Drug Addiction Stories

I had been divorced about eight years when Sally came along.  She was beautiful.  I was feeling my age and trying to date younger women, when came this woman, closer to my own age who could outdo any of the younger ones, in just about anything.

I could not believe this woman cared about me.  We would hang out with friends and she would be the life of the party.  She had more energy than girls half her age.  You would never have known that Sally had a stroke three years earlier.  Still, I had to open my mouth one night when I was drinking and ask her if she monitored her blood pressure.  “Why?” she asked.  “I’m healthy.”  I told her I did not want to hook up with someone, fall in love and lose her.  Sally looked at me and told me that was a little mean and slightly took on the pot calling the kettle black.

I was an alcoholic and I also took pain relievers because of a back problem. Sally hated that I did that.  She tried to help me.  She took me places when my back bothered me; she drove us to my house and stayed over when I partied too much and she tried to tell me she would not disappear, that she really intended to help me.  Instead of seeing her for who she was, though, I acted like she was responsible for me.

I yelled at her one night, that I wanted some more alcohol but she hid the keys and told me she was not going after it and neither was I because she knew I was also taking pills for my back.  Then I took a sedative so I could sleep which really ticked her off because I was still drunk from the alcohol I had finished off.

I stumbled and fell and it hurt.  I told her if I died it was on her.  The next morning she took me to the clinic and the doctor got on to me.  Then she took me home, fixed me lunch, and helped me into bed before leaving the room.  I hollered for her to get her butt in there and rub my shoulders.  She quietly did so.  Sally stayed with me for those four days while I got over the bruising from where I had fallen.  The day I finally was able to go back to work, Sally sweetly kissed me and told me to have a good day.  When I came home, she and her things were gone.

Having had 3 older children, I knew how rough the teen years could be. My youngest son actually started out in adolescence on a pretty good note. I began to think he wouldn’t give me the trouble my others did. I couldn’t have been more wrong.

He started to get more and more irritable but he also started acting more bizarre. At one point, when he was 15, he asked me to buy him alcohol. “No, I won’t buy you alcohol! What is wrong with you? You’re not even old enough to drink!” He told me “never mind, it’s no big deal anyway”. If nothing else, that gave me the heads-up that he was drinking, or at least thinking of drinking.

Sure enough, that weekend he came home drunk. He hadn’t expected me to be up waiting for him, but I was. I knew better than to try to argue with someone who was drunk but the next day, I confronted him. I told him I would not have drinking OR drunks in my home and that if he couldn’t quit on his own, we’d get him help. He started ranting and raving about how I was making a big deal out of nothing and he didn’t have any problem. Then he left the house.

I went down to his room and what do I find? A bottle of Vodka under his bed. I didn’t know if I should cry or scream. My little boy was obviously an alcoholic. Not knowing where to turn, I called our family doctor. My son was still a minor, after all, and I could have him admitted to the hospital. The doctor suggested that a holistic rehab may be a better idea but to make sure my son knew that it was that, or the hospital.

I found a good rehab that didn’t use drugs and it was an inpatient center. I had my brother come over for the big confrontation with my son. “Son, you may not believe it right now, but I love you and I want what is best for you”. I had his attention. I had his very suspicious attention. I told him I knew about his stash and that he was an alcoholic. I didn’t let him interrupt. “You can go to the hospital and be strapped to a bed or you can go to rehab and get all of the help you need”. He got up to leave and my brother stopped him. “She’s not playing, sport”, he said. “Make your choice”. After about an hour of ranting, raving and trying to leave, he chose rehab. We had him there in 30 minutes. I honestly believe that had I not taken the steps I did, my son may not be here today.

He called me that day and said he needed to talk to me.  It was important.  We had been friends for twenty years, ever since high school.  We ran around in the same circle and although we never dated, we were best friends.  The woman he met six years ago and married is also now one of my best friends.

He told me he thought he had a problem with alcohol.  This was no secret to those of us who know and love him.  He has been an alcoholic for years.  Somehow, he was finally able to face it because he had been quite mean and belligerent to his family, his friends and his wife all weekend.  No one was talking to him so he called me, the person who would always tell him the truth even if it wasn’t kind, just as he would me.

I went over and talked to him and his wife for awhile.  Then we called a drug rehab program we had heard about. The counselor listened to me as I gave my friend’s history, then I passed him the phone so they could discuss the rest of it.

My friend had been a four day a week worker for awhile, always calling in on Mondays because of his weekend drinking binges.  Now he was willing to take responsibility because he was afraid to lose his family and he knew somehow he had crossed the line since his wife was concerned to the point where she was threatening to leave him.

It has been just over a year since my friend called me that day.  He checked into a residential program and afterward has consistently attended outpatient sessions and his support group.  His marriage is stronger and he is thriving once again at work.

I have loved my friend for over twenty years.  He is like a brother or cousin to me. I stood up with them at their wedding and we joke about how if they ever split up they get joint custody of me.  However, I see the changes in my friend thanks to his successful treatment program and I really see that his alcohol problem has been resolved.  I am just thankful every day that my friend finally woke up to what he would lose and his life and ours is richer for the choice he made that day to get help.  They are not often told this, but I think drug and alcohol counselors are heroes, too.