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Our Stories
Anara Guard
Newton, MA
Who is My Brother's Keeper?
My brother has a drug problem. Like many adults in their late thirties and early forties, he began experimenting with drugs as a young teen. Unlike some, he never "grew out of it." A stint in the Army did not, as our parents hoped, instill enough self-discipline for him to stop using. And since his drug of choice is not one of the legally sanctioned ones -- alcohol, tobacco, caffeine -- he is ashamed and afraid of anyone finding out.
The federal agency tasked with tackling alcohol and other drug use issued a survey report earlier this year claiming that most people with problems don't get treatment because they are in denial. In my brother's case, denial is part of the problem, but he isn't the only afflicted. He chooses employers who do not administer drug tests. He is certain he would be fired if his drug use were discovered, even though he does not think it interferes with his ability to perform his job. Of course, he doesn't really know, since he doesn't go without for very long.
Perhaps my brother would submit to testing if his employer had a policy that included referral to an employee-assistance program, which could link him to treatment. Perhaps if his employer offered a health benefit that included equal coverage for mental health and addiction treatment, he would feel that he could afford to get help. If he lived in one of the few states that require employers to offer such coverage, this benefit wouldn't be denied to him. As it is, with a wife and baby, the family budget can't accommodate him paying out-of-pocket for outpatient visits.
Perhaps if his primary care doctor were not "in denial," and would ask him about drugs when he goes in for his "nervous stomach," troubled sleep, or the foot he broke somehow. But his doctor never asks, and my brother never volunteers. He is afraid that word would get back to his employer, that his wife would find out, that the doctor would lecture him for his lapses, rather than offer help.
His wife doesn't know the true extent of his problem, and neither, I am sure, do I. He is increasingly isolated, hoping that love of his family and willpower are enough to help him overcome this disease. But they aren't enough. And he can't do it alone.
12-step groups like AA and NA are available to him, if only he would reach out to them. He doesn't realize that if he were to seek recovery, he would find an entire community of folks who have been in his circumstances, ready to offer support and encouragment. But he needs someone to reach out
to him first, and no one is doing so. His wife takes his glassy eyes for granted; he has always looked like this. She would not believe that he would risk his child, their family, his freedom (with one past conviction on his record), for the brief relief that drugs give him. But this only shows what a grip this disease has on him. Who would willingly choose such risks unless they felt compelled?
As it is, his most constant "support group" is the people who are ready and willing to use with him, to sell to him. The sellers are available 24 hours a day, seven days a week. They provide relief in small, anonymous, affordable doses. The providers of treatment, and the gatekeepers that stand in the way of accessing care, offer long waits and barriers to identification. Who is marketing or pushing treatment and recovery in a way that can compete with what the drug sellers and bars have to offer?
Am I my brother's keeper? I care about him. But I live a thousand miles away; I have my own problems. I could confront him -- if I learned how. But I can't provide him with health insurance that will pay for treatment. Or with treatment that will accommodate his health needs. Or with a society that will continue to offer him housing and employment and support after he gets clean and sober.
Still, there are steps that I can take to help my brother and others like him. All over the country, advocacy groups have formed to speak up on behalf of those in recovery, those who need help in getting there, and the folks who love them. I am joining an organization called Faces and Voices
of Recovery (FAVOR) but there are many others: NCADD, Advocates for Recovery, the Johnson Institute, and local grassroots organizations.
FAVOR is rallying to change public perceptions of addiction and recovery, and to remove barriers that keep people like my brother from getting the help they need. I write my political leaders every time I see an opportunity to speak up for insurance fairness or against the budget cuts that keep chipping away at an already underfunded treatment system. And if a halfway house tries to open in my community, I'll be one of the folks at the hearing speaking in favor of it, rather than on the side of the room filled with neighbors afraid for their property values. I know that there are other values that are more important.
My brother's silence helps him stay addicted and ashamed. My silence helps keep the barriers of stigma and discrimination in place. We need many voices to break the silence: the voices of people who need help, people in recovery, and those who love them. Am I my brother's keeper? Are you?
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