Drug Addiction Stories & Info

I am a mother who has three teenage children.

6 years ago I became addicted to narcotics prescribed to me for a back injury. I began abusing these drugs.  My drug use escalated quickly, and my parenting skills deteriorated just as rapidly. I am hoping that by explaining my story that I may be able to help you avoid some of the heartache that I have experienced.

Although I swore to myself that I would never forsake my children for the drugs, I soon found myself doing just that. I stopped being the attentive, involved, loving, caring, responsible, content mother that I had been for many years. I was able to hide the drug use for awhile, saying I was just tired, etc, but just never feeling 100% “there” for the kids. Then it proressed to that I started sleeping late in the mornings, neglecting to get them up for school or to make their lunches.  I was once actively involved in heading up every organization or team that they joined, and I quit doing all that because I was exhausting my body with the drug use.  I had no energy to involve myself with their lives, and soon found myself losing touch with what they were interested in or what their lives outside were like. I became very selfish, irritable and emotional. I stopped trying to even appear interested in them or what they had to say. I made errors, lost things, forgot to cook dinners, left them home unattended for extended periods of time, or spent excessive periods of time sleeping off the effects of the drugs while they were home, leaving them there to amuse themselves.  Eventually they would start looking after themselves as they couldn’t count on me. All these drugs did was make me tired and zombie-like, wanting to sleep. Not the picture of the mother I once was at all.

The end result has my life looking and feeling like a war-zone.  My children were taken out of my custody by my ex-husband who by this time had filed for divorce.  My eldest, a son, and I had so many heated and violent arguments and battles during the time of my drug abuse that he has completely cut me out of his life.  I don’t blame him one bit.   I have not spoken to him in 2 and a half years.  Thankfully I still have my two younger children who are still present in my life, but of course treat me as I deserve: without trust and at arms length to some degree.
I have been in rehab now for 6 months and am working towards building these relationships back up.  It has been the most difficult thing I have ever done and I have no idea how it will all turn out but I have hope and help from great people.

My children used to be the center of my world. Drugs took their place.  Not anymore.  I AM BACK and stronger than ever!!

I am hoping that by reading this you might see somewhere in there a little bit of anything that might resemble your life,  and then see what could happen, once the drug use gets out of control.  And believe me, it does get out of control. I managed to be the ‘weekend warrior’ drug user for a while,  always thinking I could control it, but it doesn’t take long until drugs are running your life.

L.V.

I’ve come in several times and read the stories from people who have been on drugs and their family members.  I hope you don’t think this is a crazy story because, well, to some of us, our family members are not always human.

I was hooked on crack cocaine and alcohol.  I never married.  The one time I got pregnant, I lost the baby and could not have anymore.  It was what I deserved, I guess.  I just buried myself deeper and deeper into my addiction.  My sister and two brothers had families and me, well, I aged rapidly thanks to my two sleeping buddies of the powder and liquid form.

I honestly don’t know how I managed to hold onto my job as a waitress at an all-night diner on the outskirts of town for so long.  Working at night though, helped me not feel so alone.  I didn’t have to worry about what to do on a lonely night because I had a job to go to.  Eventually, though, I did get fired.  My boss had enough.  I was coming to work stoned or getting that way in the breakroom in between customers. 

Feeling scared and overwhelmed, I left that last night and went home to a bottle of whiskey and the last of my crack cocaine.  I fell asleep with it right next to me on my bed.  My cat, Travis, jumped up there some time during the night and must have thought it was a treat.  When I woke up the next day, he was next to me. At first I thought he was sleeping soundly but soon I realized the sad truth.  My beautiful Travis, my cat of three years and the only love in my life, was dead.

I cried hysterically.  I called my sister.  She drove over with my brothers and the three of them consoled me and confronted me in a spur of the moment intervention.  They talked me into getting help so that I would not hurt someone else I loved.  They were kind enough not to tell me I was hurting them.  They knew how much Travis had meant to me.

After three months of inpatient rehab, I moved into my older brother’s garage apartment.  I went to meetings and eventually got another job.  As my one year anniversary of being clean approached, my brother knocked on my door.  He told me that the family was going to have a surprise party for me and that they were going to give me a special present.  He wanted to make sure I was okay with it because of what it was.  It had been his younger daughter’s idea. 

They wanted to give me a kitten.  Because I knew my niece had good intentions I said yes.  I have had Angel (my niece named her) for two years now.  Thankfully, she is a different color and breed than Travis.  I still miss him though.  But my niece told me a secret.  She said she named the kitten Angel because she felt like Travis had picked her out for me. 

I kinda think she might be right.

In 2005, I began hiding a secret that not even my family realized was going on at first.  I became an alcoholic.  A drinking problem is easy to hide at first.  I was one of the last people someone would suspect.  I volunteered, I was a hands-on stay at home mother of four and both my husband and our older one were proudly serving in the military.

Then our older of the four boys was hurt in Afghanistan.  Months of physical therapy and dealing with VA issues took its toll.  We were so grateful our son was home.  However, when his just younger brother announced he wanted to join, I was devastated.  When the twins also announced their intentions to join after their graduation from high school in three years, I prayed every night.  How could I have four in harm’s way and not end up losing one of them? 

My husband enjoyed a simple drink once in a while in the evenings and I would sometimes have one with him.  But as time went on and my fears and worries increased, I took to having one before he came home, one that looked like a simple glass of soda and one with him.  These increased more and more as the days went by.

It wasn’t long before I began drinking shortly after the boys left for school and my husband for work.  A quick nap in the afternoon and I was ready to begin again.  I managed to not have a drink on the days my older one had to see the doctor or have P.T.  I thought I was keeping it well under wraps till my injured combat veteran son became my hero once again.

He sat me down across from his wheelchair and told me he needed me to be there for him.  He said he did not know how he could get through his VA issues and his medical procedures without me.  This young man who had fought bravely for his country was asking me to be there for him. 

He told me he realized I had been drinking quite a bit.  It had not been the secret I had thought it was.  Ashamed, I hung my head.  He took my hand and told me he needed me to be there for him and be strong and I could not do that if I was walking around in an alcoholic haze all day.  He needed me to be his battle buddy.

My son saved my life that day and turned my alcohol problem around.  That afternoon, he took me to an AA meeting and in a matter of weeks, I was able to turn around the previous year of drinking.  It was hard, but every time I yearned for a drink, I remembered my son’s words: “I need you to be my battle buddy, Mom.”

The whiskey disappeared from our home.  My husband no longer desired a drink in the evenings.  Turns out, I had not kept it from any of my family.  It’s been five years and thankfully, my three younger sons opted for college.  My older one just started school himself on the GI Bill and is dating a lovely young woman he met at the hospital, one of the physical therapists.  They just announced their engagement.  Thanks to my son being my own battle buddy after his combat tour, I will be here to celebrate the wedding, and sober enough to have a wonderful, memorable day.