I absolutely despise alcohol–and with good reason. Maybe that’s a good thing perhaps? Many people around me think I’m not “fun” for not participating in party culture or having a couple drinks. How could I when I’ve witnessed the very critical repercussions of excessive drinking from a family member of my own first-hand? [Also, I’m underage, and do not condone underage drinking.]

There was a family member in my household I was living with since I was a baby–let’s name this person X. I remember growing up with X living in the same house as me for as long as I could remember, but X was never really a part of my life. Every other day, multiple times a week, X would come home drunk. My mom would have to take care of X–even with all the motherly duties she would have to uphold along with a 9-5 job as a counselor. I would watch her worry almost every night before bed about X even though she would have to wake up early and prepare everything for the day. There would be nights where X would not come home, leaving my mom frantic in the early morning. There was a time when X was beat up by gangs because X was unconscious due to the amount of alcohol consumed. She would drive to the usual places X would drink at just to find out after 50 calls later that X spent the night at a friend’s place.