Substance use disorder doesn’t just affect individuals—it shapes families, rewrites futures, and redefines identity. But within every storm lies a story of survival. This is my substance use disorder recovery story — a journey that took me from chaos and addiction to a platform of purpose, helping youth fight the very disease that once consumed me.
Understanding the Reality of Substance Use Disorder
What is Substance Use Disorder?
Substance use disorder (SUD) is a complex brain disease that affects a person’s ability to control their use of substances like alcohol or drugs, despite harmful consequences. It’s not about weakness or lack of willpower. It’s a condition that can affect anyone. Many individuals struggle with mental health and addiction and lack access to quality addiction treatment programs.
The Mental and Emotional Toll
For many, SUD starts as a coping mechanism. Over time, it becomes the dominant voice in your head—manipulating decisions, distorting truths, and damaging relationships. It isolates, suffocates, and eventually becomes a full-time identity.
The Importance of Language and Identity
I’ve often heard that people are not their disease. That’s true. But in the depths of addiction, it feels like your whole identity. That’s the cruel twist—what’s meant to numb the pain becomes the source of more pain. Understanding this helps us bring compassion to recovery.
High School Days: A Reputation I Didn’t Want
I graduated from Lake Oswego High School in Oregon with the titles of “Biggest Partier” and “Best Dressed.” Behind those superlatives was a young person deeply entangled in the chaos of addiction—using popularity to hide pain.I have been sober for 21 years. I graduated from Lake Oswego High School in Oregon and my only notable honors were winning “biggest partier” and “best dressed.” So you can imagine how ironic and just the universe has been by ultimately bringing a prevention youth task force to me … another gift.
College Years: Running From Myself
Three universities later, I landed at the University of Southern California, where I clawed my way to graduation. I didn’t belong there academically, but somehow—I made it. With an attorney’s help and sheer will, I became a second-generation USC grad. Another gift in disguise
The Breaking Point and Turning Around
In Washington, D.C., while working for a state senator and later for NFL legend Roger Staubach, my drinking hit rock bottom. I met someone who saw through it all. When he told me he couldn’t continue unless I changed—I finally listened. I got sober the next day.
Staying Clean for 21 Years
Sobriety isn’t a one-time decision—it’s a lifestyle. For 21 years, I’ve chosen recovery every day. And each day brings its own set of challenges and triumphs.
The Irony and Gratitude of Sobriety
It’s ironic how the disease that once nearly destroyed me gave me my greatest gifts—clarity, compassion, and community. Sobriety, as a friend put it, is “a gift wrapped in a funny box.”
Embracing Recovery as a Calling
Recovery gave me a platform. I was asked to lead a non-profit, the West Linn Community Task Force. Its mission? Prevent youth substance abuse and educate families. I was chosen unanimously. That, too, was a gift.
Because this disease tends to run in families, the normalizing of high school partiers gets passed down and social norms gets created. Some of the most charismatic, smart, generous people I know suffer from this disease. There is no shame in it, as we do not choose it. It chooses us. If someone who suffers can find sobriety and recovery, it will be their greatest gift. It is mine.
Giving Back: Leading the Charge Against Youth Substance Use
Taking Leadership of a Youth-Focused Non-Profit
In 2023, I stepped into the role of leading a youth substance prevention organization in Oregon. The mission aligned perfectly with my recovery: helping teens make informed choices.
West Linn Community Task Force Mission
We focus on equipping youth with facts, resources, and support systems that empower them to choose wisely when faced with drugs or alcohol.
Educating Teens About the Power of Choice
Our goal isn’t to scare teens. It’s to educate them. Knowledge gives them the power to say “yes” to their future and “no” to addiction.
The Role of Community in Sustaining Sobriety
Why Support Networks Matter
Recovery doesn’t happen in isolation. I wouldn’t be 21 years sober without the unwavering support of my family, friends, sponsors, and recovery community. Whether it’s a shoulder to lean on or someone to hold you accountable, connection is the backbone of lasting sobriety. We recover together, not alone.
The Ripple Effect of One Recovery Story
Sharing my substance use disorder recovery story has opened doors and hearts. It’s not about spotlighting my past—it’s about giving hope to those still in the storm. Each story shared becomes a ripple that reaches another struggling soul, reminding them they’re not alone and that healing is possible.
Challenging the Social Norms Around Drug and Alcohol Use
Dispelling the “Everybody Does It” Myth
One of the most damaging beliefs among teens is the idea that “everyone drinks” or “everyone tries drugs.” This illusion of normalcy fuels peer pressure and risky behaviors. But statistics show the opposite—most students don’t abuse substances. Shining a light on this truth helps shift the narrative.
The Influence of Family Culture and Peer Pressure
Substance use patterns often run in families, not because of genetics alone, but because of normalized behavior. High school partiers often raise kids who believe the same lifestyle is acceptable. My mission is to interrupt that cycle—one classroom, one family, one story at a time.
Life After Addiction: Discovering Purpose and Power
Embracing Leadership Roles
Recovery gave me more than sobriety—it gave me purpose. From being elected to public roles to leading a 200+ youth coalition, every opportunity to lead is a chance to rewrite the narrative around addiction.
Using the Platform for Prevention
Every speech I give, every youth I mentor, and every parent I speak with is part of a larger mission: to build a world where prevention is as valued as treatment. We don’t have to wait for rock bottom to intervene.
