By E.N.S.
Help your brother's boat across, and your own will reach the shore.
~Hindu Proverb
The night before the SATs, I found myself wrought with worry. I felt on edge, as though I might burst into tears at any moment, and I was tired but completely unable to sleep. Yet none of these emotions were related to the impending exam. As usual, my mindset seemed to revolve around the state of my older brother, Andrew.
My parents and I had picked Andrew up the night before from his apartment in Boston, where he was attending the University of Massachusetts. I was giddy with excitement. Andrew was two and a half years older than me, and in my mind, infinitely cooler. He had always been funny and charming, and even won the yearbook superlative for most outgoing in eighth grade. I was so pleased whenever I had the opportunity to show him off to my friends or introduce him to others as my brother. Everyone adored him, but no one more than me. Intermixed with my excitement, however, was a growing feeling of stress over Andrew's well-being. His behavior recently had been odd. I hadn't seen much of him while he was at college, but he had posted depressing song lyrics on his profile online, and had spent most of the brief time he was home for Thanksgiving napping or otherwise holed up in his room. Still, I was thrilled to be bringing him home again.
I ran to greet Andrew as he stepped out of his apartment. He smelled of cigarettes as I embraced him and his face looked unshaven and tired. Nothing about this was particularly unusual or concerning. His eyes, however, usually so bright and alive, now seemed somehow empty. This change scared me so much that I found I could not think about it directly without my own eyes swelling with tears.
When we arrived home, I sought distraction in my favorite TV show and invited Andrew to join me. He began to drift off to sleep as soon as we sat down, and as he did so he muttered things to me about how he was in a bad place, and had started something he didn't know how to stop. I hoped that he was half dreaming and didn't know what he was saying.
The next two nights I barely slept. Putting together everything I knew about my brother and what he had told me, it was nearly impossible to reason that something wasn't terribly wrong. Unwilling to confront whatever it could possibly be, I found myself in an internal battle, perpetually suppressing the worry that rose up in me despite my attempts to keep it at bay.
I awoke the morning of the SATs to a pre-test breakfast prepared by my parents. I couldn't focus on the food, and instead immediately noticed that the table was only set for three. "Where's Andrew?" I asked, not bothering to hide the panic in my voice.
"He had to get back to his apartment this morning," they answered. "We drove him in early because he had work to do."
The day before my parents seemed to share my concern and suddenly they acted as though my worries were unreasonable. Couldn't they tell he needed help right now? I was angry that I seemed to be alone in my acute awareness of a problem. "I think something's really wrong with him," I pleaded.
"He'll be fine. We'll check in with him soon," they said, in an attempt to reassure me. I was far from reassured, but I used the SATs as my latest distraction, and tried to convince myself that my College Board scores were somehow more important than my brother.
The test went fine enough, but I returned from it to find my parents sitting solemnly in the family room. My heart dropped immediately. "What is it?" I asked, panicked.
"You were right about Andrew," my Dad answered. "Something is wrong. We didn't want to tell you right before the test." I could hear my heart pounding inside me. I was being forced to confront what I had tried so hard to avoid. "We talked with him about our concerns last night and he confessed to being addicted to heroin."
 |  |
My dad's final word seemed to echo in my head, but something inside me must have known how seriously Andrew was in trouble, because I didn't feel the slap in the face that ought to have come with this news. Instead, I felt a wave of sadness that seemed to drown out all other emotions, and found myself unable to do anything but cry.
The three years since the day of the SATs have tried the strength of our family in innumerable ways. Andrew came home from college and was checked in and out of rehabs as he struggled to get clean and stay clean. When things were bad, he would steal from my parents and me to fund his habit and lie to all of us. I was easy to manipulate because of how much I looked up to him, and there were times when he took full advantage of this, completely unconcerned with how deeply his behavior hurt me. And when things were good, I would become hopeful that the changes were permanent and let my guard down, only to be repeatedly disappointed.
One time, while driving home, I passed Andrew walking along the side of our road in the rain with a badly abused backpack slung over his shoulder. I pulled over rather recklessly to talk to him, and he angrily announced that he was leaving to stay with a friend. He ignored me when I pleaded with him in the rain, and ended up storming off and not coming home. It was the summer before my freshman year of college, and I was suddenly completely out of touch with the brother who had once been such an important part of my life. It occurred to me then that Andrew might never be able to really understand how his behavior affected me and that I had lost my idol, big brother and best friend all at once.
Anyone who is an expert in the field will tell the family and friends of an addict that addicts are concerned only with getting their drugs, and any hurtful behavior toward others shouldn't be taken personally. I found this advice nearly impossible to accept. How could I not take it personally when my brother, who meant the world to me, lied to me, stole from me, and ultimately abandoned me? I was consistently hurt and surprised when I reached out to him and got no reply. The brother I knew was gone.
Just as things seemed to be at their worst, I got a call from Andrew late one night while I was away at college. My parents had completely cut him off, and he had worn out his welcome at his friend's house, so he was living in the city. Basically homeless and completely broke, he told me that he had been crashing on the floors of his addict friends' apartments with no purpose in life and nothing to look forward to. He announced that he refused to live like this any longer and that he was committed to getting clean. I could tell by his voice over the phone that something in him had changed dramatically. The joy I felt overwhelmed the feeling of hopefulness that had once tormented me. My parents agreed to fund his treatment, and Andrew checked into a detox center the next day.
Now, over a year later, he has never seemed better. Although I am conditioned to expect disappointment, I finally feel like Andrew is happy and stable in his sobriety and is fully engaged in his role as brother and friend again. I am also relieved to understand now that Andrew's new life was never something that I failed to give him: it was always something he had to want for himself.
Комментариев нет:
Отправить комментарий