|
Owen O'Brien
University of Texas - Austin
Zeta Tau Alpha
Class of 2010
He lay unconscious in his own vomit. His skin the color of ash, his charming smile wilted, he was a mere shell of the fun-loving brother with whom I had grown up. Yellowed eyelids cloaked his glazed stare. His expression was distant-blank almost. His writhing stomach seemed to be the only life beneath his ghostly skin. With each strangled breath, the rise and fall of his chest weakened even more. My brother was slowly drifting away, leaving only a poisoned body behind.
Thank God the paramedics arrived at the party as soon as they did. Six EMS medics swarmed around my brother, struggling to revive him. Though they couldn't counteract the alcohol already in his blood, they checked his vital signs and kept him hydrated. His friends and our parents stood frozen in the background, watching the frenzied blur, praying that he would survive.
My parents had made me stay home. They told me I needed to get some rest for my 5 AM flight. But tears, not sleep, kept me company as I tossed and turned in my sheets that summer night.
At 2 AM, blinding headlights pierced my bedroom window. I jumped out of bed and held my eyes to the crack in my door. His best friend on one arm, my dad on the other, Jesse was lifted up our stairs. My brother-my strong, invincible brother-was reduced to an infant. He couldn't walk. He couldn't even talk. But he was alive.
A lump forming in my throat, I followed close behind them. As my father laid him down in bed, I was sent to get the family's "sick bucket." When I returned, I climbed in bed and curled up beside him. I wanted to scream I hate you. I wanted to ask him how he could do this to me, how could he do this to our family. But all I could do was cry. I had never touched alcohol and already I knew that "getting wasted" couldn't possibly be worth it. As I watched my fallen idol, I swore to myself that I would never drink.
While our parents and his best friends tended to him, he kept mumbling, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry." He stared blankly into space as he apologized, and I just cried harder. I was only fifteen.
Six months later, I got drunk for the first time.
With those three drinks, I swallowed the promise I had made to my parents, my younger brother-and myself. I'm still not sure why I chose to drink that fateful night. Was it my curiosity? Did I want to prove that I wasn't scared of anything-just like Jesse? Was I trying to fit in with the wilder crowd that I was hanging out with that night? I certainly didn't drink because I thought it was worth it; to this day, there has not been one moment when I truly believed that drinking was worth its risks. But regardless of my true reasons, I chose to drink that night-and many nights in years to follow.
My last years of high school passed by without major incident, and I began a new life at the University of Texas. Suddenly, I felt all alone. I had left behind my family and my old friends. I had to start from scratch. It was the same scary world that Jesse had faced, and it was all too tempting to use alcohol as a social crutch. Alcohol could act as liquid confidence in a time when everyone needed it most. When I was drunk, I left behind my fear of rejection, and, for the night, I could really let myself feel close to other people. When I was drunk, I could escape the pressure to make the perfect grades, have the perfect body, and create the perfect life. Of course, I didn't realize these were my motives at the time; in fact, I subconsciously hid from the causes of my drinking. Facing the reasons that I got drunk meant exposing my deepest weaknesses to myself.
The reflective questions in the last section of AlcoholEdu forced me to figure out what really caused me to drink. I could no longer pretend that "fun" was my only answer. At first, it was painful owning up to the insecurities that I buried with alcohol, but when I did, I realized that alcohol simply masked my flaws temporarily instead of actually fixing them. By using alcohol as a crutch, I had further handicapped myself. I finally understood that if I really wanted to become stronger and grow as an independent person, I needed to stop getting drunk.
It's not easy to stop. The friends I have made, the life I have chosen at UT revolves around alcohol. I'm not saying that my friends are alcoholics because they're not; they make good grades, have wonderful friends and family, and are entirely ambitious, just like me. But every college is a "party school," and it's almost impossible to avoid alcohol. With the slightest hint of curiosity, weakness, lapse in judgment, we try "getting wasted." Then we try it again. Before we know it, it has become part of our lives: part of socializing, part of relieving stress, part of our identities. Even without the neurological addiction, giving up drinking seems impossible when it has become part of who you are.
A week ago, my mom called me in hysterics: my little brother Sam, who looks up to me like I looked up to Jesse, had gotten drunk for the first time. And now, like Jesse, all I can say is "I'm sorry." I'm sorry that I hurt my parents. I'm sorry that I've wasted so many nights that I could have spent meaningfully. Above all, I'm sorry that I influenced Sam to drink.
When I talked to Sam, I begged him never to get drunk again. I told him that if I were going to die tomorrow, I would spend today sober.
Return to the main AlcoholEdu Media Competition page.
|
