The story of a student in recovery

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 20^th, 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 2^nd, 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.