat that annoyingly claws all your good sweaters. I want you to have good sweaters and not five year old UGGS with holes in the toes. I want you to have a job that makes you happy, and not feel like you have to support your other half cause he’s too dope sick to get out of bed. I want to be there for you, and help you through this battle. I want to sit with you in five years and talk about our struggles from the past and how thankful we are it turned out the way it did. I want you back. We all want you back. Please, be afraid. Be brave; and go get yourself better.

I love you so much, and always remember: “They don’t love you like I love you.”

I can’t wait to see that sparkle in your eye again someday.

Love Always,

Sculder