We aren’t parents. We aren’t spouses. We don’t have responsibility for the addict, but we still love them and are hurt by them. We are stuck watching them spiral and crash with our hands tied behind our backs.

I was the straight-A, involved, goody two-shoes kid my parents never had to worry about getting into trouble. I was mature for my age and independent, which despite still being a child, meant I was often left to figure things out myself. My parents were so focused on my brother, understanding his drug use and getting him into rehab, that I was often left to the side. I started to feel like I couldn’t tell them when I was struggling with school, stressed about college applications, scared about moving away from home. I also couldn’t enjoy my accomplishments with them.

We got home from intervention prep at midnight a few nights before my brother went to rehab and I received acceptance emails from my top two choice colleges. I immediately started crying, but they weren’t tears of joy. I was crying because I was mad that I couldn’t feel the joy of that moment. I felt ripped off from enjoying my senior year. But then I immediately felt guilty because I knew my brother was the sick one who needed help. I carried that guilt of my anger for a long time.

I think it’s important for parents to know that siblings of addicts are watching our beloved brother or sister kill themselves in front of us, just like they are. Understand that we need support too. And help your kids find ways to enjoy their lives in the midst of fear and crisis, because we will never get that time back.