Drug Addiction Stories & Info

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.

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.

People thought I had it all. No, that’s not true. People probably didn’t think anything at all. I was just a co-worker, just a neighbor, just the woman who came into the grocery store at the same time every Thursday evening and the liquor store at the same time every Friday afternoon after work. My shyness could probably be traced back to junior high. I never quite fit in. I wasn’t one of those kids who got picked on, I didn’t even rate that much attention. 

I can not recall ever really having a date. I was 26 and just going through the motions of living, waiting for Friday so I could indulge all weekend in my rum and coke, usually more rum than coke as I began buying two big bottles every Friday instead of one.

I’m not sure when I began sneaking a couple of shots into my carrying cup. I’d get a coke from the vending machine and enjoy the drink for as long as it lasted. No one noticed, that’s how invisible I was to everyone. Then my boss asked me if I could stay late for a few days one week to finish up the finer points of a presentation he needed set up for a board meeting the following Tuesday.

I was touched that he liked my work enough to pick me till his assistant caught me in the break room and thanked me also. “I have plans all weekend so I suggested you since I knew you had no family or anything.”

Those words hurt but I just smiled and went on. I was not going to be able to make it to the liquor store that Friday so I stopped in on Thursday after work. I drank some rum and coke Friday evening while working on the presentation and really didn’t feel affected. Saturday was a different story. The more I thought about how I was at work while everyone else was off somewhere with people who wanted to be with them, the more I drank. I stumbled through offices ranting and raving. I cried and apparently messed up my boss’s assistant’s desk.

Some where along the way, I passed out. My boss found me. He had stopped by to see how the presentation was coming along. Needless to say I was fired. I was also charged with public intoxication but the charges were dropped in exchange for mandatory counseling.

I have friends now. They are in my support group. I have a new job, too. Just yesterday, two of the girls at work asked if I wanted to go to lunch this coming Friday with them. My therapy and support group not only helped me with my alcoholism but it gave me some self confidence as well.  I don’t feel alone anymore.