Drug Addiction Stories

When I see girlfriends huddled together in the mall, I think of Judy. When I see grown women having dinner together in a restaurant, I think of Judy. We had been friends for seventeen years. She had a way about her, beautiful and bright, slender and carrying herself well. When I thought of a best friend, I thought of Judy.

One night she called me and asked if she could come stay with me. She lived 400 miles away and had decided to leave her husband. She moved in and that is when another side of her that I had never seen emerged. Somehow, somewhere, Judy got hooked on prescription drugs. She had no ailments that I knew of so I did not understand all the pain medications I saw on her dresser in the guest room. I asked her about it and she said doctors give them out left and right to her. She even told me I should give them a try as they made her feel good. I was shocked. I tried to talk to her about getting rehab but she informed me she was not an addict and could quit anytime she wanted.

Still, for the most part, she seemed okay. I helped her get a job and we went out one night to celebrate. Beautiful Judy usually had no trouble getting guys and that night was no exception. She caught the eye of several guys. A man I had recently begun dating showed up at the club after work and we danced and played pool while Judy flirted with her admirers.

I went to the restroom and when I came back, the man I was seeing (Paul) was visibly upset. He told me he thought he should go and looking at the time, I felt the same way. I asked Judy if she was ready and she said yes. I said goodnight to Paul and Judy and I left for home. On the way she told me Paul had made a pass at her. I was speechless. Still, she was pretty so I was not surprised.

The next day when Paul called and asked me out for the following evening I said no. I told him I did not want to see him and told him what Judy had said. He told me she had actually come on to him after he caught her attempting to put something in my drink!

I confronted Judy and she shrugged and said “Yeah, so what? I just wanted you to loosen up some.” That conversation ended seventeen years of friendship. I found out through a mutual friend that her marriage ended because her husband could not handle her addiction to the pain relievers.

I miss the Judy I used to know. I heard she lost her job and took off back to our hometown where she got busted a couple of times for drugs before going into court ordered rehab. Sometimes, when I see two friends sharing a moment together in the mall or a restaurant, I think of her. I miss my friend, Judy.  I wonder if she ever thinks of me?

I remember that day.  I was in eighth grade, school had just started, and I was in line in the cafeteria for lunch.  I felt like I was being talked about and sure enough, I turned around and Bobby Jones, the rich kid down the street was pointing at me and whispering.  He finally spoke out loud where I could hear him, asking me where I had gotten my falsies.  He accused me of wearing a padded bra.

I cringed.  I had hit a growth spurt over that summer and to my disappointment I was the only girl in our small class that apparently had done so.  Unfortunately, the boys had noticed and they had definitely NOT had a growth spurt in common sense or maturity.

I was teased for several days about my fake top.  Finally, one day at recess, I lifted my shirt and screamed “what do you think these are?”  Everyone was speechless.  The rumors about fake breasts and padded bras stopped, but after I shut the door in Bobby’s face later that afternoon when he stopped by my house, a new one started.  I hated feeling like an outcast at school and began running around with some kids I met at the skating rink.  One night they talked me into trying some pot and soon we were into alcohol and by eleventh grade, cocaine.  I barely graduated, not even walking across the stage.  My diploma was mailed to me and I was just fine with that, never wanting to lay eyes on some of those kids again.

My parents figured it out and got me into a treatment program.  I cleaned up, got into college and then went into counseling, hoping to help someone else the way I was helped.  I wanted young people to understand that words can hurt and some choices can literally destroy a person’s life.  I lost a couple of friends to cocaine overdoses.  I wanted these kids to understand that some rumor does not need to have the power to change a life.

I did not go to the tenth anniversary of my high school reunion, but when the invitation for the fifteenth anniversary came, I decided to go.  I thought maybe it would help me to put closure on the past and in its own way, maybe even help some of the kids I cared about that crossed my path in a drug treatment rehab as a counselor.  As I filled out the RSVP card, I briefly wondered if Bobby Jones would be there.

