Heroin was only something I was supposed to hear about when mentioned as one of the worst drugs back in sixth grade health class.

Heroin was nothing more than a six letter word that was quite foreign to me. I associated heroin with the worst of the worst people. I associated it with low income, rough neighborhoods.

We were the “perfect family,” even ask Facebook. What more could I ask for then living in a beautiful home on a golf course in Dublin, Ohio with two of the most supportive, hardworking parents and two hilarious, popular, academically gifted brothers.

The year was 2012 and life was good.

But heroin had a different plan for our family because heroin does not discriminate. Heroin does not care who you are, where you are from, or what you have to lose.

Heroin chose my brother. Heroin chose our family. And heroin wanted to win.

Without ever touching, tasting, or using heroin, I’ve felt the powerful effects. I’ve felt the ability it has to destroy futures, tear apart families, and create a demon.

You think you're inferior. You think that it will never be you. It was never supposed to be our family. I will be the first to say that my ignorance caused me to see things outside of my fantasy world with imaginary blinders on. These imaginary blinders have the ability to cause us to subconsciously act selfishly. It is so easy for us to ignore problems occurring around us, until those problems have a direct impact on us. We often are so quick to judge others, until it is time for us to walk a mile in their shoes.

I watched the big brother I knew slowly disappear. I watched this horrible disease take control. I watched heroin take over more than just my brother. I watched heroin take hold of our family. I watched our pure denial lead to manipulation. I watched us want to believe the lies because the truth hurt so bad. I watched our family become addicted to saving my brother. I watched my parents become full-time detectives. I watched lie after lie tear us apart a little further. I watched our home become a war zone. I watched our family dinners begin to be ruined when my brother showed up too high to speak.

But I learned to hide the hurt of watching my brother become a demon. I learned to go to school and not show that I was scared to go home because I was scared of what I would find. How could I tell my friends that were living “perfect lives” that my brother was a heroin addict and my family was being torn apart? How could I tell my friends that the brother I looked up to sold my jewelry to buy heroin?

It wasn’t too long before I broke down. I had nothing left in me. I knew my brother was really gone when I could look into his eyes and see a stranger. There was nothing left to do. I couldn’t hide the pain I felt losing my brother and watching my family go down with him.

What would be worse: to be labeled as the family with the son that is a heroin addict or to have to watch someone else go through the pain we had been through? By hiding our story, we are allowing others like us to think they are inferior to this disease. We are contributing to the problem. So, we broke the silence.

We were talked about. We were talked about a lot. Many people made judgments, but those who matter most offered endless support. My brother reached his low and was ready to accept the help he needed.

I could not be more thankful that that call we anticipated for several years, informing us that he was really gone, has not come. I am thankful for the most loving friends and family. I am thankful for every doctor, every rehab center, every sponsor, and every supporter that has helped my brother get to where he is today. I am thankful for every day that Danny remains sober. I am thankful that our story may be able to help stop the silence and save lives. I am thankful that I can talk about what addiction means to me while many others remain silent. We are all living in a heroin epidemic, and the silence must be broken. Heroin addiction is a disease and needs to be treated as one. I am the sister of a recovering heroin addict, and I am working to help break the silence.