My brother is one of my best friends. When we were younger, before grade 3, we were best friends. My mom likes to tell stories of us before we were in school. I had really bad speech problems, and he was the only one who could understand me. He was my translator.

As we got older though, things changed. He became the social butterfly, and I, well, I became the one who would sit at home alone. I almost resented him for being the one always going out with friends, but I just got out my books and read, waiting for him to come home and tell me about his night.

When we got to high school, I became friends with some of the girls in his "group". Suddenly I was the one going out and doing things. And not only doing things, but with HIS friends. He hated me for this. I remember one time waiting for my dad outside a donut shop, and my brother and I had it out infront of my mom. It was a pretty big fight.

As much as I disliked him growing up, I still loved him. He was still my big brother. He was my protection.

My brother was always the tiny, scrawny kid. This led him to be picked on, especially by my dad. One day my mom, dad (mom's 2nd husband), and brother were goofing around, and for some reason my brother got some spit on my dad's shoe. This led to my brother getting thrown across the room.

Things like that occured often. And then one day, seemingly over night, my brother grew.

Not only did he get tall (6'2"), he got big. He lifted weights, and become a pretty strong guy.

I don't know if my dad didn't realize how big my brother had gotten, or thought his petty little mind games would work on my brother still, but he still treated my brother like crap.

One drunken night, my dad pushed my mom down the stairs. My mom left, as always, after the fight. My dad went downstairs to where my brother was, and I don't know the specifics, but I guess words were exchanged. My dad threatened my brother, and my brother, in turn, threatened my dad. Without going into details of what the threat was, it scared my dad enough that he didn't lay a hand on any of us again until my brother went on his mission.

The year before my brothers mission is when we finally started becoming friends again. And while he was gone, I missed him more than I ever thought I could miss him. He came home in April of 2001. We had the summer together before we both went off to school again. That was an awesome summer.

We ended up going to Toronto and upstate New York to visit the area my brother served his mission. I really got to see a different side of my brother that summer.

It's funny, because my dad must have once again forgotten my brother was bigger than him. When we went to Utah to drop my brother off at school, we went to dinner at Olive Garden. We had all finished eating and were just sitting around visitng in the restaurant. My brother was playing with a left over breadstick, which pissed my dad off. Next thing we know, they're arguing in the middle of the restaurant. Or rather, my dad is arguing, and my brother is basically laughing at him. Finally, since my brother wouldn't fight back, my 5'6" dad says to 6'2" brother, "I'll punch you in the nose!!". To which my brother scoffed "I'd like to see you try that", then stood up.

My dad shut up pretty quick.

Over the past 6 years, my brother and I have only gotten closer. We go to eachother for advice, for laughs, to vent, for everything. He is truly one of my best friends, and I love him to pieces.

Which is why it is so hard for me to see him the way he is now.

My brother is an alcoholic. He knows he is. I wish there was something that I could do to help him, I just don't know what to say or do.

This weekend he lost a good friend because of his drinking. And I think he finally realized what a problem it is. Today is day 5 without a drink, and he's pretty much freaking out. He says his problem isn't so much the not drinking, it's that he wants to be with friends, but in order to be with friends, he "has" to drink.

He called me, in tears, on Friday night/Saturday morning. He told me he thinks he's just like our dad. I tried to tell him he's not like my dad. All he could see was that he is an alcoholic, and so was my dad. I tried to tell him he was NOT like him. That he is a better person than our dad. That by him calling me that night, pouring his heart out to me, proved he was a better man than our dad. He wouldn't believe it.

I just wish there was something I could do or say to him that would take all the hurt away. That would help him forget the things of the past. He is so messed up from growing up. He told me he can't even watch tv anymore without hearing a car run and thinking mom is in the garage again trying to kill herself.

I want to help him. But I don't know how.

So I will just be there for him. Be his little "sheeshdur". Listen to him when he needs me. That's all I can do, I suppose. He knows what he needs to do. I'll just be there to help him along the way. I just hope it's not too late for him to get better.