Drug Addiction Stories & Info

You know, looking back, it’s obvious that OxyContin changes the way a person thinks. In fact, it changes a lot about a person. I didn’t really know anything about Oxy until my boyfriend hurt himself at work and got a prescription for it. I noticed that it really helped to ease his pain… or maybe it didn’t and it just made him not care about the pain. Then I started to notice how relaxed and easy going he was after he took a pill. Out of curiosity, I took one, and the rest, as they say, is history.

Jake (my boyfriend) eventually recovered. He didn’t even finish his prescription for Oxy, so I finished it for him. No need for that money to go to waste, right? I even convinced him to get more from the doctor in case his back started hurting again. He put it in the medicine cabinet and forgot about it. But, I didn’t forget. I knew it was there and it made me very happy. I reasoned that I couldn’t be an addict since I only took 2 or 3 pills a day.

I would be high when Jake came home from work, and at first he thought it was funny. He stopped laughing pretty quickly though, when I asked him to go and get more OxyContin. He called me a “druggie” and pretty much blew it off until I kept bugging him to get more. He told me no. Actually, he told me “Hell no!” I figured I’d have to quit since he wouldn’t get any more, so I tried to just live without it. I thought about Oxy a lot, but was getting along without it. I really thought I had it under control.

A short time later, I had to go to the doctor to talk to him about allergy symptoms I was having. I don’t know what made me do it, but while I was there, I blurted out; “I fell down some steps and hurt my leg.” He couldn’t see anything wrong with it, (of course not… there WAS nothing wrong with it) but he gave me some OxyContin for the pain. I rushed… no, I broke land speed records getting to the pharmacy to fill that prescription. I didn’t even wait to get home to take 2 of the pills. I took them as soon as I got into my car.

OxyContin Addiction Story Continues… part 2

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If you are hooked on Oxy or you know someone who needs help to get off, call 1-877-782-7409 to find out more about the OxyContin addiction rehab program of Narconon.

This time of year brings back memories, most good and a few that are sad. It’s a time of enjoying a break from school, taking vacations, people getting married. With me, though, it’s a time of reflection because not only is it summertime, it is also the anniversary of a time when my little sister hit her lowest point.

Summer was always beautiful. She was vivacious, well-liked, enthusiastic and loved life to no end. She was a sports fanatic and always the first to sign up for a team. She had a big heart and was always the first to sign up to help with a volunteer project.

Then came that early summer day when our small town was hit by a tornado. Summer’s best friend and her family were killed. My little sister was devastated. She seemed to lose her will to live and over that summer we noticed other changes. At first, we thought it was still depression over her friend’s death, but eventually we realized that Summer was on drugs.

When our parents confronted her, she denied it at first. She turned it around on them, asking how they could even think such a thing. They apologized.

But as summer ended and fall approached, bringing with it the beginning of Summer’s senior year, her mood swings escalated. One day, I came over with my little girl who was three at the time and I went into Summer’s room and did a search. I found some pills and some white powder. My little sister was indeed, on drugs.

That afternoon, we confronted her again, this time as a family with our pastor and a drug counselor in the room as well. Again Summer denied it till we showed her the evidence. Then she broke down. We were all crying when she said she felt guilty about being able to go on with the plans that she and her best friend had made, going to college, sharing a dorm room, going after their dreams.

“It’s not fair! I can’t do this without Shari, it’s not fair to her!” Summer cried.

The drug rehab counselor spoke up then. “Summer, the best thing you can do for Shari is make sure that you DO follow those dreams and fulfill your goals. If you give up, it makes Shari’s life seem meaningless and you know that isn’t so. Do this for you and for her.”

Then Summer told us something that shocked us. She said that she was planning to commit suicide on the six-month anniversary of Shari’s death. We all cried again as she agreed to get treatment.

That was ten years ago. Summer got into rehab, then finished school a semester late. We didn’t care, we were just grateful she was still with us. She went on to college, here at home instead of off somewhere else though, because she wanted and needed our support as she was still grieving. Then she got a job in the big city a hundred miles away and today she is living her dreams.

In the morning I am leaving to go spend a month with her. Every year I am there with her for a month as she gets through the anniversary of Shari’s death. I go to her meetings with her and we bond as sisters. She’s doing good and I am making sure she knows she has me. When Summer falls, her big sister and her support group are there for her. I sometimes think Shari’s above, watching over her and being there for her, too.

My battle with drugs began as a teenager. I know now that it was a cry for help. I was the only survivor of a three-car accident that killed my parents and my brother. I was in the hospital for about a little over a week and became addicted to the pain reliever they had me on. I went to stay with my grandmother. I did not realize until I lost my family that I really had no one else besides her because both of my parents had been only children and my father’s parents were gone as was my grandfather on my mother’s side.

Somehow I made it through my junior and senior years. When the doctor and my grandmother decided I had been on pain relievers long enough, I found a new way to relieve my physical and emotional pain: crack cocaine. If my grandmother ever suspected, she didn’t let on.

After high school, I went to work in a call center for a major telephone company. I continued to live with my grandmother. While hitting up my dealer every chance I got for crack cocaine, I was also getting back into prescription meds. My grandmother’s health was failing and she began having a home health aide come in. It was this woman who would eventually answer my call for help and save my life.

One night I barely made it in from partying with friends. I took a couple of my prescription meds and dimly remember spilling the bottle of pills on the table. I began lining them up and playing with them. Then I passed out right there at the table.

My grandmother’s aide was staying over and she wandered into the kitchen sometime that night to get a drink of water and found me at the table surrounded by the pills and some white powder. She checked on me and found me to be breathing fine and somehow helped me to bed. The next morning when I got up, I went into the kitchen to find her at the table having coffee.

She sat me down and told me that she had a family member who had been on drugs and gotten clean at a local drug rehab center. She wanted to help me do the same. Seeing someone talk to me like they cared, having a conversation that was about me and my needs for a change made me break down and cry. She got someone to come in and watch my grandmother for a while and we went over to the drug rehab center. They helped me set up a leave of absence from work and helped me get off drugs.

My grandmother lived two more years. Her home health aide was there again for me as I was for her when my grandmother passed away. Aides become attached to their patients sometimes and she had fond feelings for my grandmother.

I did not slip into the abyss of drugs that time thanks to my support group and my grandmother’s aide who had become a good friend as well. I also met a wonderful man and I am engaged to be married. I still miss my family very much but now I know how to grieve properly without having a relapse. It is hard sometimes, but I know if I can do it, you can, too.