Please Help me get back to life

Hi I'm Michael Morrison, I Live in Jacksonville Florida. I'm 30 years old an have no kids or a

wife. I would like to dedicate myself to helping others. I understand how some people might

need help with life or just a friend to talk to maybe. I feel like I've been cast off to the

wayside. Ten Years ago I moved Back to Jacksonville. My Best friend had died of cancer and i

chose to drink away my problems. This Binder Equated into me getting a DUI and also losing my

relationship i had at the time with girl i really had a future with. My lease was coming up

soon and my dad was in terrible financial and physical shape. My sister was taking his credit

cards and running up the bills at fancy places to eat and drink. So i moved back home to put a

stop to the partying and try to fix what had been broken. I left my Job, packed up all my

things and headed to Jacksonville thinking i was doing what was in the best interests of my

family. When i got to Jacksonville, it took 8 months for me to finally land a job. I was so

desperate that i told the owner of the company i would work for free(because i knew if i did

he would hire me, I'm a Hard worker). Well he did hire me and i finally was able to start

helping out with bills. I tried to figure out how we would fix my dads credit but eventually

his credit card APR went to 30 percent and i couldn't figure out how to manage it all and we

stopped paying on them. Eventually we hired a lawyer to file Bankruptcy but we couldn't afford

it. My dad and I gave 500 dollars as a retainer to a lawyer we could never use because we

didn't have enough money to finish paying off the the rest. It struck me as ironic, not even

enough money to go bankrupt. Up to this point i never really had an addiction to anything

although by this point i should have realized i wasn't very good with alcohol and therefore

would not be good with other substances, but i didn't. I started taking pain pills, it seemed

like the thing to do, everyone in my family was getting them prescribed to them and all my

friends and everything liked them it almost seemed normal and not normal if i didn't take

them. I started out just taking them whenever but it escalated into me taking them and on the

days i didn't i just stayed home and felt sick. Eventually it got to even the days i did take

them i mostly stayed home. I would go to the grocery store and make a quick meal for my dad

not even that well cooked because i would usually go lay down until i felt the food needed to

be flipped. My Brother came to live with us and his girlfriend too. They were Both addicts, My

brother had lost his house and a nice business he built for himself, he mostly stayed home

too. His girlfriend had lost her Kids when police found drugs in her car. I was friends with

his girlfriend at one point but i hated them both for what they had become, little did I know

it wouldn't be long for me and i would also hate myself. That day didn't take long either, at

least it didn't seem to. I Started Injecting myself with pills because well i had seen My

brother do it for so long. It pained me and i wanted him to stop or slow down but i never

seemed to be able to find the words that would make him quit. When I started Injecting myself

it was clear he didn't approve but what could he do, he set the example. so we all used drugs,

my Dad being the only one who used them in accordance with the law. At this point my dad had

been taking Morphine from the Va for seven years and even had to move to a different doctor

and had to pay for his medicine out of pocket because he was refused by his doctor. Later it

seemed like the Va did a sort of house cleaning trying to get Vietnam vets to move out maybe

so they might have room for Iraq soldiers or maybe just to save money. He was definitely

discriminated against and treated unfairly but what could we do? After years of living like

this, me keeping my distance hardly associating with the people in my household, I was alerted

that my brother was dead. His Girlfriend was crying and came to tell me in my room, I hoped

off my bed and ran to my brother performing CPR and all the while thinking am i just too late?

would i even want him to come back to life to be brain damaged. Letting him go was hard but it

was something i just had to do with the paramedics got there i stopped CPR but they didn't

really begin it I'm not sure what the reasons or how they came to conclude that CPR wasn't

going to work, but it seemed like they concluded that, even though i wanted them to do CPR.