Building an Army of Change
Since taking leadership of the West Linn Community Task Force, I’ve felt a movement grow. Volunteers, youth leaders, educators, and parents are stepping up, forming an army against the epidemic of addiction. Together, we’re creating real change.
Lessons Learned on the Path to Recovery
Recognizing the Signs Early
If I had understood the warning signs in my teens—like using alcohol to feel normal or hiding my drinking—I may have asked for help sooner. Early education is vital.
Rewriting Your Story
You are not the sum of your worst choices. Recovery allows you to rewrite your narrative—not erase the past, but use it as a foundation for something better.
Viewing Recovery as a Superpower
The resilience, empathy, and insight that come from battling addiction are superpowers. I don’t hide my journey—I wear it as armor. My mess truly became my message.
Hope for the Future: A Message to Those Still Struggling
Why Recovery is Always Possible
No matter how far gone you feel, there’s always a way back. The first step is the hardest, but it leads to freedom, healing, and self-discovery.
How Sobriety Opened Every Door
From prestigious internships to marriage, children, and community leadership—none of it would’ve happened without sobriety. Every good thing in my life today stems from the moment I chose recovery.
What I Wish I Knew Earlier
I wish I knew that addiction wasn’t a moral failing, and that asking for help wasn’t weak—it was brave. If you’re struggling, ask. There’s a whole world ready to support you.
My Mission Moving Forward
Empowering Youth Through Education
Education is our strongest defense against addiction. I aim to arm youth with truth—not fear—and encourage them to build futures free of substance dependence.
Continuing the Fight Against Stigma
Breaking the stigma around addiction starts with honesty. By sharing stories like mine, we humanize the struggle and amplify the hope that recovery brings.
Frequently Asked Questions (FAQs)
1. What is the biggest challenge in staying sober?
Staying mentally and emotionally balanced is the hardest part. Triggers never disappear, but with support, you can manage them and thrive.
2. How can family and friends support someone in recovery?
Be patient, listen without judgment, and offer consistent support. Encourage professional help and educate yourself about the disease.
3. What resources helped the most in your journey?
12-step programs, therapy, sober friends, and community leadership roles all played vital parts in my recovery.
4. Is relapse common?
Yes, but it’s not a failure. It’s a detour, not the end. With the right help, many return stronger than ever.
5. What advice would you give your younger self?
Don’t confuse fun with freedom. Ask for help, and never let shame stop you from healing.
6. Can addiction really become a gift?
Absolutely. It taught me resilience, purpose, and gave me a mission that’s changing lives every day.
Turning Pain into Purpose
My substance use disorder recovery story isn’t about where I came from—it’s about where I’m going and who I’ve become. The disease that once defined me is now the very reason I get to lead, educate, and inspire others. If you’re in the midst of your struggle, know this: your mess can become your message too. Recovery is possible. And it may be the greatest gift of your life.
One day it hit me that I did not want to do these pills anymore. I just wanted to be normal. These pills had taken control of my life for the last few years and I could not remember the last day that I had not had them in my hand. I thought that day sitting in my mom’s kitchen wanting to get high and not being able to was hell on earth, until I experienced the feeling of not wanting to get high and doing it anyways. That is hell.
I got my hands on some suboxone and methadone. I figured that would help me with the withdrawal I was about to experience. Kicking opiates is not a good time. I got my hands on some naltrexone. This wonder drug was supposed to help block the effect of opiates and help cravings. I had someone ship me these pills in the mail.
When they arrived in their white envelop I remember sitting in my bed at my little crappy college house and staring at it. I remember thinking that this was what would change me. This would make everything better. I think I kissed that pill before I ingested it. Incredibly dramatic, right?
Well, a few hours later that pill sent me into the worst detox in my entire life. I could not move except to vomit. I picture that pill ripping out every sliver of opiates in my body. It was awful. Thankfully my roommate was in college to be a nurse so she took very good care of me… by pouring me shots of vodka and handing me the bong to toke on some weed.
This was it. I was done with opiates. Sure, I would drink myself into a coma every night, take valium and Ativan to help with the anxiety and smoke weed every few hours, but no more opiates. I was on the path to being normal.
No More Opiates
I made it about 90 days without opiates. The longest period I ever went. My life changed in those 90 days. Not in a better way or a worse way just different. I attempted to go to 12 step meetings. I was not interested in being sober by any means just looking to stop the opiates. I would sit in the back of the room during the meetings and relate to the literature they read. At the end of the meeting they would always ask if anyone had a desire to drink or use today and if so please speak up. I would never raise my hand. After some of the meetings I would walk up when no one was looking and take a chip off the counter in celebration of milestones of not using opiates, then after the meeting I would figure out where I would be buying my Canadian whiskey bottle that night.
My drinking escalated heavily those 90 days. I would drink in the morning, during class and all night. I started to be sent home from work for being so intoxicated on the job. My life was turning into an even bigger mess trying to fill the void by consuming such large amounts of alcohol and anxiety medications.
One day I started a journal. I wrote how the thoughts of using OxyContin were returning in my head. I described the feelings of wanting to get high and what would happen if I gave in. Finding that notebook in sobriety it was interesting to look back at my insanity on paper and the way my mind worked. Nevertheless, my journal was right. Shortly after celebrating 90 days off opiates I decided to splurge on myself… with OxyContin!
The Vicious Cycle
The game was back in motion. After I started getting high all my old behaviors would come back. My roommates asked me if I was getting high again and I told them I was just really tired all the time. That by the way is the worst excuse in the world, but drug addicts think it is believable for some crazy reason. There is not an addict in the world who doesn’t use the “I am tired” excuse.
