How the Toxic Drinking Culture of Fraternities Nearly Killed Me

I could have died a martyr — but I lived instead

Part of me wishes that I had died on the night of my 21st birthday almost 25 years ago, when I landed in the ICU with a blood-alcohol level nearly 4x the legal limit.

That’s a tough thing to live with, and probably confusing to read, so I’ll give you some context.

It was our senior year of college in Arizona. We were in a fraternity and yes we partied a lot — drank, experimented with drugs, lived the whole debauched frat boy lifestyle. That night, a big group of us went out and hit the bars to celebrate my 21st birthday — not that we needed an excuse to party, but with me being the last of our core group to hit that milestone gave us the extra incentive to turn it up a few notches.

The night started out well — shots all around, a festive atmosphere. We hopped from one bar to the next, until we got kicked out because of something inappropriate I did, or because the bar wanted to remove a potential liability, or both. Needless to say, by this point I was blackout drunk, even though I didn’t know it.

We went to the next bar and the group of “friends” driving me around noticed I was passed out cold. Rather than address my condition, do the responsible thing…