This is the story of a student in recovery here at the CRC whose name will remain anonymous.
I had my first drink when I was Thirteen years-old.
I had never had alcohol before nor had I had the desire to. The idea of trying
alcohol appealed to me at the time because I was just starting high school and
had recently relocated to the research triangle area. These two drastic changes
in my life were not the sole cause of my alcohol consumption, but rather
because I was bored and had grown up in a society where media glorifies alcohol
use. I decided I would slip into the kitchen and grab a beer from a case my dad
had just recently opened. I grabbed it and quickly ran back to my room and
locked the door. I didn’t know however, that warm beer tastes incredibly worse
than cold beer. I took the first sip and instantly gagged; I ran to the
bathroom and spit it out. Never the less, I still decided to try another sip
hoping the outcome would be different. I wasn’t surprised that the result was
the same, so I emptied the bottle into the toilet and hid it in my room. The
next day, I thought I should try it again, hoping for the result to be
different once again. But this time, I decided I’d put lemonade powder in it
because I thought it would make it taste better. As soon as I poured some
powder into the bottle, it started fizzing up and overflowing out of the
bottle. I ran to the bathroom and tried to take a sip and then dumped it into
the toilet again. I went and hid the bottle right next to the other one behind
my bed. Later that week, my father found the bottles and erupted in rage
threatening to kick me out if I did it again. I was grounded for a few weeks
after that; this was the first of many consequences I would face during my
active addiction.
A few months later, I decided to try smoking weed. I
could see how it was used blatantly in high school and wanted to know what all
the hype was about. I was offered it for the first time near a local gas
station, where a drug dealer pulled into the parking lot and offered it to me
and my friends haphazardly. I decided to buy some and my friends and I tried it
that night in my bathroom with the window open and fan on to extinguish the
smell. It was my first time smoking and I didn’t want to get too high or wake
up my parents by acting juvenile, so I only took two puffs. It was enough to
feel dizzy for a few minutes but I did not get high. My friend however had
smoked the entire bag and was running around my house acting extremely
irresponsible. I had to quiet him down many times before I just locked him in
my room. I was completely blind to these ill-effects even though they were
right in front of me. I tried smoking weed another time after that, and didn’t
get high again. The week after that, however, one of my friends invited me over
to smoke K2. I didn’t know what K2 was at the time or of how dangerous it was.
I figured since it was legal that it couldn’t be that bad. My friends had
explained to me that it was just like legal weed. As soon as I smoked it, my
lungs felt like they were on fire and I was in immense pain. None the less, I
hit it again when it was passed backed to me, with the same result. A took
about two minutes for it to kick in. I felt amazing. I had never felt anything
like it before. All my problems and worries faded away and I began to enjoy
life. I remember thinking to myself, that if this was what being high was like
that I would do it again and often.
At the beginning of my use I was already making
limitations to try to moderate my use. I didn’t know that normal people don’t
have to do this, but I knew I didn’t want to get caught. At first I told myself
that I would only get high once a month. When the next weekend came, I got high
again and told myself I would only get high on the weekends. For about a month
I was able to only get high from Friday through Sunday. There came a school day
when I did not have homework and my friend had invited me over to get high. I
decided that this would be the exception, the only weekday I used. I used again
the very next day, harboring the same excuse. My use progressed into smoking
pot 4-5 times a week, drinking here and there. I preferred to smoke because it
was “safer” than alcohol, which I had convinced myself was the devil. This was
only to validate my marijuana use, as I still did drink once in a while.
I will never forget the look on my
parents faces when they discovered my use. It happened in late fall, when my
sister somehow found out that I was hanging out with a drug dealer. She
informed my parents and I got a call from my mom immediately. I was at that
friend’s house when I got the call; she asked “are his parents home?”
I
replied “No, but his older brother is.”
My mother stated with
genuine concern “Your sister told me that him and his brother sell and use
drugs.”
I believe this was the
first time I directly lied about my use to her; I told her “Oh no mom, that’s
not true. His brother used to do drugs but he doesn’t anymore. We don’t do
anything like that.”
The call ended shortly
afterwards. About ten minutes later, the doorbell rang. I looked out the window
and I saw my mom’s car parked outside. I frantically gave all my paraphernalia
to my friend and put on cologne to cover the scent of smoke. I answered the
door and my mom insisted that I come with her. I asked her why and she
responded by saying “his parents aren’t home and it isn’t safe to be there.” I
could already hear the desperation in her voice. I do not recall if I argued
with her about it or not, but I got in the car and went home. The primary
reason was that we were out of drugs and if I stayed we would just be sitting
around doing nothing. We got home and I went up to my room.
