For my brother: On World Overdose Awareness Day, let us choose compassion over judgement
by Brittany O’Leary
Every year on August 31, World Overdose Awareness Day is marked by vigils, purple lights, and aching hearts. To some, it is just another day. For me, it was a day I always acknowledged because of the work I do in the mental health field, but this year it is different – it is personal. It is now a date that is etched into my soul because I lost my brother to an overdose in March 2025 and with that, I lost shared memories, inside jokes, and a piece of my family unit.
He was more than a statistic. He was more than a “user” or a “junkie” which are often labels that are whispered or hurled without thought. My brother was quick-witted, the type to cheer for the underdog, talented, charismatic and had a big heart for people and animals. He could make a room full of people laugh even though he was struggling inside. Despite all those wonderful traits, he was broken inside and battled many demons, and like too many others, he did not survive the fight.
When I talk about my brother, some people flinch when I mention how he died. Their eyes drop and the air gets thick, and the reality is that stigma still lives in the silence. This is the reason I am writing this: it is my hope that it will shed some light on this devastating disease that we refer to as Substance Use Disorder (SUD). This article is not based on statistics or evidence-based best practice; it is about my living experience having a brother who lived with SUD for over 15 years. Before my brother died, he was speaking at conferences and sharing his lived experience with a hope to help those struggling and make change, but unfortunately his work was cut short. I want to continue to be his voice and advocate for those living it and hoping for a different ending, and for those who have lost the fight. I can only speak about my experience, and I know that each person who goes through this battle experiences it differently.
Addiction is not a moral failure or character flaw. It is not a choice or a weakness. It is complex and chronic medical disease that is often rooted in trauma, mental illness, pain, and circumstances no one would ever choose. One month before my brother died, he shared that living with addiction was a “terrible way to live” and described it as “not fun” but feeling as there was no way to cope, survive, or feel relief in life without drugs. That is because drugs hijack the brain, making it hard for the individual to stop using despite the harmful consequences. My brother didn’t want to be addicted, all he wanted was to be free – free from emotional pain and the shame that accompanies addiction.
What I can tell you is that like many others, he tried, he really did. Rehabilitation, recovery programs, sponsors, private therapy and support groups. He had months of sobriety and then he would fall and would pick himself back up again until the last time, when he didn’t get back up again. Behind each of his relapses was deep pain and feelings of shame. Addiction took its toll on my brother and all those who surrounded him and supported him. He did the best he could, and we as a family did as well, but the beast of addiction was far too great for him to overcome.
What I want the world to understand is this: as cliché as it sounds, addiction and overdose does not discriminate, that is the reality. It can take anyone: a sibling, child, friend or neighbour. It doesn’t care about your education, background or how much you are loved.
I share my brother’s story not because it is easy, but because I know there are others out there that are still fighting the battle. Maybe it’s someone you know or maybe it’s you. To them, I want to say you are not alone and you are not broken. You are loved and your life does matter.
On August 31, I want you to remember the lives behind the numbers. My brother was so much more than the choices he made or the disease he fought. He loved hockey, fishing, family, nature and a good joke. He mattered. Every person who has died from an overdose matters and those still struggling matter just as much.
To the rest of us who haven’t walked that road, this is our moment to stand with empathy and compassion instead of judgement. My hope is that this may replace stigma with understanding because that shift, as small as it may seem, can save lives. My brother’s life was worth saving and so is the next person’s, so let’s make sure they know it.
