Drug Addiction Stories

I remember the day I found it. I was driving across the country, making a fresh start. Breaking up with the man I was suppose to marry in just a week wasn’t the reason for my move. I could have handled living in the same town. The fact that his new girlfriend was my cousin? That hurt. After driving for hours, I checked in to a cheap motel to get some sleep. I was planning to move to Florida. My best friend lived there. She was married to a military guy and he was set to go on temporary duty for three months. She said I could stay with her while looking for a job and an apartment.

I recognized the white powder for what it was: cocaine. I knew because that was what my cousin’s brother had died from, a cocaine overdose. Did that give her an excuse every time she went after something she wanted? I didn’t think so. She used it, though, even telling me I could find someone else because Mark understood her and everything she had been through.

What to do, though, about the powder I found. Do I turn it in at the front desk? Do I call the police? Do I get involved? I had slept for a few hours but arguing in the room next to mine woke me up about 4 in the morning. Thirsty, I had grabbed one of the plastic cups, accidentally knocking the small ice bucket off the counter. The powder was underneath it.

My cousin was a few years older than me. He had never really been into drugs. He was a great kid. But one night he partied with some friends after his team won the regional championship and he gave in to peer pressure. He drank some beer and when the cocaine was introduced to the party and passed around, he went for it. He died before morning from an accidental overdose.

 Yes, my cousin had been through a lot. She lost her beloved brother. She saw her parents divorce and her mother slip into a depression. I looked at that white powder and quickly made the decision to flush it down the toilet. I know kids die every day from drugs. No one was going to die because of the powder I held in my hands.

I grabbed my things and checked out immediately. That afternoon, I arrived at my best friend’s house. My new life was just beginning.

This winter has been the craziest one snow wise that I can remember in 30 years. Still, it takes me back to being fifteen and stuck in a blizzard in Wyoming. Being from Texas, I was not used to such weather, our biggest weather enemy was a tornado, my county just weeks away from having the worst one in its history. Still, I remember that blizzard and being stranded in a hotel with my mom, aunt and younger brother. I remember the waitress at the restaurant in the hotel being so nice, not realizing back then that she must have been working for hours past her shift with the onset of a blizzard that allowed for no movable traffic.

I also remember the man that was going through asking people for money. The hotel was nice, not charging people for rooms that weren’t available and allowing everyone to have a dry, safe place to sleep even if it meant the lobbies were overflowing. Something about the young man had my mom and aunt being protective. When the young man asked me if I knew where to get some coke and I pointed to the vending machine, he got mad and called me retarded. My mama stepped in between us while my aunt went to the desk to ask for help.

Today, I know what he meant. He meant cocaine, something that was gaining in popularity at that time. Still, a country girl from Texas had not heard of it at that time. It was March, 1979, and what stands out most to this day now that I am a parent is that my mom and aunt were protective of me against a stranger.

Sometimes I wonder about that young man, like when I hear a story on the news or when I see my own children dealing with social issues with peers and every day life. I wonder if he had a mother as protective as mine was but somehow got hooked on cocaine anyway. I wonder if he had a rough childhood. I wonder if he is clean now, sometimes even if he is still alive.

I don’t know why that one short conversation stayed with me all these years. I only know that before that day I had no idea that coke was something other than a soft drink. I mark that as a moment in time where I lost a touch of innocence. To me, that was the day . It may not seem like a big deal to most people but I realize something. If that one question 30 years ago can stay with me, I have great empathy for someone who deals with peer pressure from close friends.

My parents like to use the excuse that I do drugs because I am a homosexual. That is not true. I have known since I was fourteen that I was “gay” when I was more attracted to boys than I was girls. I did not get into drugs until my junior year. It had nothing to do with being gay, though. Truth of the matter is, it was one of my straight friends who talked me into trying it and before I knew it, I was hooked on crack.

As my grades started falling and my parents figured out I was on something, they began to believe it had to do with me being gay. They even set up an intervention for me. The intervention did work but it also worked where they were concerned as well. I broke down and told them flat out that I was not ashamed of being gay, it was my straight friends who got me hooked on crack, and I could accept that I had a drug problem a lot easier than my parents could accept me for me.

I went into rehab and got cleaned up. I had only been on crack for about four months. I was able to get my grades up. More importantly, something wonderful happened. During my rehab, we started family counseling. My parents finally accepted me for who I really am for the first time since I came out to them. We were able to have open heart to heart discussions. My parents came to realize that being attracted to boys did not mean something was wrong with me. It simply meant that I was attracted to guys and could not help it. That was just how I was born.

The big break through came the day my dad turned to me and said, “Son, I can accept that you are homosexual. I can not accept that I could lose you any day to crack cocaine.” Then he gathered me in his arms as he, my mom and I all three cried.

That was three years ago. I am now in college and I have a boyfriend. I brought him home over the Christmas holidays. I was nervous. This was the first serious relationship I had been in and I was scared about how my parents, especially my dad, would react. When they met my boyfriend, though, my dad just looked at him and asked if he was on any drugs. He said absolutely not. My dad smiled, shook his hand, and said he was glad to meet him. We had a great visit over the holidays. My parents even say to tell him hi when they call to touch base now that I am back at school.  I love that not only do my parents accept me but these days they accept friends like me as well.