Trying to describe what life was like is extremely difficult. How do you put into words exactly what it is like to be a drug addict who tries to clean up their life and fails repeatedly? How do you describe what it is like to be a liar, cheater and a thief? Okay the best way I can describe how I felt was I would sit in my car, plug in my IPOD (for those of you who do not know what an IPOD is it’s a device that came out that was popular mid 2000’s that allowed you to put pirated music on it before Streaming music was a thing) listening to Pink’s song Sober on repeat. It was a song that described exactly the way I felt. “But how do I feel this good sober?” Yeah Pink. How do I? They really should have put some follow up information with that song but whatever.
I’m Sooooo Funny
Okay so I am smoking opiates again daily while drinking whiskey every single night till I fall asleep. One night after work my co-workers and my roommates decide to go bowling. I sneak in my own personal bottle of whiskey into the bowling alley because I am the only person under 21 there and can’t drink the drink specials. I am wasted. I have this amazing idea. The most hilarious idea since ideas are created. I wait until my 30 something year old boss goes to bowl an 8-pound pink ball down the dark lane with lights flashing as Mariah Carey tunes are playing over the loud speakers. I sneak up behind her and pull her pants down in front of everyone. In front of everyone.
Now in my head this was hilarious. What ended up happening was this woman wanted to kill me and forced me outside. I vaguely remember the team of people we were with splitting us up preventing a fight in front of the bowling alley in a handicap spot.
The party was over and everyone split up. Unfortunately, as the night went on so did my great ideas. When my roommates and I got back to the house we decided the only way to sober up was to eat some pasta from a box. I think she wanted the hamburger helper and I wanted the tuna helper kind, being the Jewish young lady that I was. The next thing that happened was a full-blown fight. I have no idea who threw the first blow. All I know is my shirt was ripped and my bedroom door was busted. Did we eat any pasta that night? I cannot recall. I would like to think we did.
I Need Help
What I do know is I broke down in my blackout and called my mother. I remember sitting in a fetal position in my ripped shirt on my bedroom floor calling my mother at some godforsaken hour sobbing that I needed help. All I know is this time my mother was not mad at me she just said, “ok let’s get you help.”
The next morning as I did the walk of shame if you will out of my room, I sat on the couch with my roommates. No one was mad. No one really talked about it. It was just another drunken night. I think we ordered Domino’s pizza my treat as we laughed it off.
A week or so later I found a private therapist in the town I was living in. I decided to go see one regarding my drug and alcohol use. I decided I would do whatever the therapist suggested either impatient or outpatient drug rehab.
In the morning of my appointment I woke up and took a shower. This is important because hygiene during this period of my life was not the best. I did my hair and makeup and out my game face on. Walking into my appointment at the therapist office my heart was pounding. I took a seat in the wood filled room. I just remember everything being made of wood and very bland. I filled out some paper work and waited to meet the male therapist.
After several minutes, he walked out to the waiting room to bring me into his office. I sat in a very comfortable oversized chair as he leaned back with his notebook and pen. I have no recollection of the questions he asked me all I know is I was there for around 45 minutes answering questions semi-honestly. I was as honest as I could have been at the time.
At the end of the session he stood up and walked over to a book shelf. He pulled out a business card and sat back down. “After our session, today I truly believe the best thing you can do for yourself is to go to impatient rehab. Here is a great place I recommend” and he handed me a tiny white card with brown and blue lettering on it.
Great. Rehab. I replied “thanks I appreciate your time today” as I took the card and put it in my purse and walked out the door back to my death trap of a vehicle. I sat in the car in the parking lot chain smoking cigarettes for what seemed like an eternity. Finally, I put the IPOD on selected my favorite Pink jam and rode home.
I Need Help But Did I Really Want It
At this point I already laid the cards out on the table. I told my mom I needed help and she would not let up. She wanted me to go to treatment. She knew things were bad, but till this day she never understood just how bad they were.
When I got back to the house I sat down with my roommates. We sat in our usual seats in the living room. Shaina on the couch with the dog, Ricky in the reclining chair and I on the other couch across from the coffee table. Without a word, I was handed a shot of whiskey and the bong. I sat there with them watching old Friend’s episodes in silence for a few hours getting higher and drunker as the episodes went on.
I had to be really messed up to have the courage to tell them what just happened. As the hours went on the obsession to get high kicked in. After a few text messages and phone calls my dealer would be on the way to the house to bring me Roxicodone. When he arrived, I met him outside to do the usual exchange and brief chatter. I walked in and went to my room. Out came the foil and a bic pen and the process began. I would light the pill and smoke the fumes holding it in until I was light headed. I would exhale the smoke and then take a hit of the marijuana bowl I had packed. I would do this repeatedly until I nodded out.
I had to go to rehab. I knew this. I almost welcomed the idea. I had two weeks left of my college semester and then I would go. That night I told my roommates about what happened that day and what my decision was. They totally supported my decision to get help to get off the opiates. Neither them nor I understood the gravity of the impact my decision would have on all our lives.
My parent’s wanted me to go to treatment right away, they frankly did not think I would be willing to go in a few weeks. My mom begged and pleaded with me to go but I declined. I told all my friends that I was going away for the summer to volunteer at a summer camp. It is almost funny looking back at that story. If you knew me, working at a summer camp is the last thing I would ever do. I could not be honest about what I was really doing I was too ashamed.
