Drug Addiction Stories

I sat there with the other inmates and watched her walk out the door. People come and go when you are in the tank. I had been here myself this time about seven or eight weeks. I had heard all of the stories, nothing was ever anyone’s fault. I certainly played the blame game myself, having been an LVN and losing my license and control of my life to my addiction to heroin. 

She was different, though. She was actually a few years older than me. She did not blame society, other people or anyone but herself for what she had done. Her name was Nora and she also held her head high, saying she would do the same thing again. When her story got out around the tank, some people scoffed. Most of us who had been in repeatedly knew the score. She was definitely a different breed.

I stole drugs from the clinic where I worked. She wrote several hot checks. I stole prescription sheets from the doctor I worked for and wrote bogus ’scripts for non-existent patients, then traded them off for heroin. She fed her kids with the checks she wrote at grocery stores. She said it was wrong, but when you have a sick kid, you can not work because of his medical care schedule and no one is around to help, you do what you have to when it comes to your kids.  It was her choice.  She made no excuses. 

I stole to feed my addiction. She stole to feed her kids. I blamed everything else. She blamed herself. I looked around at those of us in the tank who had blamed exes, parents, friends, bosses. She quietly went about her business the few days she was there reading. One of the long term women began picking on her. She ignored it. When a young girl came in terrified and was picked on, however, the mama bear in her came out and she stood up to the cell block bully bitch and would not back down. The bully went to the guard to complain and was shocked when the rest of the women stood up for Nora. They were sick of the bully behavior themselves.

When Nora left, those of us left behind had the usual feelings of jealousy, wishful thinking and resentment mixed with being happy for her. I watched her leave, took a breath and went over to the phone and called my own mother collect. “Mom, it’s me. When I get out next week, will you drive me over to the rehab center? It is my fault I am in here and on drugs. I want to get cleaned up for good this time.”

Sometimes people on drugs feel like they are all alone. Sometimes it is paranoia. Sometimes it is the truth, whether the drugs did it or the loneliness led to the drugs or whatever. I know because I am one of those people. No family, no close friends. I got deeper and deeper into my heroin and alcohol and could have easily ended up dead if it had not been for someone who totally depended on me. The truth is, I think he saved my life just as much as I saved his. 

Do you change the channel during commercials? I do, too, most of the time. One night, however, the remote control was just out of reach and I was too into my high to reach it. A commercial came on about abandoned animals. I looked into their eyes and saw my own feelings there. Weird, I know, but I could see their pain and feel it. Someone else could see it, too, and snuggled more into me. My dog, Henry.

I looked at him and saw the same look I was seeing in the animals on television. It was like he was saying, “Yeah, that’s me when you off yourself by overdose some day. How can you be sympathetic to their plight when you are doing the same thing to me by slowly killing yourself?”

I know some of you might be reading this and if you have never done drugs you are thinking that’s the paranoia coming out. Some of you may not like animals and will not understand the connection. But I bet there are still others out there who do know, who do get what I am trying to say.

That night, the commercial kept coming back and haunting me. I kept glancing at Henry asleep on his side of the double bed. Maybe I did not have a family, my parents dying just after my 19^th birthday in a car accident and no siblings, aunts or cousins to speak of. Maybe I had never married since turning to heroin and alcohol shortly afterwards. But I was 23 and I did have someone depending on me who showed me every day that he loved me, my dog, Henry.

I made arrangements the next day to get clean. I got Henry situated with a neighbor I trusted who was delighted I was getting help. She had sort of adopted me and took care of my parents’ home and Henry while I was in rehab. Today, I am working, involved with a couple of community projects, pursuing my interest in art, dating a little and every day, I come home to someone very important: Henry.

Stress used to be my excuse for everything.  I had a wife, a family, a job, a house payment, bills, the stress just kept adding up.  I seldom had time for myself, everyone wanted a piece of me.  When a friend slipped me some cocaine one night and told me it would help me relax, I thought “why not?”  We were on a business trip, it did not seem to have hurt him any so again, why not?

I did not realize that I was saying yes that night to just one more demand on my time.  At first, I thought it was just letting me know that I needed a break from all the stress and responsibility.  It took quite a while before I realized that it was actually the opposite, the cocaine was demanding more and more of my time, my mind, my body and my money.

My wife knew something was up but even in her wildest dreams she never suspected cocaine until the day she cleaned out my blazer pocket to get it ready for the dry cleaners.  When she pulled out the white powder, she was honestly shocked.  She came in to the bedroom where I was still sleeping that Saturday morning and admitted that she thought I was having an affair, but she was stunned to find out about the cocaine use.  She told me she would help me with anything and she would accept anything: an illness, me losing my job and working for minimum wage, but she would not tolerate drugs because of our children.

She gave me an ultimatum that Saturday.  On Monday she moved out.  Within a week, my friend who had gotten me started on cocaine had lost his job.  That was an eye opener for me.  I called my wife who was staying at her sister’s house and told her what had happened.  I told her I realized I needed help or I would be next.  My employer was a reputable Fortune 500 company but if I did not get help on my own, they might show me the door as well.

That was four years ago.  When I went into rehab, my wife came home.  We underwent marriage and family counseling as well as sessions to deal with my cocaine addiction.  Those marriage counseling sessions opened up our lines to communication in ways we had never experienced.

Turning to cocaine was wrong.  I do believe my marriage is stronger now, but it would have been nice to have just gone the marriage counseling route and sidestep the cocaine addiction altogether.  Still, I am just grateful we got a second chance at all.