Drug Addiction Stories

I love to talk to my mama. Every day I tell her about how my day is going, my problems, my hopes, my dreams. She is right there, always listening. She does not put me down like she used to when she was hooked on drugs. She quietly listens, taking in every thing I say. I can cry, I can laugh, I can be angry and I have no fear of her hitting me or calling me names like she used to do when I was little.

My mama was not always a good parent. She partied all through school and on into her twenties. I was an unplanned pregnancy. She partied till my grandparents found out about me and they insisted on her getting treatment and round the clock supervision. I had a couple of learning disabilities as a child but by the grace of a higher power, I muddled through and did okay.

When my mama stopped taking drugs at 34, I was barely 16. I had mostly lived with my grandparents but having her off of drugs made it possible for me to visit with her every day. The day I got asked to the prom, I ran and told her. The day I picked out my prom dress, I dressed in it and showed it to her. I told her about my high school boyfriend proposing to me the night of our graduation. I shared all the details of my wedding with her and showed her pictures of our honeymoon. The day the doctor told me I was pregnant, I told my mother even before I told my husband.

I have two children now, a boy and a girl. My son is ten and my daughter is eight. My mother quietly listens as I share every important moment of their lives with her. With my family, I am busier these days and only get to visit with her every couple of weeks now on the weekend. She understands, though.

As I lay the flowers at her graveside, I tell her I love her. I tell her how much I have missed her every day since she died of an overdose at the age of 34. I pull out my children’s pictures and tell her how proud she would be of them and how proud she would be of me because I never hit them and I never drink or do drugs I thank her for giving me life and I thank her for allowing my grandparents to keep me when she could have just given me away because I have my own two children and my wonderful husband.

My mama just listens quietly. As I sit at her grave, I hear the peaceful tranquility and I know that somehow, somewhere, she sees me and is proud of me, too. We don’t talk about regrets. I know hers are monumental. I whisper “I love you, Mama” and walk out of the cemetery to hurry home to see my beloved son and daughter, the tears streaming down my face. Mama listens to me now.

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.

Robin was beautiful in high school. She wasn’t the most popular girl but she had some friends. She wasn’t into sports or ROTC. She liked to party. She drank and got high. She had a single mom who partied all the time and we had it made because her house was known as Party Central.

I would drink now and then with Robin but for some reason, I never got into trying the drugs. Maybe it was because when I saw her doing them, something bad always happened. She would fight with her boyfriend, fight with her mom, get in trouble at school for not turning an assignment in. With Robin, life was never dull but it wasn’t always fun, either.

The summer between our junior and senior years, I went to stay with relatives. I loved being with my cousins and thought it was cool that my mom let me. She had an ulterior motive, though, one filled with love. She didn’t want me hanging out with Robin all summer.

When senior year started, Robin wasn’t there. She dropped out. She was pregnant. The baby was born with birth defects because of Robin’s history of drug and alcohol use. I went to see her and the baby in the hospital. My heart broke as Robin said she couldn’t wait to leave (the baby would have to stay a bit longer than her) because she was “dying for a joint”.

I stopped being around Robin altogether after that. Sure, we would run into each other from time to time. We each ended up having three children. Two of hers had medical or mental problems related to Robin’s drug use.

A few weeks ago I ran into Robin at the convenience store. I was literally shocked. She is actually a few months younger than me but she looked older than my own mother does. My fiance was shocked when I introduced the two of them. As we got back into his car, he said “That’s the friend from high school you thought was so pretty?” I said yes, she had truly been beautiful.

Even now, at 40, I am learning lessons from high school. My fiance had taken a picture of us standing together with his camera phone. We showed it to my daughter and her friends. He told them “If I had met your mom and this lady the same night, it would have been no contest. Your mom is beautiful.” The girls saw what drinking and drugs can do to age a beautiful young girl so that 40 looks so much older. While I felt somewhat sad about what had happened to Robin, I was grateful that my daughter and her friends could learn from it without doing so the hard way.