A distaste for alcohol

Effects of alcohol, abuse leaves lasting impact

A+distaste+for+alcohol

Photo by Alyssa Kift

The rain came from nowhere. Each droplet fell to the rhythm of my pounding heart and the intakes of my panting. I had begged him to stop, we all had, but that bottle of poison possessed him. It was too late. 

This summer was the best summer I’ve ever had. I saw my family, and it couldn’t have been more perfect, but of course, every rainbow has its storm.

The day seemed normal at my brother’s house. It was my niece’s first birthday; it was time for celebration. We left for my sister’s house, stopping at Target to get a gift for her baby. I was so excited because for the first time in four years, I would get to be with the family in my hometown: the niece I never got to see and my brother, now out of jail.

Upon arrival, everything was running smoothly. We had a cookout, music and babies everywhere. But, like always, there was alcohol. I remember vodka, whiskey, tequila–anything, you name it. By that point in my life, alcohol had been something I wasn’t too fond of. 

The party continued. My brother and my dad weren’t on the best of terms, but my sister and I still wanted the family together for the baby’s first birthday, so we invited him. I hadn’t thought anything of it. I just thought they would bond and it’d all be OK. But I forgot that my brother was starting to get drunk, and it worried me that if he saw my dad, a side of him that only alcohol can summon would be unleashed.

When my dad got there, my brother invited him to drink. The night went on. They drank, they sang, they yelled, they cried, they drank. They morphed into different people, but I wasn’t worrying. My sister began cleaning, and everyone helped. People were leaving, only a select few were there, mainly family, and all the children were inside. 

The night went on. They drank, they sang, they yelled, they cried, they drank. They morphed into different people, but I wasn’t worrying.”

— Anonymous

My brother, thinking that the party was over, called for his daughter, my niece and me and told us that we were leaving. He could barely stand or talk, so of course, I told him no, that I didn’t think he was in the best state to be driving us home. That was a mistake.

Even though it was risky to defy him, I stood my ground. He yelled and cursed in protest, thinking that we were taking his daughter away, but we were only trying to protect ourselves. My sister began to argue with him, enraged. 

He took the butcher knife they used to cut the meat and stabbed it into one of the tables. He flipped the grill, the chairs and began breaking things. My sister’s husband, angry at what my brother had done, told him to leave. My brother, threatened, turned around and sucker punched him. 

At that moment, they began to fight and slammed into the garden that was behind them. Everyone then ran in — my aunt, my uncle, my sister — all of them, except for me. All I could do was scream for them to stop because my brother had pulled out his pocketknife and no one noticed. I grabbed a small pole from the canopy and began to hit his hand trying to make him lose grip of the knife. But it didn’t work. 

My dad turned around from the fighting to grab a pipe. All down his arms was blood. I had to contain myself from crying. Once he had the pipe, my dad tried to hit my sister’s husband, but he backlashed at my dad with his fist. While looking around, I saw my sister with blood down her arms. I wasn’t sure if it was my dad’s or hers. But then I saw my uncle with blood too. I was confused and nauseated. 

My brother got up with the knife still in his hand, smiling. I ran to him, and I looked him in the eyes. Crying, barely able to breathe and scared, I begged him to stop. But what he did still haunts me — he just laughed in my face. He then left, and so did my dad, because my sister had called the cops but her husband was rampaging, so he ran with the pipe to where my brother had gone. And I grabbed a pipe to stop him, but when I got there my brother had sped off. He had hit my brother with the metal pipe on his head. My brother was drunk, blind without his glasses and hurt. 

My brother got up with the knife still in his hand, smiling. I ran to him, and I looked him in the eyes. Crying, barely able to breathe and scared, I begged him to stop. But what he did still haunts me — he just laughed in my face.”

— Anonymous

I spent that night shocked, afraid that someone could’ve died, afraid that my brother would go to jail again. We got to the hospital: my sister needed five stitches, my uncle five too, My dad told us that he needed seven, my sister’s husband busted a lip and banged up her hand. My brother broke his ankle and bruised his head. So yes, I spent the night in the hospital, waiting for everyone to get fixed up. I had a panic attack, and needed someone to talk to. 

I have a problem with people who abuse alcohol, and I’m not saying that it was my brother’s fault or that it wasn’t. It wasn’t anyone’s fault. It happened, and everyone was under the influence. 

We’re all victims to our own needs. No one was who they usually were, and that’s the thing with drinking. You don’t know who you are, you don’t know what’s going on, and you say and do things that you may regret for the rest of your life. Alcohol has always been a real issue, it always will be. I can’t stop it, this story is one of many that have happened, and will continue to happen, but if anyone ever reads this, think of your family. Think of your life because a night with a few drinks, can turn into a life or death situation. 

writter wishes to remain anonymous