What Love Cannot Fix

It was another sleepless night. I wish I could tell you that it was just an unsettling dream, even anxiety about who knows what that kept my slow-rolling tears and I awake that night. But, no. I was suddenly woken by another drunken fight.

According to the National Council on Alcoholism and Drug Dependence, one in 12 adults suffer from alcohol abuse. Unfortunately, my brother was one of those 12 in our family of five—and we all suffered while it lasted. At 17 years old, deciding which college I would go to was supposed to be my only concern. Yet, I would have preferred a lifetime of sleepless nights to anxiety about where I would end up than one more night of belligerent commotion.

            It was three a.m. and my brother and the anger in his voice were unrecognizable, to say the least. My bedroom door was shut, but our house is small and the walls are thin—nothing goes unheard. It was Christmas break and I didn’t expect to hear much more than the usual holiday cheer, but I was unfortunately mistaken. It had been a while since he had last come home from college and while not getting to see him very often was a little bit sad, it was heartbreaking to see him hiding behind the smell of whiskey and an empty gaze.

            He and our parents yelled at each other for what seemed like an eternity. I laid there in my bed hoping that they would calm down and everyone would be back to normal in the morning. I don’t remember much about what words were exchanged between the three of them, but I do remember hearing our mom make some comment regarding the example he was setting for me. I had looked up to my brother my whole life—he knew that. And bringing me, his little sister, up into the conversation only made things worse. That’s when the crying started—he first, and then I. And then, my doorknob turned. I heard my mom yell at him not to go in there, but it was too late and our mom and dad followed him in. My brother looked at my parents, accusing them of fearing him, and said, “Do you think I would do anything to hurt her?” And then, he gave me a hug and told me he loved me (a gesture very out of character for my brother—he and I are not the hugging-type of siblings). In tears, I hugged him back because I wasn’t afraid of him—not at all. Just heartbroken. Just obliviously hopeful that love could fix him.

            The National Institute on Alcohol Abuse and Alcoholism report that over 150,000 college students in the US develop health-related problems from alcohol consumption. As lucky as my family is that my brother does not continue to drink as heavily as he did in college, a lot of other families and individuals are not as fortunate. Of those 150,000 students, 1.2 – 1.5 percent have admitted to trying to take their own lives while intoxicated. The reality of college drinking is scary and disheartening. It is a part of the college culture that too many students hold most important to their four-year experience. Despite the number of students who don’t fall into habits of alcohol abuse, things need to change—because nobody should have to watch somebody they care about fall victim to something that love cannot fix. 

            Today, my brother doesn’t like to remind himself of those moments when he was out of control and unrecognizable, and neither does the rest of our family. But now that the two of us are of age and can go out for drinks with our friends, it never hurts to remind him that the way he used to drink was stupid and irresponsible, to say the least. And when I do, he nods and leaves it at, “I was an idiot.”