Drug Addiction Stories

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.

Camping trips are mostly remembered for being fun.  Yes, my parent’s drank, but we were camping, there was no driving involved.  Most of the trips were very enjoyable although they do come along with the memory of my mother and father getting drunk.  The worse times were when they were both drunk and they argued.  Oh, we hated that.

They were really cruel to each other when they argued.

They were really cruel to each other when they argued.  Of course, they had sharp tongues anyway, but for two people who were supposed to love each other, they were cruel.  My sisters and I hated it when they argued.  For small children, their parents are their foundation.  When they fight, the foundation cracks just a little.  I can remember many times getting tense just sensing they were going to argue.

Camping trips were always with a bunch of other people.  All of who drank.  We would go to lakes and familiar camping grounds quite often in the warmer weather.  The kids played, the women gossiped, and the men played cards and drank in the camper or bus – we had an old bus converted into a camper.  Although there were many good times, I still remember being anxious when my mother or father said something with a tone.  I didn’t want them to argue, and even then I tried to be the peacemaker.  I tried to smooth things over before it escalated into an argument.  So, intertwined with the wonderful and happy memories of camping is the memory of feeling responsible to keep my folks from arguing.  That’s a big responsibility for a small child.  That is what all alcoholics do to their children; however, they just may not realize it.

Adults who drink and get drunk in the presence of their children are speaking volumes without ever saying a word.  They are putting their children into the role of being an adult because the adult is incapacitated.  They are making their children referees because alcoholism spurs anger.  Alcoholics are forcing their children to grow up way before they are ready.  They don’t mean to, I know my parent’s didn’t intend for that to happen, but it did.  My sisters and I were scared a lot.  Scared they would argue or fight, scared Dad would drive when he’d been drinking – generally scared.  Alcoholics taint the memories for their children.  Otherwise happy memories become happy memories tainted with anxiety.  Children shouldn’t have to live like that.

Read the first part: Daddy, I’m scared – Part 1

My Mother and Father would get into horrendous arguments and we were just little girls.

I don’t like people to judge my parents simply by the fact that they were alcoholics because for the most part, they were great people.  I really didn’t realize my childhood was any different than anyone else’s until I got older.  My parents both worked, and worked hard.  They very rarely missed a day of work.  I can probably count on one hand the number of times they missed work.  On work days, the drinking started right after work.  On non-work days, the drinking started somewhere between 11AM and 2PM.  They had a lot of parties and people were over a lot.  We also went camping often and the beer and booze came right along with us.  There actually were some funny stories that came from the events that happened, but the good stories don’t outweigh the bad.

I can remember the most vivid memory I have is of hiding behind the bed or in the closet.  My Mother and Father would get into horrendous arguments and we were just little girls.  My sister and I would hide behind the bed or in the closet.  We weren’t really afraid that they would hurt us, but the whole ordeal was so very frightening.  It happened more and more often as time went by.  Even as teenagers we would retreat to our room and turn up the music to drown out the yelling.  By the time I was a teenager, my Mother’s frustration must have reached its peak.  There were times she pushed me down the stairs, threw food hot from the oven at me and other such things.

Alcohol does strange things to people.  I can remember being called stupid, crazy and a host of other things while I was growing up.  This no doubt had a result on what kind of parent I became.  Although I escaped the alcoholism, one of my daughter’s is an alcoholic.  I look at my grand children and I want to hold them close to prevent anything hurtful being said to them.  I want to protect them from having an alcoholic mother, but I cannot.  I can only watch and observe.  I know that so far, she does not seem to show the animosity toward her children that my Mother did.  I also hate to think that my little girl is going through that.  Hopefully I can stop her before alcohol ruins her life, her family, her future.

Alcoholism can be stopped without being a continuous struggle for the rest of the person’s life. The Narconon alcohol rehab and drug rehab program has been designed to accomplish just that: complete and unconditional end of the addiction. To learn more about how the Narconon drug rehab program works call 1-877-782-7409.