That Day I had to tell my mom and my dad that their son had died. My mom came straight over,

although i think i saw her about once a year up to this point, she came straight over. I told

the police it was more than likely a drug overdose he had been completely high for three days

straight. I'm not sure of the days after Walt's death, I'm not sure what i can remember about

it at this moment, but I know my dad and my mom were deeply heartbroken. My mom decided she

would Marchman Act me in the months to come while my dad hung onto life. A Marchman Act

basically is a way to have someone forced into rehab if the court finds its needed. My dad

didn't last long withing three months of my brothers death he passed away. He was taking to

the Hospital when my sister got him to take double his medication without me knowing and when

i noticed him acting differently i asked if he wanted to go to the hospital and he said yes.

When the Paramedics showed up and gave him Narc-an we figured out that was the reason but they

said they had to take him to the hospital because i called. My dad weighed around 500 pounds

and with him being in his condition you might be able to imagine why I thought It best to

wait, however reluctantly i helped the fireman to get my dad out the front door at one point

my dad was falling and they just kind of took their hands off of him while i clung on and he

fell on top of me me purposely putting my foot under him because the floor was so hard and i

wanted desperately to keep him from internal bleeding. He was on blood thinners and was told

if he fell he could die. They took him to the hospital and the next day i was there when they

were going to surgery. When i asked what was going on they told me that they wanted to put a

pic line in and that the wanted to put my dad on a ventilator. They also took him off every

medication he had been on. I protested saying my dads oxygen levels are 100 percent on the

monitor and( being a intravenous drug user i know how fast medicine could be administered with

an IV). After pleading with the doctor i asked her if my dad had been giving any drugs and she

said no i asked her again if they had given him any medication at all and she said no. I'm

quite certain that was a lie and based on that lie i gave my consent. My dad appeared to be in

a coma. This was moments away from surgery she lied so that i would okay unnecessary treatment

to my father. They also lied to me and told me they would give him medicine to wipe his memory

while they put him in a coma. When my dad eventually woke up he said he could remember all of

it and desperately wanted to get out of there. He told me he could leave if he wanted to but

after talking with the nurse on duty they told because of the breathing tube i would have to

wait 24 hours to take him home. I realize now that was also a lie and i couldn't taking him

that night. When i arrived the next day to take him home the breathing tubes were back in. I

asked why and couldn't get a straight answer. I would have to wait until the next time they

felt like taking my dad off the machine. That day never came and i eventually got a phone call

my dad had past. I didn't understand because they had him on a machine breathing for him. I'm

still unsure of what happened In the last moments and it didn't matter to me. My Dad was dead.

I became sad and angry and felt cheated out of having more time with my dad. I mean wouldn't

it have been better to be able to talk to him while he was in the hospital? would he have even

died if the didn't put him in a coma and put him on a breathing machine? I just felt lost and

alone. I went on with life the best i could using drugs and trying to keep my mind off things.

I didn't make it to my dads memorial because the ride i was getting was from a friend i was

getting drugs for. when he got screwed over so did I, I didn't make it to my dads Memorial. By

this time the house was delinquent with taxes, it had a lien on it for people having to come

out and clean up the yard and it was in an upside down mortgage because my dad remortgaged the

house when my brother got in trouble to pay for legal fees. he remodeled the kitchen too but

it was never finished and didn't come out well. i was losing the house. I was served papers

for foreclosure and also for Marchman act. While my dad was in the Hospital i went and was

very honest with the lady that recommended in treatment meaning i would have to live in a

government place, a rehab, to get off drugs. I informed her that my dad was in the hospital

clinging onto life and there was no way this could happen or would happen while my dad was in

his condition. It didn't, he passed away before i was ordered to go to rehab. I went to Rehab

and ended up staying 77 days. While i was in rehab my house was taking over everything i owned

was put outside into a hole. Eventually it was even set on fire. When i got out I had nothing

my house had no electricity but people staying there. The kind that doesn't pay. my paying

tenants were kicked out by the non payers because well the non payers needed a free place to

stay and having a free place to stay wasn't good enough for them to not ruin every last

personal thing i owned...Don't you just love family? Fast forward a few years and we wind up

here where i am today. Completely off drugs, living with my mom but being threatened to be kicked out at

any given moment(crossing my fingers, hoping not). Please Help me.