Once again I have no job, no family, and I can’t seem to get off this shit.  If I had known this stuff was going to consume me like this, I would have never touched it.  It’s a continuous chase, my mind is always telling me to get more.  I have to stay focused though, I have a job interview at another bar/restaurant, I need this job, or otherwise I am out on the street.   The interview was at a sports bar, and for another bartending job.  I managed to stay clean that day; I did not want to take any chances.  The interview was on a Monday and it was pretty informal, we sat at a table in the restaurant before it opened.  Because of my past experience working at the nightclub, he hired me; I was surprised though, he never asked if I was a drug user, normally people in his position might throw a question like that in general conversation to try and get a reaction, it never happened.  I was scheduled to start on the weekend shift all day and into most of the night.  I did not have a problem with this, as I didn’t sleep much of the time anyway.

A lonely drug addict.

I managed to arrive at work a little early, but I was coming off of a three-day bender, I got some sleep, but still had to pop some speed to get that little extra.  I looked presentable, got my uniform, basically just a shirt with the places name on it.  The restaurant got more of a family crowd during the day, and then it got more into the adult crowd later that evening, especially when there were different sports events playing.  There were some perks to the job, the waitresses were gorgeous, and I got part of their tips at the end of the night.  There was one waitress in particular, her name was Annikka, she was originally from Montreal, and had been living here in Vancouver for a couple of years.  I think there was an immediate attraction, but not for the reason I initially thought.  When you are addicted to drugs, you have a keen sense that picks up on who other drug users are.  That is why, no matter what city I lived in, I could always score what I needed, and meet other users.  This immediate attraction only became an attraction of convenience, she was a user and I was user.  It is pretty sad when you think about it, but that is the way it works.  Anything else that builds on that normally is a lie, or just fake feelings you create to hide your intentions.  I knew what my intention was with this chick, she would use me, and I would use her, and that is how it went.

Annikka was not using the same drugs I was using, she was addicted to opiates, and had been for quite a while.  She was my age, 26, and still looked great, even with all of her drug use.  It was weird though, all of this time I was spending with her, I had completely forgot about that crazy intervention, and wasn’t even thinking about my family.  As mean as that sounds, it was the truth, I became so consumed with her and our drug use, there was nothing else. It was not until I met her, when I started using needles.  She had experimented with injecting oxy’s, but I had never used them outside of needing them as a pain medication.  The high I got was quite different; it seemed I had found something that could get me off the crack for the time being.  Sooner did I know, I now became a different form of junkie.

The problem I had with these damn pills was the fact my body went through hell when I stopped taking them, by the time I was 27, I was on a daily dose of this stuff, just to be able to get through the day.  Annikka was taking much more than I was, and in fact had already lost her job.  It was almost like the minute we got together we fuelled each other’s addiction.  She was becoming distant and more consumed with the drugs.  She was using all kinds of different painkillers, and even speed-balling, mixing the OxyContin with cocaine and injecting it.  I came back from work one evening and noticed all of her belongings were gone from the apartment.  I never really found out what happened to her, but from my understanding she found a way to get back to Montreal.  When I look back at the different people I had met throughout my life, it seemed that there was always one person that I met who introduced me to a new high.  I did not want to think what would be next, nor even imagine the outcome of it.  So here I was, 27 years old and now addicted to pain meds, I would use crack when I was coming off the meds, or when I couldn’t score any.  I was just going from one drug to another; nothing made sense for me anymore.  I was still managing to hold my job down, but I was straightforward with my boss and told him I had to take a leave of absence.  I was somewhat honest with him, I told him I had to get off of these pain medications.  Fortunately, he had people that worked for him before who were hooked on heroin, and when he had found out he referred them to a detox center, or some type of help other then firing them. He did same with me. he referred me to a detox center.  If my parents could see me, I wonder what they would say, here I am getting some type of help, but I am sure it is not the help they expected.

The detox was seven days and was not the most pleasant experience.  They give you a room and all day you have nothing to do.  The nurses come by only to give you your meds.  Doctors give you psychological exams, and keep assessing you over and over again.  When they discharge you, they leave you with a couple of numbers for rehab centers and recommend that you check into one.  Whatever, I took it as it was, I was off the oxy’s and now had a good shot to stay off the other shit.

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