Getting Ready for Rehab
I called the rehab number off that little white card the therapist gave me and they told me I was accepted into the program and to come when I was ready. I finished out the semester getting decent grades. Till then it was party time.
The week before I left I had to go to my employer and tell them I was going to need to do FMLA the Family Medical Leave Act because I was going to treatment. Remember that boss that wanted to fight me for pulling her pants down in front of everyone?
Well when I told her what I was doing, she pulled me into aside and hugged me. She cried of joy. Such an awkward moment. Okay she did not pull me into her office she walked with me to the bathroom. So here I am a day before my 20th birthday hugging my boss in a bathroom at my job while she is crying of joy I am going to rehab. My life is jacked up.
As I made my rounds and said goodbye to my friends for the summer a strange feeling grew in the pit of my stomach. I knew things were going to change. I also knew that even though my intention was to come back that I might not be back. I packed up as much as I could fit into my little car knowing that I had no real idea the next time I would step foot in that house again.
I cried as I said bye to Shaina and Ricky. We had been living together for the last two years. They were my family. Not only did they teach me how to drink but they did teach me how to live. I grew up with them and we also grew apart due to my addiction. I loved them very much and I still do. I caused a lot of damage to both and I changed their lives forever which I will discuss later on. I got into my little car and started the journey to my parent’s house hundreds of miles away from the life I had created.
You know what the worst thing about when your loved one says they will go to treatment is? The period before they go. What a weird and uncomfortable period for everyone.
Ok I am the drug addict. I get high. I now know I won’t be getting high any longer after X day. So what am I going to do until then? Get High.
Now my parents. They know I am an addict. They know I am going to rehab. They also do not want me to get high, but if they say anything will they push me away from going to rehab still? Tough call for all parties right?
My Last Hurrah
I mean I got high. I spent hundreds of dollars the night I got to my parent’s house and I got high as I could. As I sat in my childhood bedroom smoking pills off tin foil I accidentally caught a tissue on fire and had to run down the hall to the bathroom to throw it in the sink. I burnt the shit out of my thumb. That is how high I got.
I went in to the fridge in the garage and drank a 12 pack of miller light in front of my parents. They were disgusted at my behavior and concerned, but they knew tomorrow was the day. I did not sleep at all that night. I just kept thinking about what I was doing and if this was the right decision. The next morning my mother got me out of bed and said, “it is time to go your bags are in the car.”
As my mom walked outside to sit in the passenger seat as my dad waited in the driver’s seat for me to come outside. Before I did I packed a bowl of the best weed I could find and sat on the porch and smoked a bowl. When I was finished I threw it in the garbage can outside and took a Suboxone under my tongue. I walked out of the house and into the back seat of the vehicle as I let the wafer dissolve in my mouth.
Cold Feet
The drive was short. 30 minutes or so. I was nervous. We got there and it was close to the beach, 300 steps to be exact! It was on a brochure in the waiting room. The staff greeted me as my mother stayed inside while I filled out some paper work as my dad unloaded the vehicle of my items. After a few minutes it was time for my parents to leave. FUCK THIS. I am not staying here I decided.
As my parents walked to their car I begged them to take me with them. They told me they loved me and because of that they could not do that. They got in the car and drove away. After taking maybe 50 steps after the vehicle I stopped and watched them drive away.
The staff of the treatment center came to retrieve me. They brought me back inside and allowed me to smoke a few cigarettes before continuing with the paper work.
Fast forward to court. I was a good kid with no criminal record. The judge told me if I did a few things I would not be facing jail time or a criminal record. If I did not do those things I would be charged with 2 felonies and 3 misdemeanor charges.
Sweet! What do I have to do? I had to do community service hours… like 100 of them. So, while most of my friends were finishing up the last few months of high school I was cleaning the local Walmart and drove around with a cop visiting local homes that had complaints from their neighbors about hoarding issues. Gross.
I had to write these apology letters to my parents and present them to the judge about how much I was sorry for my behaviors and that I was a changed person. Done. Manipulative stories were my specialty.
The last thing I had to do was stay sober. That was the kicker. Okay so up till this point I figured if I wanted to stop using opiates I could. I never really had a reason to. Sure my parents were mad at me all the time but that was not enough of a reason to stop. Now I was facing some pretty serious consequences if I kept smoking those little blue fuckers and I knew I did not have a choice.
I of course did not want to stop but I HAD to stop.
I’ll Put it in My Calendar
I started to play mad scientist. Basically, I knew that I was going to be drug tested on the 1st of every month and that I better have these bad boys out of my system by then.
Since I was smoking the pills instead of snorting or eating them they should stay in my system for around 48 hours. So that meant until about the 28th of the month I was good to go!
I kept doing the same thing.
My mom did not get it. She would see me at night and bow her head in shame. She would just keep saying to me, “with everything on the line, how could you? You have everything to lose including your college scholarship. How will you pay for college if you lose that? Kiss your future goodbye if you end up a convicted felon.”
None of that mattered. I knew I would stop on the 28th and I would pass. I just had to get through 90 days of this stuff and I would be free to live life again. Suddenly it was the 28th of the month. I could not stop. I had every reason in the world not hit the foil with a lighter and smoke those fumes sliding off the top, but I could not stop. I had to do it. Then came the 29th. Same story. I had to get high. I could not say no to the voices in my head. My body screamed for it. Then came the 30th. I really had to stop now. My test was tomorrow. I was going to fail. What do I do now? How can I get out of this?