Later that day, I was sitting on the computer and out of
nowhere my dad comes and sits down next to me. He starts talking about how when
he grew up out of the country with a well-off family, he never had the chance
to try smoking weed. He went on about how one of his old bosses used to and
that he never tried it but would want to now. I should’ve known something fishy
was going on, but the idea of my dad and I getting high together had already
been instilled in my head. I lied to him and said that I had never done it but
if he wanted some I knew where to get it because a lot of people smoke at
school. Later in the night we discussed it more, and I decided to confide in my
dad. I told him about my use. I told him about how alcohol was terrible and I had
only tried it a few times. I told him about k2 and spice and that I had done
that a few times as well but that I found out that it was very dangerous so I
stopped using it. Lastly I told him about my marijuana use. I glorified it and
its properties. I told him how it makes me genuinely happy, that it helps me
deal with my sleep issues, that there are many more medicinal benefits, and
that it is harmless because it is “just a plant.” He sat there listening
silently and if I could have seen his face I would have seen great disappointment
in himself and I. He blamed himself for my use; he thought it was his fault and
that he should’ve spent more time with me when I was growing up. Although he
had done a great job raising me, I convinced myself he had not been there for
me when I was growing up.
He said he was ok with my use, even though he was not,
and that his only condition was to tell my mother. After pleading with him not
to make me tell her, I finally caved. In my head I thought that if he said my
use was ok that she would too. I went at sat my mom down, and I told her about
my use. I felt terrible; I was felt guilty and disappointed in myself. I
thought I had let my mom down. As I talked to her I broke down in tears, and as
my mom comforted me and told me it was ok she told me I was grounded
indefinitely. I thought that the punishment was reasonable, until I hit one
month of being grounded and I expected to be ungrounded. I started pleading
with my parents every day and they told me to wait. My grounded ended up
lasting three whole months. Although I had felt guilty about what I did, I
couldn’t admit to myself that it was wrong. I still thought that smoking weed
was ok. During my grounding, I ate pot brownies twice at school. I didn’t think
a thing about it, especially not that I was doing what I had been grounded for
in the first place.
After three long months I was finally free. Earlier I was
funding my use through money my mom gave me for lunch and to go out to eat with
my friends. However, since I had broken her trust I wasn’t receiving any money
from either of my parents. I had no money except $100 dollar I had received for
watching my friend’s dog for a week while he was out of town. The first thought
I had when I was ungrounded was to go get high but play it safe this time
because I couldn’t get caught smoking again. I did not think about using once
but using consistently once a week. I could only think of one way to fund my
use and that was through dealing weed. I used the $100 dollars I had to get
started. I never made a profit, in fact most of the time I was short on money.
I kept using more than I had promised myself I would use from my own stash. I
kept buying the same amount weekly and coming up short every week. I would
short people so I could get more money for fewer products. I even got robbed
twice, but that did not stop me from selling and using more. I had collateral
and I was able to start up again.
During this time, I was blatantly advertising that I was
selling weed. I had to get customers after all if I wanted to be able to fund
my use. The staff started becoming aware of what was happening and one day I
was pulled out of class by the administrators. They took me to their office and
told me that they were informed anonymously that I was selling weed. I lied
directly to them and said that it was a lie and that I had no idea why someone
would make that claim. They went along with it and searched my backpack and
found nothing. They still however called my mom to tell her what had happened even
though nothing was found. My mom was skeptical about whether or not I was using
again. This time my sister was on my side and backed me up. My mom backed down
and told my dad what happened later. My dad confronted me about the incident
and I lied to him about it as well. They decided to drug test me but I kept
arguing that they don’t trust me and they need to take my word for it. The
situation blew up. There was total chaos, we were all yelling and my dad had
lost it. I left the house and came back to the police in my living room. They
said they couldn’t force me to take the drug test so I told them I would take
it so they would leave. As soon as they left I started arguing that I wasn’t
going to take it again. They told me I was grounded again.
The next day I went to school and then to my friend’s
house for a sleepover without my parents’ permission. When my mom picked me up
the next day and told me I wasn’t allowed to sleepover, I told her that she had
given me permission earlier. She countered that the events of last night
preceded everything else.
After extensive research, my father thought it was a good
idea to take me to a psychiatrist. We went to his office and did some testing.
He declared that I had ADHD and that I needed to be treated for it. He said he
would only give me the medicine if I was clean. I lied and said I was and when
he handed me a drug test I filled it up with water. When he came back to the
room, he asked me if I thought he was stupid. He showed my parents the
inconclusive results and told them what I had done. I argued my case that I had
drunk a lot of water today and although I had, that was not the reason the
results were inconclusive. We went back home in the same condition. My parents
we worn out, they didn’t know what to do, and I was lying to cover up my use
even though they already knew the truth.
