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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The Drugs Made me Feel Normal

It happened so fast; all I can remember are a couple cops picking me up downtown, and throwing me into the squad car. I was fighting and screaming like a complete animal. The police had to put handcuffs on me, and actually dropped me with their stun guns. That was the most excruciating pain I had ever felt, but it took me down. It was probably a good thing they did pick me up. The police ended up taking me to the hospital, because apparently I was trying to kill myself. When I awoke, I did notice my arms were bandaged, and I had bruises around my neck. Not to mention the throbbing pain through every inch of my body.

My drug history is like any other. I was picked on in school to the point that when I was 12 years old, I started using the Ritalin some of the other kids had. These were the kids whose parents were convinced by the teachers they had attention problems. Fortunately, some of the kids never took the medication, and either sold it, or gave it away. If you didn’t know, Ritalin is like kiddie cocaine. You can get close to the same affect as cocaine if you crush it up and snort it. The Ritalin gave me the ability to stand up to the kids picking on me; however, I was still a pretty small kid, and when I tried to fight back, the beating I took was even worse. I was beat so badly by one kid, I missed school for a week. After that incident, my parents decided to move to a different city and they started me in a different school. The whole cycle started all over again. It was almost like I attracted the worst people, and these people felt the need to take their aggression out on me.

By the time I was a teenager I had discovered the “wonderful” effects of alcohol. I was in another new school at this time. The reason for the change again was my parents both had jobs, which required them to move quite a bit. I don’t think they realized how difficult it was for me to make friends. I was still a pretty small kid in high school; yet, I seemed to shoot my mouth off to the wrong people at the wrong times. At this point, I didn’t care anymore what happened to me. I knew no matter what school I went to, I was going to get picked on. I managed to have a small group of friends I did associate with. Unfortunately, these friends drank just as much as I did. The major down fall in my life occurred at around this point. I was attending a house party with my friends; we were all drinking and doing our own thing. I remember one of my friends pulling me into another room with two other people. This was the moment I was introduced to cocaine. I didn’t need any explanation of what it was, the minute it came to me I just did it. The high I got was like nothing else. Sure the Ritalin gave me a buzz, but the cocaine combined with the alcohol was the exact rush I needed. At that point I felt stronger than I had ever felt. I felt so confident in myself; I had to prove it that night.

I walked out of the room, and ironically enough; I saw the one guy who had given me my last beating. Without a second thought, I picked up a cordless phone as I walked up behind him. With the phone in my hand and his head in clear site, I gave him one clean hit on the back of the head. It was so hard, the phone shattered in my hand. He fell to the ground immediately, and with my newfound confidence – which later would be stupidity – I took everything I had and started raining fists into his face. No one there pulled me off of him right away, it was a feeling as if no one was around me, and no one would make me stop. All my rage, frustration, and anger went into this guys face. I stood up, and he laid unconscious in a bloody mess. By that time his friends had jumped me, and then my friends jumped in. Next thing we knew fights were braking out all over the house. The cops eventually showed up, and I was arrested for the first time. I spent two hours in holding before my parents picked me up at the police station. When I got home, I had lost most of the high, and felt helpless again. I remember not being able to sleep that night. I felt very anxious and nervous for a short period, yet these feelings soon went away. All I could think of was getting that original feeling back from the night before. I wanted to feel normal, and what I had felt that night was the most normal I had felt in many years.

Parents could look at this situation, and could possibly think of something similar, which might have occurred with their son or daughter. Others could look at this situation, and could think of something similar they heard about, or knew of happening to someone they know. This is the point in someone’s life where an addiction is taking hold. The decisions the young man made in this story will now have changed his life for the worse. The person depicted here may seem to have found the solution to all of his problems. Yet, the lifestyle that this individual has now entered is going to take everything away from him. This is the exact point where something can be done to stop an addiction from ever occurring. This is where something can be done to prevent an individual from eventually destroying their life. If it has gone beyond this point, there is still hope to bring them back. A person addicted to drugs or alcohol is not lost forever, and they can regain control of their life.

For more information about how to save someone from drug or alcohol addiction, contact Narconon right away. If you have questions about the warning signs, and how to prevent them, contact us, we can help.

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