I stepped onto the plane that was supposed to take my parents and I to the person I have known nearly my whole life, the person I played dress up and Legos with, the person I have protected and taken care of. I haven’t seen my younger brother for four months. All I get are phone calls every once in awhile. I regret not writing him more. He has my full support in recovering, although my trust has been broken. My spirit torn is to pieces, my faith gone. But I haven’t lost hope. The monster that took over his life was painful to watch. Day and night the drugs came first. When drugs take over someone, it truly is like watching a monster replace them. They rematerialize in front of your eyes. I hoped the rehab in Montana worked.

For the past five years, I have spent many days crying and driving around to keep my mind off what has happened to my family. For five years, I have suffered in silence. Until he left for rehab all the focus was on my brother. There was no time for my pain. But now we have enough hope for my brother that I can let my family know how painful it has been going through the side affects of his addiction alone. At least, I hope I get a chance to express how hard these past years have been. I think I deserve that much.

I had three hours on the plane to just go over what could happen when we see him for the first time since we sent him away. So many questions are swimming around in my head. Will the monster still be present? Will my brother understand why we did it? Will he be mad at us? We had two total strangers take him in the night from us. Will we be able to start over after this? Can I forgive him? Will he forgive us?

I can still remember my dream being stripped from my mind as my mom shook me awake. I was taken from my warm sheets and comfy pillows to be moved to my parents’ room across the house. The nights leading up to this had been unpleasant. He was two years younger than I, but I was afraid of him. I shared a wall with him, and the lock on my door was broken. I went to bed afraid with my wallet, phone, and keys under my pillow every night. I was used to the routine. Sometimes I would catch him in my room trying to take from me. The monster made him do things he would have never done before.

He was sixteen when we sent him away. It was strange. I still have never felt that kind of stress free relief knowing that he was in a safe rehab facility far away from anyone he knew. For four whole months I didn’t have to worry about him, making sure he was home, alone, and alive. I didn’t have to be nearly as much of an adult as I usually did. I wasn’t caged in for the moment. You could see relief in my parents’ eyes too. He could no longer harm his body, anyone, or anything else. For the moment we were in a numb state of mind. We could relax. But we still felt the gut wrenching pain of his absence.

The weather in Montana was perfect, about 70 degrees (so of course I had to wear a jacket). Everywhere I looked was green (unlike Arizona), and there was not a cloud in the sky. I almost forgot why we were here.  In a way that plane was a safe zone. As long as I was on the plane nothing had happened yet. It was all theoretical. I could believe that he had changed. That he wasn’t the same person as he had been. That the monster had left his body and in return I received the person I used to know. For years, he would lie and steal from me. For years, the fights we had were verbal and physical. He was gone. For years, the monster thrived.

The day after we landed in Montana, my parents and I drove to the rehab camp. It was beautiful. We arrive and there he is. Walking out of a rusty wooden cabin. He spots us and starts to run. He looks happy and proud.
Of course my mother got the first hug while my father and I waited our turn. She cried. Then my dad got a hug. It was a nice to see since they were the ones always at each other’s throats. Then it was my turn. As I embraced my brother and he wrapped his arms around me, I knew he was different than before. Maybe it was because this was the first time I had seen my little brother sober in years. I pulled back and looked into his blue eyes that are just like mine and said, “There he is, finally.”

Only boys were at this camp, and every single family had their own story. It was interesting to hear what they had gone through compared to my family. For five days we were held accountable to this camp and their activities. They had put together family strengthening goals. We were supposed to say our feelings, concerns, basically let everything out. For me this was the best opportunity I would get to tell my side of what his addiction did to me and to my family. My family would have no other option but to take me seriously. I had been waiting for a time to tell them how strong I had been for the three of them.

The counselor there told us, “We are all in this together. So we will share our thoughts and stories with each other.” For me being a person who doesn’t show a lot of feelings, that would be difficult.

But when we were in one of those family-strengthening activities, I spoke up, “For years now you three have dismissed my suffering. Addiction affects EVERYONE in the family. Not just the parents. I’m tired of being the third parent. I grew up too fast because of this. And I was almost never asked how I was doing.” I would have liked to have said this to my family in a more private setting. It was nerve racking telling total strangers how I felt. I could feel the palms of my hands become sweaty and warm as I rubbed them together while I talked.
Surprisingly those five days went fast. There was minimal arguing. Everyone had a turn to share how they felt. No one was left out this time. The siblings in all the families there had a chance to say their side of how the addiction affected them. I think that was the best part because a lot of people forget about the brothers and sisters, whether younger or older. The monster affects us too. I didn’t know whether my brother’s recovery would last (it didn’t), but the day we left I didn’t feel so caged in anymore.