Breaking Down
Got it! I picked up the phone and called my probation officer. I told him not one but all four of my tires were flat! I would need to push back the test till Monday when I could drive over to take it. No problem he said. Okay phew. Got him taken care of. But now I had to deal with mommy dearest.
How do I get out of trouble with her? I got it. I called Mom that Friday afternoon and confessed.
“Mom, I have a problem I cannot stop using drugs”. I was crying hard when I said this. I think I was on the floor while I was on the phone with her. I can picture being on the floor in the hallway that day is etched into my memory.
I meant those things I said. I was sorry, I could not stop and I was scared. She hung up on me.
See my family did not understand. My mom thought I had a choice and I was choosing to do these things, that I was choosing these poor behaviors. She could also see through by BS that I was only saying these things because I did not want to get in trouble not because I really wanted to stop using drugs.
When she got home it was awkward silence. The type of silence that the expression “you could hear a pin drop” was coined from. It was bad. She was so mad at me.
As I sat at the kitchen table with her I told her that I was done and that my drug test was pushed back to Monday. She told me I was very lucky and that I was crazy if I thought I was leaving the house for anything that weekend. WHAT?! I did not have a drug test till Monday that meant I could get high today… Friday. What do you mean I can’t leave the house? I tried every excuse in the world for her to allow me to run out of the house for just a few minutes. I needed to get high. I had to get high. She held firm.
When I tell you that I wanted to get high with every single fiber of my being that day I mean it. It was hell on earth. Wanting to get high but not being able to. I started to detox within several hours. My detox usually consisted of coughing all night. I had smoked so much foil that my cough was so bad it felt like I would break a rib. I could not sleep and the physical pain was unbearable.
Monday came I passed the test. Yay! Back to the routine get high until the 28th.
No Matter Where You Go… You Take Yourself With You.
Insanity. Pure insanity. I had gotten away with it once there was no way I could pull that off again. What do I do? It has been less than a month since I was “arrested” I had one month left of senior year of high school and if I stayed in my hometown there was 0.00% chance I would stay sober and avoid jail and a mug shot.
Idea. College! I had been accepted into my dream college. I of course in my drug induced haze had no real plan of attending, because why mess up a good thing?
But things were horrible at best. I am going to go to college and get out of this town. That is the answer. Goals. Dreams. Better people. They don’t do drugs in college! This is the answer.
I told my mom of my great plan. She sat me on the black leather couch in the living room while she paced back and forth. “No matter where you go… you take yourself with you. You cannot escape who you are.” Cool saying, I thought but so wrong! I got this. I will go to college and totally be fine. So less than a month later I packed up my little car and headed north for summer classes.
I had to get a counselor in college as part of my probation. I had to meet with her once a month while I finished out my 90-day probation. I passed the rest of my drug tests as I was unable to get my hands on any drugs during those first 2 months up there… but I did discover my new-found love of alcohol. Natural Ice? Hello broke college life!
Magical Pill Mills
Okay done. Probation was finished. Felony free. Time to party and now no mom checking my pupils with a flash light when I come home. It was go time. While I was living in student apartments and attending class, I would split my time between college and my hometown. See the pill mills were really big back then and it was so easy for me to get my hands-on scripts of my own. I would go to some doctor and complain about back pain. Give some sad story about how I just want to be normal and my pain and anxiety are destroying my life. Boom. I would get 180 Roxicodone’s and 90 valiums in under 20 minutes. Life was so good.
One time as we waited to fill our scripts at a pharmacy a cop came up to the vehicle. We were all high off opiates as we had just finished smoking some pills. We had a prescription in each of our names and he had to let us go. This was like the best thing ever.
Several weeks later when I went to make my next appointment I found out that doctor was killed in a car accident. Game over for us all.
It did not take long for me to make new friends in college and get my hands on those pills again. Sometimes I would smoke crack. Sometimes I would smoke heroin. Sometimes I would drink my weight in Canadian whiskey. Nothing completed me more than those A215 pills.
I was functioning okay in college I made good grades but always had to drop one class each semester. I was working in sales and making easily $1,000.00 a week which supplied my nice drug habit. I was living in a house with 2 of my friends and we partied every single night. There was not one sober day in my entire 2.5-year college career. I would drink and drive. I would wake up in places I did not know how I got there. I even once called the cops on myself for drinking and driving. True story. I was a wreck.
Kate and I looked at each other and smiled, as we both knew we were getting into that drug dealers car. He was right. I had dabbled in the club scene drugs, tried crack cocaine but nothing and I mean nothing was like what those tiny blue pills did for me after I learned to smoke them. I was in heaven. I found my soul mate. I found the thing that stopped the pain, the anxiety and the reason to hurry. It was the solution to my fears. I found my entire everything in a piece of aluminum foil, a bic pen and a pill marked A215.
The next few months revolved around doing Roxicodone’s. Every single decision I made revolved around when I would get my hands on more pills and tin foil. I am 17 years old now and finishing up my senior year of high school. I had good grades so I was enrolled in a program that allowed me to do half days in high school and take college courses senior year at the local community college. For most teenagers, this was a set up for their future.
This meant they would save time and money in college by getting classes done early. What did this mean for me? Well I could tell all my drug dealer friends I was 18 years old and in college living on my own. I started to take on an entirely different persona. I would pretend I was asleep in the morning when I was taking my high school classes and then go and meet up with them in the afternoon.