I stayed clean for a month before we returned to the
psychiatrist. This time I passed the drug test fairly. The only reason I had
stayed clean the past month was because one of my friends had told me that you
can get high off ADHD meds and I was eager to try them. As soon as they put me
on a stimulant, my use went out of control. Although I was taking the medicine
as prescribed, I was also drinking excess caffeine to increase the kick of the
high. Through the entire time I was on it, I was sure that I was doing nothing
wrong. After all, I was taking it as prescribed, the doctor never said anything
about caffeine, and I wasn’t breaking the law.
This stage in my life lasted for a little over four
months. Then I became friends with someone who did well in all their classes
and whom the teachers liked as well. It also turns out that he was an addict,
although neither of us knew it at the time. He told me about his use and the
appeal of my old lifestyle returned to me. I decided to hang out with him and
we used together. I didn’t use for about three weeks after that because I did
not want to get in trouble with my psychiatrist if I got drug tested. I then
found out that my father decided that we weren’t going to return to him. As
soon as I heard that, I put two and two together and realized that I wouldn’t
be drug tested anymore and that meant I could use again. My use started with me
stealing a decent amount of weed from a close friend. I had convinced him it
would be better for me to hold onto it and he believed me. I later told him my
parents found it and that I was in trouble. He wasn’t mad at me at all so I
didn’t think twice about the lie I had just told. Instantly with the first use
I went back to using daily. Then I started selling videogames or anything I
could so I could make money to fund my use. My use progressed from a daily
thing to using four or five times a day. I was making straight A’s and I was
hanging out with a good crowd of kids so my parents didn’t suspect anything.
When I look back at this time period in my life, I remember how much fun of I
was having and thinking that I had everything I wanted in life. I started
dealing again to make more money to fund my use. Again, I didn’t make a profit
and when I did it would go right back to funding my use. I felt great for those
few months; I had my parents’ trust back, I was making more friends, staying in
shape, making straight A’s, and I was always having fun through using constantly.
Then my whole life got turned upside down.
Through a series of many unfortunate events, my parents
were confronted about my use. A person to whom I had sold weed to was caught
with it by his parents. His parents found out where he got it from and came to
my house to tell my parents. I was woken up by a text from my friend that read,
“I’m sorry.” I had no clue what that meant until the doorbell rang. His family
walked in and introduced themselves. They told my parents that they needed to
talk to them. They all sat down in the living room and I was called down from
my room. They placed a bag full of weed on the coffee table. All the parents
started talking about how they had caught us with it before and we still didn’t
stop. They asked me to bring my weed down so they could confiscate it. In a
panic I went upstairs and got half my stash so they would believe I was done
selling. I left the other half because in my head it made sense that if I
stopped dealing and they weren’t suspicious anymore I would be able to smoke
the rest of my stash. The parents decided to invite some of our friends’
families over and convene later. I sat through the next few hours knowing what
was coming at 5pm.
At 5, the family that had come over earlier came along
with two of my close friends and their parents. Instead of trying to find a
solution for the problem of drugs in high school, it turned into an
intervention for me. I honestly do not remember what was being said because my
head was so full of emotions. One of which was an unparalleled rage towards my
father for bringing everyone together. Somehow I started to believe I had a
problem and genuinely decided to stop using. I brought down the rest of my
stash and all my paraphernalia. I felt a newfound confidence to quit with the
help of all the support around me. I was determined and I didn’t think it would
be a problem.
Although I had stopped using, my parents still gave me
punishment. They took my TV, my computer, my phone, and the door to my room. I
was not allowed to leave the house. I complained I had nothing to do and they
just told me to read books. I made it through each day, getting more and more
bored and hopeless each day. This feeling was depression but I was unaware and
I didn’t think someone so young could have depression. On the third day of
lying in my bed with nothing to do, I made a decision. I did not want to live
if I could not use drugs. Since I was on lockdown and I couldn’t use, I decided
to take my own life. I went downstairs to the tallest doorway and hung myself
off. I started to fade away; my vision started to disappear, I couldn’t hear
anything except myself choking, and I felt the comfort of death coming over me.
Fortunately, my mother was upstairs and she heard me choking. She ran
downstairs and saw me hanging and stood in shock. My perspective changed; I
couldn’t die in front of her. I wanted to relieve the burden of myself from my
family, but if my mother saw me die it would hurt her even more. I tried to
speak but my speech was unintelligible. I was able to get out one word and
repeat it hoarsely. “Chair.” My mother hurriedly put the chair from under me up
and helped me down. I frantically left her and ran to my room in shame. She
later told my dad what had happened and they took me to a mental institution.
