Twelve-year-old me was sitting downstairs while my mom prepared dinner, when a horrible stench started to float its way downstairs, causing my heart to sink. It couldn’t be true. I tried to convince myself. He promised this time it would be different. For over a year I had watched my beloved older brother take any drug that he could get his hands on, and I watched it slowly rip apart his future. Growing up, my brother was always the brightest of my family: he was kind, thoughtful, and always put others first. His sophomore year of high school he started to hang around the wrong crowd, where the usage started. At first, my family and I chose to believe that it was just a short phase he was encountering, and soon enough would snap out of it. But his nights out kept getting later, he never came out of his room, and I watched addiction start to take my bubbly, gentle brother away from me. He graduated from high school and later headed off to community college, living alone. He said that this was a fresh start for him, that now he would get his life together. He dropped out after the first semester. He was running out of money, constantly switching jobs. I tried to pretend I didn’t hear him calling my mom late at night; he was screaming and crying for money. This evil disease that had come upon our family, had started to tear us apart. I couldn’t sleep at night, terrified that I would wake up with the news that my brother is in the hospital. It was a horrible, grueling time, and I had never felt more helpless. Then my brother met Caroline. She was kind, supportive, and pulled him out of his dark place. I watched him start to gain his weight back, see his beautiful smile, hear him make his old jokes. I believed that this was it, he would pull his life together, and everything would return to normal. Of course, I never considered what would happen to him once Caroline broke up with him. He disappeared, no one could get a hold of him for a couple of weeks. When he finally came around, my heart sank looking at his face. It wasn’t the face of my brother; it was addiction returning, making him look like a ghost. I prayed for him until I got sick of it, until I started to hate God. What had He done with my precious brother? Unfortunately, to get better, a breaking point must come first. I’ll never forget him telling me about his almost accidental overdose, his life flashing before his eyes, realizing that all he wants is to live. Ever since that night, my brother has been working hard to battle the evils of addiction, and living with someone else has helped too. I know that he could face another relapse, but I will always be there for him. Addiction brought my family closer together, causing us to be appreciative of the gift of life. From all the years of watching my brother struggle, I was lucky enough to have an amazing group of friends and family around me through the hardship; although this isn’t the case for most. I’m unsure what my future career holds, but I know that I want to help others going through this struggle whether it’s volunteering at rehab centers or spreading awareness around my community. Addiction is not a choice, but a disease, and I want to bring our community one step closer to defeating this illness.