This was when the serious trouble began. The interesting thing about using drugs is you start to develop this invincible mentality. This idea that you will never be caught, nothing bad will happen and that life could not get any better than this.
That is not what happened. Since I was hanging out with drug dealers on the bad side of town we started to get noticed by the police a lot. You might be thinking, “Wow! A 17-year-old being watched the police I am sure that would help them change their behaviors!” False.
Well sort of false. It did help me change by behaviors but instead of well, stopping going to the drug dealers house all together we decided to wrap the windows in tin foil and get high on the floor in case the police could see into the house.
I started to be more careful of transporting drugs on me in the car. I would wrap them up in a cigarette case and I would leave them in next to the gas tank on the side of my car in case I was getting pulled over. I started to realize it was not a matter of if I would get caught but when I would get caught.
My First Raid
One Friday night around 10:00 PM my little circle of friends and I were getting high in one of our friend’s apartments. We could get high there even though the man had a toddler running around. Suddenly, we were alerted that the cops were outside and jumped off the couch and ran to the bathroom to attempt to flush and hide our drugs. While we were in the bathroom the door was kicked open from a police man with his gun drawn and pointed it at my scared little face. “GET DOWN ON THE GROUND” he screamed as panic set in. I of course did as the police asked. As more and more police poured into the apartment, the officer with the gun pointed at my 17-year-old head, we shall call him Bob for the sake of the story, Officer Bob instructed us to leave the bathroom and make it over to the couch.
As we sat on the couch Captain Bob started asking us a ton of questions about what we were doing here, did we know what was going on, were we using drugs? Of course, not we explained. We were good kids. It was then Bob said to us very calmly “look down – what is that right next to you.”
Nothing in me wanted to look down at what was next to me. I was hoping that it was Sketchy the black kitty snuggled on the couch that the officer was referring to. So, we looked down and of course next to us was a pile of marijuana and cocaine.
After a few minutes, we noticed that everyone except Kate and I were handcuffed and outside. Apparently, they attempted to run away while we were flushing the goodies. Officer Bob did us a solid that day. He gave us 5 minutes to get a parent over here or we would be leaving in the squad car with our friends. Kate’s parents were there in a blink of an eye, screamed at us in front of the cops and piled us in the car. I was grounded for I think ever after that by my parents. Our friends that were handcuffed outside were booked and charged with crimes and had to finish senior year on probation. I believe that toddler was taken by social services after that day. I dodged a bullet.
Can’t Stop Won’t Stop
I had to stop. I had to wake up before I ruin everything. I was going to change for my parents, my future and my well-being!
Just kidding! That is not what happened.
What happened? I continued doing what I was doing. I was hanging out with people 10 years old than me, stealing from every Walmart and Home Depot in the county to return the items for gift cards, using every single day every few hours just to function.
I became full on addicted to drugs. I did not know it yet as I had no reason really to stop. I was getting into trouble with the law, I was losing motivation for high school and college and my parents did not trust one word out of my mouth.
I remember Prom night 2007. I went to Prom even though all my close friends were either kicked out of school for drug use or for some other reason. I went and had a decent time. All night I was texting my friend about getting high. So, after Prom my friends and I met up at some real upscale budget inn type of place and got high all night.
Hide the Evidence
The reason I mention story is for no other reason of what happened the next day. My friend went home and her older sister looked at her phone when she was in the shower. She saw the proof of what we were doing. We were so stupid back then we even had pictures of us doing cocaine and smoking pills. The next day she called me and said she wanted to speak to my parents. I said they were not home. She called the house phone every hour that day. I even unplugged the house phone and deleted her number off the caller ID and deleted the voice mails.
The funny thing is all they had to do was come over. Did not see that coming. So, my friend’s sister, aunt and mother showed up at my house the day after my senior Prom and came in and to speak to my parents. As we sat in the kitchen around the table they told my parents everything. They brought the proof of text messages and pictures and tried to do what I can only imagine was an intervention. Being caught in a tough situation I did what I knew best… lied. I blamed everything on my friend’s older boyfriend. He was pushing the drugs on us and all the texts were about marijuana I proclaimed not the pills! Everything was his fault. Somehow, I escaped disaster again. My friend did not talk to me for a long time after that for blaming her boyfriend. He was 10 years our senior and now her family believed he was a drug dealer. I was advised by my parent’s again to “stay away from people like that” and that was it. My friend stayed with that man for another few years until she later got sober. Her getting sober showed me is was possible. He died of a drug overdose a few years later. I never got to apologize for what I did to him.
Fast forward to St. Patrick’s Day 2007. I am 17 years old and my 18th birthday is right around the corner. This day is Christmas for us drinkers. Time to celebrate and celebrate I did. When I look back this day it was like my own version of Hangover 2 the movie.
Ready to Party
I had all the essentials! I had ecstasy, marijuana, Roxicodone and Xanax to help sleep off the ecstasy of course. We had fake Ids and a car and were off to a Rave. A rave is a big party for people on ecstasy that has a lot of lights and areas for people to touch each other which pretty much means it is heaven on earth.
Okay. Friends? Check. Drugs? Check. Rave? Check. Party time. So, party happened and around 2 AM I decide it is time to go. Frankly I am over the party scene and just wanted to go somewhere I can get high on opiates. So, I leave and drive to go pick my friends up who believe I am this 18-year-old college student and we drive down to the trailer park to pick up more pills and get high.