My experience in the institution was horrid. The therapy
didn’t help at all and nobody understood me. My depression kept worsening and
suicidal thoughts plagued my entire time there. The psychiatrist at the
institution put me on an antidepressant and said it would take about four weeks
to start working. As I returned to society, my depression worsened and I
developed a crippling social anxiety that I had never felt before. I could not
talk to anyone except those close to me and that was a struggle too. I became
paranoid and felt that everybody could see me for who I was. I told the
psychiatrist that it wasn’t working and they said to stay on it for another
month to make sure it wasn’t helping at all.
Two weeks later, I couldn’t take it anymore; I stopped
taking the antidepressant. I felt terrible and I knew the one thing that could
make me feel better. I started using like I had never before. I smoked weed
every few hours, I drank anything with alcohol in it, started experimenting
with prescription pills and cough syrup. Weed was my drug of choice but if I
didn’t have it, I would down any substance that would numb my feelings. I did
not care about consequences and did not try to hide my use. My parents would
catch me high every few days. They didn’t know what to do. They wanted me to
stop using but they didn’t want me to try to take my life again.
I
kept using until they finally broke. They had had enough. My family confronted
me after I had smoked in my room and told me to leave. I was dumbstruck; I
didn’t know what was going on. When I finally comprehended what was happening,
I started to beg them to let me stay. I broke down in tears because I didn’t
want to be homeless. I begged them to let me stay and that I would go to rehab
and pay for it from the money I had made from my part time job. After much
begging I finally convinced them. They agreed to the terms and left me alone. I
laid in my room unable to enjoy my high.
The
next day, when I woke up I was stupefied by what I had said. I told myself,
“What was I thinking?” I made the decision to move out because if I was
homeless I would be able to use. I told my mother and sister and they were
surprised but they let me go because they couldn’t have me in the house
anymore, I was taking everyone’s life down with mine. I left and walked to my
friend’s house. His mom was fine with me moving in and turned down my offer to
pay rent. After a few hours, my dad came and told me to come home. Since he
would not leave and I didn’t want to embarrass my friends family any longer I
went back home. When I got home, I told them I would only stay if I was allowed
to use because if I lived anywhere else I would be able to. They agreed to the
terms because they were exhausted from fighting constantly.
I
continued using heavily for the next two months. It all seemed to be going well
with my family. I started needing to use more and more to get high and
eventually that stopped working too. I would just get numb no matter how much I
used. I wasn’t happy but I was able to live because I knew it would be a lot
worse if I did not use at all. I started looking into harder drugs that would
make me be able to get high again. I found some I was interested in and started
inquiring about where to get them. About two months into my use, my dad told me
that we had an appointment with a family counselor. I told him that I wasn’t
going and he said I had agreed to going when they let me use. I don’t know if
he was making that up or if I had genuinely forgotten, but I decided to go.
It
turned out that the family councilor was a licensed clinical addiction
specialist. I sat through the session and whenever it was my turn to talk I
repeated over and over, “I don’t even know why I’m here,” “I don’t have a
problem,” “I’m allowed to use,” “I can stop whenever I want, I just don’t want
to.” We went home and I felt that I had won. After I left the councilor talked
to my parents and asked them if there was anyone I would be willing to listen
to. They told him that only my sister had any influence over me. I went next
week to meet him with just my sister. He said that I should get into the
intensive outpatient program so I could stop using. After seeing her
desperation, I decided I would try to stop using but just for two weeks to see
if the program actually worked.
My
first day clean was July 20th, 2013. I went to the outpatient
program Three days a week for three hours each day. At first it was hell, but
in the next few weeks something clicked in my head. I could relate to
everything we talked about in group therapy. I finally realized that I was an
addict. I started enjoying going to outpatient. My parents started giving me my
privileges back. It felt great that we were getting along.
After
a long three months, I was able to graduate from the phase 1 program. My
graduation was extremely emotional. I ended up crying and thanking my parents
and my councilors for helping me get my life back. I started phase two which
was called aftercare. We would meet once a week for an hour. I went to a few meetings
here and there. I did not enjoy them but I went because it was suggested. I
understood that I was an addict and I wanted to be sober but I was miserable.
I
lapsed twice and had one relapse that lasted three days. All these were on
impulse, I did not actively want to use but I didn’t want to feel the feelings
I was feeling. My clean date now is February 2nd, 2014. I now
understand that the reason I kept slipping up was because I did not have a
program. After my last relapse, I was suggested to get a sponsor. I was
completely desperate and did not want to return to active addiction; this
fueled me to do whatever it takes. I got a sponsor and started working the 12
steps. I started going to meetings every day and actually enjoyed going.
I
have continued to work a program and I now have the most time clean I’ve ever
had before. I can only thank my sponsor, the 12 steps, and AA and NA meetings.
Being in recovery and working a program has made me a better person and has
made my life manageable. I would not trade being in recovery for anything in
the world.
