Peaceful Warrior

“There are no accidents, everything has a purpose, and it’s up to you to make the best use of it. Everything is a lesson. Trust your life.” Dan Millman, author of “Way of the Peaceful Warrior” inscribed these words for the broken spirit, the lost soul, and the fallen soldier. When my 23-year-old big brother read these words for the first time, he was sitting alone in a jail cell trying to understand where his life went wrong. I first discovered that my big brother had a drug problem when I received a hysterical phone call from my mother explaining the incident that had occurred two weeks prior at my brother’s hole-in-the-wall apartment on his college campus.  Area police devised a plan to use college kids as informants to set up or rat out other college kids that were selling drugs. Once a kid got busted for selling drugs, anything from pot to pain killers to E and cocaine, they had two choices: rat out some other people and walk away free, or keep your mouth shut and do the time. My brother, thankfully, chose the latter. “It was not my job to rat out other kids. I am not the law, and I think it’s sick that they ask people to do that. I made the mistake, so I was going to pay for it.” He said.

Because my brother wouldn’t cooperate with the cops, i.e. risk his life by ratting out three major drugs lords from his college area he received a harsher punishment. The judge determined that a college campus was indeed a “school zone” so my brother was selling drugs to “school children.” While that statement is indeed true, it makes my brother appear as if he was selling crack to children on the playground. A whole year of court dates, tear-filled phone calls, and long goodbyes later, my brother was finally sentenced to six months in county jail and three months house arrest. I had never seen my parents so hurt, so broken, and so ashamed. Part of me felt as if I lost a brother, but another part of me realized for the past few years I really didn’t have a brother at all. After was brother was incarcerated, I began to learn more and more about his abusive drug behavior. While I was certain that he was only selling drugs to make a profit, I soon learned that my brother woke up each morning and needed to take a handful of pills just to function normally. As I learned more about his habits, I began to think about years past to try to recognize the signs of his downward spiral. He was always quiet and low key but within the past few years, he seemed worse. Never made eye contact, always spoke in low, mumbled lies, had terrible skin and stomach problems (due to the pain killers eroding his stomach lining) and could never keep a steady job. My parents were always questioning a drug problem, but I would never dare that my big brother would do such a thing.

I remember one Christmas, our last Christmas before my brother went to jail/forced rehab, he was violently sick. Of course, my family claimed he had the flu, but he was actually attempting to detox himself. I could hear him from my bedroom at all hours of the night emptying the contents of his stomach, attempting to start over. After his failed detox attempt, my brother claims that his pain killer addiction got worse. He was at his lowest point was the cops raided his apartment, turning tables upside down and destroying textbooks looking for drugs.  I hated my brother for leaving my family. I hated my brother for causing my parents so much grief and shame. I hated my brother for having a problem. But, I ultimately hated myself for being so selfish and not realizing my brother suffered so badly.

Six months of jail time allowed my brother to meet with health care professionals and therapists to fight his addiction. He worked out religiously and gained back all the weight he lost prior to his drug problem. He wrote me letters and called on holidays. It’s crazy to think that my brother and I were closer when he was incarcerated for six months than we were when we lived together for 18 years. He opened my eyes to a different world. He was not mad or revengeful towards the person who ratted him out, but rather thankful for getting him the help he so desperately needed. As Dan Millman said, “Everything is a lesson.” I do believe he was talking about my brother. He is the most peaceful warrior I know.