In this day and age, to some it is just as easy to score a gram of heroin as it is to order a pizza. Struggling with addiction has become as common as a cold in some areas and far too many people feel as though they are going through it alone -- not just the addiction itself, but the people who surround it. There is no right or wrong way to deal with it, but maybe my story can help you create your own happy ending.

The closest thing I have to compare addiction to is never-ending hunger. You wake up and your first thought is, “what am i going to eat today?” You finally get that meal and two hours later you’re hungry again. What happens if you don’t eat? Does that hunger go away? No. It worsens until it consumes your every thought. You become tired or weak, unable to exert energy. You’re anxious, dizzy, sick to your stomach, because your body needs food, just like an addict craves their drug. This is how I choose to look at it. It is no longer for recreation, peer pressure, or convenience, but instilled in the brain as something the body cannot live without. The user no longer has control of their thoughts and they become submissive to their own personal enemy.

To me, it doesn’t matter how that person got hooked on the drug. In some high schools, it was just as easy to buy a handful of pills in the bathroom as it was to wash your hands. All it takes is one crazy night, or one bad influence. That doesn’t make you a bad person. Drugs do not discriminate, addiction does not pick and choose. Some people get lucky and others not so much.

My brother was the happiest, care-free goofball you’d ever meet. We would play barber shop and he would tie my little blonde curls up in a million barrettes and put lipstick on me. We would watch TV and eat Spaghetti O’s on the couch. I would go to every one of his baseball, basketball and football games and I was his biggest fan. Once he entered high school, he became very distant. We never spoke. He and my mom only talked when he needed money for gas, or he was failing a class, which happened a lot. I’m not exactly sure when his first time was, but he developed a very dependent relationship with drugs. We watched as he became a stranger, but no one could get through to him.

We questioned what he might be doing, but never actually thought it could be true. He made it his own personal mission to keep his life a secret. He was like a fast moving train and it was damn near impossible to derail him. It was too hard to believe. It was too hard to watch. It seemed like being oblivious was easier than facing reality, but that ended pretty quickly. He would lie and steal, and my mom and I would pretend it was just going to be one time, but we knew. If you aren’t directly affected by someone using, it is hard to understand why it seems so easy to look the other way. I can’t even explain it, but I know the love I have for my brother is stronger than the hate I have for the drugs he got caught up in. My brother now struggles with an addiction to heroin, and by now I don’t mean all of a sudden, by now I mean in the present, for the rest of his life. Heroin feeds his hunger. Heroin will always be his right now.

I guess my point is that drugs are stronger than you think. Being an outsider you find yourself heart-broken, distraught, confused, angry, just about every feeling there is, but for some reason you cannot let it go. It is too hard for you to understand why the drug is more important than you. I have struggled through every stage of grief. The anger, the sadness, the guilt, the frustration. Some of my days I can’t even remember because there is only one thing on my mind. Everyone who is not involved advises you to move on. “If it affects you that much you need to let it go and stop caring so much,” they say.

They don’t know what it's like to see that sober glimpse of hope. Enough to remind you of the person you once knew. The carefree laughing, jokes, thoughtful acts. The planning of a beautiful future. A simple smile and the glow in their eyes. The smart-a** that always has to be right, the creativity that comes with the tortured mind. You miss it. You dream about it. It becomes you when you are around that person. Is that so wrong? To hold onto something so rare? Everyone handles things differently and I am in no way saying mine is right, but deep down inside that person who is stricken with this infectious, consuming disease is the kind hearted person you once loved. They may be on the path to destruction, but they will see the light.

My suggestion is to be that light. Love them unconditionally. Don't contribute to their problem, but be the reason they want to be better. Convince them of their future and hold on to any last chance you have to make a difference, and when you think you’ve lost hope, replay their innocent, infectious laugh over and over again in your head until your anger turns to grief, and your grief channels your desire to love, and you will find it in your heart to forgive them.

Dedicated to my brother. I love you, and you will always be my happiness.

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