Flashing Blues
I am driving down a 2-lane road towards the trailer park when suddenly it happened. Blue and red flashing lights. Shit. I pull over and the cop comes over to the vehicle. I must have been speeding or he was just wondering what this group of kids in this part of town were doing at 3 AM. He asked me if I knew why he pulled me over. “No Sir” I replied. “Well you made your car serve off the road back there.” I had no idea what he was talking about I did not notice anything like that.
Then the trouble began. “Can I have your license and registration” he said with a pretty harsh tone. So, I handed him my wallet as I opened the glove box. “Just the license Mam not the wallet.” “Opps! Of course,” So I handed him my license while I kept searching for the registration. “Eh Mam this is your library card not your driver’s license. Can you please shut the car off?”
Okay first off who hands a police officer their library card. This is not going well.
“Are there any drugs in the vehicle?” Okay I used to watch a lot of the TV show cops. I can say No. I got this.
“No Sir there is not!” I respond to the cop who has now called backup. “Great you won’t mind while I search the vehicle because it smells like marijuana.” We all exit the vehicle. Everyone is freaking out and not saying a word. Keep in mind I just took more ecstasy than I can remember like 2 hours ago. The officer looks at me right in the eyes and says if you get honest I will do what I can to help you. I declined his offer of help as clearly, I am smarter than this guy.
As the cops start searching the vehicle I realize that all my drugs are in my purse. He can’t just search my purse without my consent. I know this again from watching realty television.
30 seconds later out comes the purse on placed on my trunk. Shit. “Um Sir there are drugs in my purse. Marijuana and a bowl used to smoke it.” “He says okay thank you for being honest please turn around.” He handcuffs me and brings me over to the back of the squad car. The messed-up things is I am so high at this point that I actually really enjoy watching the red and blue lights. How crazy is that? As I sit in the back of the squad car I see him talking to the other passengers standing outside my death trap of a vehicle and I saw it happen. I saw him tell them my age and I watched the look on all their faces when they realized that everything out of my mouth the last 6 months had been a lie. Every day I was leading a double life and these were my “best friends.”
As I sat in the squad car handcuffed in the back, watching the blue and red flashing lights dance away off the reflection of my vehicle it hit me. I had narcotic drugs in the car too. I forgot I had the Xanax and Roxicodone in my purse.
As the cop inched back toward the vehicle I explained to him the other items he would be finding and exactly where they were located. I also advised that they were all mine and the passengers had no idea. He thanked me for being honest and shut the door. He let everyone go. They walked off down the dark street together towards the trailer park while I sat and waited for my fate.
“Okay I appreciate your honesty. We have two choices here. Option one, I take you to jail right now and impound your vehicle. Option two, you can call your parents to come and pick you up and you will be notified for a court date.” Now to a normal person this might seem like a very easy decision. Call your parents crazy!
I sat there for several minutes before deciding to call my parents. I can remember everything about that call. I remember calling and waking my father up in the middle of the night and telling him I needed him to get me or I would be arrested and the pain in his voice. When my parents pulled up in one vehicle they spoke to the cops for a while as I sat handcuffed on the curb. It was still cold outside for that time of year. The police explained what would happen and then my father looked at me and the worst words ever uttered, “Ride with your mother.” As I sat in the car my mom’s anger was so intense I could feel it in my bones.
When it was my turn to explain, myself I did what anyone would do. I lied. I told her all that stuff was not mine and I had only been smoking some weed. I had to cover up the truth. I could not lose my little blue soulmate. I would do whatever I could to hide that relationship. When we got home she pulled out a 12-panel cup and said pee. I respectfully declined that offer. 12 panels?! You know how many things would come up on that darn cup? A lot. No chance I was peeing. I would rather her be mad at me for not lighting that thing up like a Christmas tree than letting her know how many drugs I was on.
Cell phone, television, car keys everything gone. She looked at me and said you are so lucky you are not 18 because you would be in jail right now. She was right. I was lucky. I did not think I was lucky all I could think about was how come I did not just eat those pills when I was getting pulled over? Those thoughts crossed my mind when I was getting pulled over, but I really wanted to smoke them so I figured why waste them?
That is what kept me up that night. How come I did not just eat those pills?
When I was younger I did not dream of being a drug addict. Alcoholism was not on my long-term bucket list but nevertheless it happened. I often ponder looking back if I could identify the moment that I knew I was different. The moment that I knew I was different than my friends, cousins or the other neighborhood kids, but I can’t seem to find it. Sure I could make one up like a movie where on one specific doomsday everything changed forever…but it would be a lie. My addiction was slow and progressive overtime.
I do remember always feeling anxiety. This feeling I felt, this rush in the pit of my stomach, to hurry up and get to the next thing. Whatever the next “thing” was. In order to get to the good stuff of what has happened as a result of my drug and alcohol addiction I have to start at the beginning. I need to start off by explaining where it all began and all the devastation that it caused on my life and the people in my world.
My Family Growing Up
Let’s start with my family. Often I hear parents of drug addicts wonder if it was something that they did that caused the addiction or if there was anything they could have done better to help off set the destruction that addiction would inevitably cause on the entire family unit.
The short answer is yes. The long answer is yes. Yes, the family plays a huge role in the addiction of their loved ones. Now, I do not want to say that my mother and father were the sole reason I started smoking crack cocaine and heroin every single day for years, but they were participants even if unknowingly. I think that is why I want to tell this story. I want to explain what my family could have done better, what happened. In turn maybe this experience will help another family somewhere along the way.
