Drug Addiction Stories & Info

I remember being a little girl and my mom coming by and spending an hour with me at my grandpa’s house in Tennessee. She promised she would come get me some day but she never did. She was always out getting high and when she did come by, there was always someone new with her. When my grandpa passed away I thought she would come get me then but instead I went to live with my uncle and his wife in Kentucky. My mom did not even make it to the funeral. I remember I cried as much over that as over my grandpa.

I remember being a teenager and hanging out with my friends after the game. I boy I liked asked if I wanted to walk down by the lake with him. I said yes. We walked down there and he offered me a beer. Then he asked me if I wanted to get high. I said no. I remember my crush on him went away after that.

I remember high school graduation. My uncle and my aunt were there. Even though I had not heard from her in years, I looked out over the audience to see if my mom was there. I remember being upset that she did not care.

I remember college and my first job over the summer as an intern. I told my uncle I wanted to hire a private investigator to look for my mom. My uncle said he would take care of it. She was his little sister and he was worried, too. I remember telling him I loved him and was glad he was my uncle.

I remember when the report came in. My mother’s picture matched an old Jane Doe file out in California. They requested DNA from my uncle and myself and it was a match. My mom had been dead of an overdose since about a week before my grandpa’s service. I remember my uncle holding me.

I remember feeling I now had closure because I know what happened to my mom. I also remember the years I felt abandoned. My uncle set me up with counseling and I am doing better but I do not know if I ever want to have kids. I do not like being around anyone who gets high and yet I know some of them are absolutely wonderful people who just stumbled a bit. To this day, if someone asks me if I want to smoke a joint or “party”, I remember my mom and I say no.

My mom was always proud when people told her how lucky she was to have the perfect son.  I wasn’t perfect but she was a single mom and she needed a lot of help. I was the oldest of three and she worked two jobs so I had to take care of my younger brother and sister a lot.

The neighborhood we moved to following my parents’ divorce wasn’t the greatest but it was what she could afford.  I quickly became friends with some guys who introduced me one night to cocaine.  Before too long, I was sneaking out my bedroom window and barely making it back in before sunrise.  My mom never had a clue.

Or so I thought.

One night I climbed through the window just as my bedroom light came on.  My mom  was sitting on my bed.  “David, you want to tell me what is going on?” she asked.  I started to make excuses but my mom and I had always been pretty close.  I hung my head in shame and finally confessed.  She told me she had already suspected.  She hugged me and told me we would get through it together.

The next morning my mom talked to me and my brother and sister.  She told us we were a family and when one of us needed help we were a team.  She said I had helped her a lot and now it was her turn, their turn, to help me.  Then she went to answer the door.  It was a man from a nearby drug rehab center.  He came in and talked to my family and told me that I was only sixteen and needed to get help before it was too late.

I was in the program for three months.  My family also sought help to better understand what I and they as my family, were all going through.  That was two years ago.  To this day I have been clean.  The other day I changed a lady’s tire for her while at the grocery store with my mom.  The lady looked at my mom and told her how lucky she was to have the perfect son.  My mind went immediately to my time on cocaine but my mom hugged me and said to the lady “You’re right.  He is the perfect son because he is perfect for me.”  You know what?  I have the perfect mom.