Drug Addiction Stories

I sat watching him as the monitors kept tabs on his vitals and his breathing. I had not seen him in four years when my mother got the call two nights earlier and I heard her cry out “Oh no!” My father was in the hospital, in ICU, and he was not expected to live. I was 17 and had not seen him since the week after my 13^th birthday.

My father was deeply enmeshed in cocaine, marijuana, heroin, whatever he could get when he could get it. My mother admitted that both of them had been on drugs in high school and during the early years of their marriage, but a wake up call when Child Protective Services took me and my older brother away from them did just that. It woke her up, she got clean and has been the greatest mom ever since.

My father couldn’t let go and my mom finally told him that he had to choose. Unfortunately, his choice was not us. Still, before he disappeared out of our lives, he did one thing right that my mother made sure me and my brother knew about.

My father was an only child and his parents’ home was left to him. He signed it over to my brother and me in trust so that we would always have a home.

Now, I sat there with tears running down my face. Before me, two parents who had each made opposite decisions. My mother chose me and my brother. My father chose a life of drugs even though he did do a wonderful thing for us by leaving us the family home. Still, there were times when I would have gladly lived in an apartment if I could only have my dad.

My mother has always been honest with me and my brother. She tells us that being addicted to drugs is hard to get over. Even now, she occasionally has to go to a Narcotics Anonymous meeting when life gets stressful. I knew she would be going over the next few weeks for sure. My brother and I also went from time to time to the support group for family members of those addicted to drugs or alcohol.

The doctor came in and told us that there really wasn’t any hope. Everything had shut down and my father was breathing only with the help of life support. The three of us had discussed this and agreed to let my father go in peace. We all hugged and kissed him one last time.

I have learned that drugs affect everyone, not just the person doing them. As I hug my own four year old daughter, I have wished many times that my father could see her and my niece and nephew. I have learned from both of my parents and, while we learned that kids can often follow in their parents’ path, my brother and I made a pact with others in our support group to not fall into that pattern.

In the end, my father gave me two lessons, one in love and one in life. He gave us a home but he took himself away.

Thank you for sharing the story about Moms going to war. I would like to share what happened last summer in my family if I may.   I cried that evening as I stood there with my friends circling me. I was praying and my church family was praying with me. After being in denial for so long, my son had finally agreed to get help. Marijuana and alcohol were vices my son had turned to when he returned from Iraq. I noticed the changes immediately, a once charismatic young man now withdrawn from family and friends, nightmares that brought cries in the night, and headaches and irritability that would not stop.

He turned to marijuana and alcohol in hopes that he could forget, that he could just mellow out until he passed out. Still, there were times when his new companion (PTSD-Post Traumatic Stress Disorder) kept him up.

I was terrified he would do something to hurt himself. He talked of suicidal thoughts and how he did not deserve to live when others had died. The headaches got worse and I turned to many organizations to try to get him help from the V.A. to the media. Eventually, he agreed to see someone and we found out he had a closed head injury. That was why the headaches had started that day in Iraq when the explosion rocked his vehicle.

Once David found out he wasn’t “crazy” as he kept thinking, that there was a physical reason for his headaches and mood swings (although the PTSD alone was self-explanatory in a combat veteran who went to a war zone as a teenager), then he began to see that he needed help to get off the marijuana and alcohol.

That was last summer. Now he is taking life one day at a time. He is in therapy and slowly regaining his confidence in himself and trust in other people. He is dealing with survivors’ guilt and knows that it is a common trait among war veterans who have lost friends in battle.

The post on here about moms going to war is accurate. Many times I wanted to go after the people in Iraq who were hurting the children and other innocent civilians and who hurt my son and killed his friend. I am grateful he made it home and I do not take my days with him for granted.  Even now, as I worry about his bad days that he still gets sometimes it is uplifting to read a story such as the one shared here.   It is reassuring to know that I am not alone in having felt like that.

We moved to Arizona when I was thirteen.  I hated leaving my old school but my dad was in the military and when he gets orders, we move.  I did not know anyone but eventually became friends with a guy down the street.  We began hanging out at the basketball court and the base pool over that summer and eventually I started looking forward to school in the fall.

One night he told me he knew where we could get something.  I asked what and he said, “You’re kidding, right?”  Not wanting to seem like a baby, I said “Yeah, dude, just messing with you.”   We went over to a friend of his who’s mom was out partying that night and I got high for the first time.  My anxiety about a new school and making new friends disappeared.

Over the next couple of years, my grades were acceptable but not at the point they had been.  My dad kept telling me I could do better.  My mom offered to get me a tutor.  I just wanted to get high.

Then one night as we were riding around, my buddy having just got his license, we got stopped by the local cops.  They could sense something funny about my friend and searched the car, finding the pot we had just bought.  They arrested us and called our parents.

That was three years ago.  My parents were really disappointed in me but they stood by me.  They insisted I take responsibility and they got me into a drug treatment program.  My dad ended up retiring this year and we have settled into the community.

I just started my freshman year of college and I also help at the drug rehab center my parents took me to three years ago.  I am interested in becoming a counselor and helping other kids who find themselves where I was as a teenager.  The counselors there seemed to understand and did not put me down while at the same time not letting me use excuses.  When we get into drugs, we need to take responsibility.

I heard horror stories of kids who’s parents turned their backs on them or were into drugs themselves.  I was thankful even more that my parents were there for me, and it made me want to help those who did not have a strong family unit like I did.   My parents are both supporting me in my career of choice and my mom thinks I am going to make a great counselor.