I grew up in an average middle class family. I only changed schools once when we moved from an apartment complex to a house a county away. I have a who is 14 years my senior. She was my hero in many ways growing up and as a young kid I was always tagging along with her and her friends. I was exposed to a lot of things and attribute a lot of my taste in music, food and culture to growing up with people far older.
Interesting to look back and reflect on this now considering I haven’t spoken to my sister in almost 18 months and the last I heard she was homeless in Philadelphia going in and out of psych wards and taking advantage of the good matured church folk in the area. However that is another story for another day.
I grew up in a normal(ish) family. Mom grew up super Jewish. Dad grew up Super Catholic and both wanted nothing to do with religion. Mom was married once before to a heroin addict and left when my sister was 2 years old. He has since passed away as a result of his addiction.
I grew up loving bagels and tuna fish and my mom over compensated with Christmas decorations starting in October of every year around the house due to never celebrating it while growing up.
So to recap normal life was matazball soup on Christmas with two loving parents with a cool older sister. Life was good. I never wanted for anything because I always had what I needed. However that feeling of being different was always there lurking on the inside. Okay, so I think we get it at this point what it looked like growing up.
A Latch-Key Kid has All the Fun
Fast forward to 8th grade of middle school. Since I was in 4th grade I was what you would call a latch-key kid. I walked home everyday and would take care of myself after school until my parents came home from work. In middle school I started to have friends come home with me off the school bus. Innocent stuff really: walk to the mall, attempt to figure out how to make the blue box of macaroni and cheese and mastering the art of 6 way phone calls while watching TRL on MTV. If you do not know what TRL is it is a music video countdown that would come on everyday with good ole Carson Daily. Good times. Shame on you for not knowing what that is.
Okays so in 8th grade I had 4 best friends. 2 were female and 2 were male. They all hated each other, which is funny now to think about. As a matter of fact they still all hate each other.
Anyways my two favorite best friends were males. Considering now one of them is about to be an attorney and the other a music producer I have to come up with alternatives names, so John and Mark it is!
Nicotine is a Gateway Drug
One day John and I decided we were going to smoke a cigarette. We stole three from a neighbor and jumped on our bicycles and rode over a mile to a park. We ducked down behind some bushes and found the perfect place to start the best decision ever. John grabs the first one out of his pocket and it was crushed in half. Strike one. He grabbed the 2nd one of his pocket, put it in is mouth and lit it. Shortly there after we noticed we had it backwards and lit the wrong end of the cigarette causing the filter to burn and force him to cough and me to laugh. Strike two. This was not off to a very good start. 3rd times a charm.
We lit that bad boy up and each took a few drags coughing out loud every single time before we stomped on it in the grass next to us. We looked at each other and decided that was the grossest thing ever as we jumped back on our bicycles and headed back towards my house to wash our clothes and freshen up before we got in trouble from our parents.
This is a pivotal moment of reflection. This was an act of something that we knew we should not be doing, which is why we worked so hard to hide it. We knew it was wrong but did it anyway. Going against my moral compass, which was something that would happen for the next 6 years.
I have no real idea how long it took before that cigarette experience turned into a marijuana experience. I do know that before the end of 8th grade we were smoking marijuana regularly. Yes, and cigarettes regularly as well.
On to the Next One
John and I then decided our next big adventure would be good old alcohol. We had it all planned out. John, Mark and I would drink on New Years. We reached out to John’s other sibling and secured us a 6 pack of Smirnoff ice. Now back in those days there were 2 flavors consisting of plain and raspberry. Nowadays I see all sorts of delicious flavors!
Okay back to the scheme. We would go to John’s house early for the New Year’s Eve party his family was throwing. We opened a window in his bedroom and his sister’s boyfriend snuck in a backpack filled with the 6 pack. We also got enough marijuana to enjoy a bowl. We were ready we just needed to find the right time.
We waited nervously as the hours crept by until finally all signs pointed to yes. The 3 amigos and a backpack were off! We walked out the front door and down the street to a dead end at which we had to hop a fence. Yes we hopped a fence and walked along the outside of a canal and ducked down by the main road. Fully covered from all view. We then took a seat said cheers and proceeded to drink 2 bottles of plain Smirnoff ice each.
We were kind of short on time so we had to drink fast. We then took out the bowl and puff puff passed it around till it was dead. Up we went back around the canal, over the fence and on our way back to the New Year’s party to watch the ball drop. On the walk home it happened. I looked over at John who was perfectly content and happy. I looked to the right at Mark, my super cute little Cuban friend had a smile that meant “best day ever.” Then there was me. MAD. I did not feel like they did. I was not as happy as them nor did I feel as content as they did. I must have not drunk my two bottles fast enough or maybe I was inhaling the weed wrong? I was not sure why I did not feel like they felt. I felt cheated. I needed more. More is what I got because when we made it back to the house, my friends joined the party watching the ball drop and I stole 2 Jell-O shots and a cup of Sangria and drank alone in the bathroom.
From the very first time I drank with the intention of getting drunk, something happened both mentally and physically, which made me want more. I now know that as alcoholism.
The summer leading up to high school was filled with smoking weed and drinking every single day. I found a journal recently which depicted that summer day by day. My two other friends were girls and we made a ton of male friends. We would hang out all day and do nothing but get high. I do not think we did anything else all summer long.
