THE JOURNEY OF A DRUG ADDICT

I Am An Addict.

Editor's note: The following was submitted anonymously to the Motlow
Monitor, the student-run newspaper for Motlow State Community College. It
is being reprinted with permission of the Monitor.

This is my story about my addiction to methamphetamine (crank) for the past
four years. It all started when I was 16 years old. I started dating a guy
who had friends that used crank.

Even thought he always asked his friends not to use in front of me, it was
not long before I started using. My boyfriend never knew about the first
time I used crank, but we started using together not long after my first
time. Before long, crank started to take my life over. I woke up wanting it
and if I did not get it during the day, I went to bed wanting it. I started
lying to my family and friends, because to them, I would be the last person
they would ever suspect of doing this life-changing drug. I always made A's
in school.

I was part of the National Honor Society. To them, I was too smart to be
doing such a dumb thing. It was not long before my mom started noticing
changes in my personality. "I'm not stupid," she said. "I know what you're
doing." She tried everything to get me help. She had me drug tested several
times, but because of a few little tricks I knew, I passed every one of
them. She even tried keeping me away from my boyfriend, who to her was the
source of the problem. I fought with her every day for six months.

Before long, I decided to break up with my boyfriend because we had to
sneak to see each other. After that, I went wild. My mom soon found out
that she was dead wrong about my problem.

My addiction to crank was the problem. Before long, I was in rehab.

Everyone thought it would help. It did while is was in there, but no sooner
than I got home, I went to my secret stash and snorted a line. I had no
intentions of quitting.

I did not want help. In October 1999, I stole my grandparent's car. I
stayed gone for three days getting high and partying.

I did not care that my family was worried about my, just like all of the
other times I had run away. This time was different. I called my mother
from jail. "You put yourself in this mess," she said. "I am sorry that you
are in there, but at least I know where you are; at least I know you are
not lying in a ditch somewhere dead." I only stayed in juvenile hall for
three days, but the consequences for my actions, as soon I learned, would
be devastating. I walked into the courtroom with shackles around my feet
leading up to my hands.

I saw my mother and I began to cry. The judge ordered me to live with my
dad. "What? This can't be happening," I thought. "They're taking me away
from the woman who has sacrificed and bent over backwards for me! No!" But
it was reality.

For the next nine months, I was forced to live with my dad. I straightened
up a little during this time. What can you do when all your life consist of
is going to school and out-patient rehab?

Nothing-that's what. Drugs can be found everywhere: school and rehab.

My dad thought I would be kept safe from drugs since he was taking me and
picking me up from rehab and school.

He had a rude awakening. One day, my dad and I got into an argument. "I was
the one who got you off drugs," he said. "That goes to show how much you
know about me," I said. "Because I never quit drugs." You should have seen
the look on his face. I believe, at that moment, he realized there was
nothing anyone could do for me. If I wanted to quit, I had to do it myself;
he could not do it for me. His realization could not have come at a better
time. I was going to be turning 18 in a couple of months and I would be
heading off to college. My dad purchased a vehicle for me before I started
going to college.

He did this because he had always promised me if I made the top 10 percent
of my graduating class, he would buy me a nice car and I ranked ninth, even
though I was messed up on drugs three out of the four years.

I earned the car. As soon as August rolled around, I was gone. I moved to
Georgia. I did not stay gone long. By November, I was back at my mother's
house. In November, I wrecked my car because I had been up for four days
partying on crank.

On my way home from school, I fell asleep behind the wheel.

It did not hurt me, but my car was totaled.

Even though I wrecked my car, I was still able to finish the semester. In
January of 2001, I moved in with a guy, not because I loved him, but
because crank was plentiful there.

I quit school and became overwhelmingly strung out. My addiction was my
life. My mom pleaded with me. "Please come home. You don't need to be there.

You are going to get busted.

You are too smart.

You need to get back in school." I left, but I did not go home. I moved in
with another man. No one in my family knew where I was. I thought it was
better if they did not see me. I had started using needles by then and I
did not look too good. Plus, I had tracks on my arms from where I been
shooting up. Within a month, I realized what kind of relationship this was.
He beat me severely.

He was a 30 year old man and I was an 18 year old girl. I was trapped; I
felt like I deserved what I got. My mom finally found me. Battered and
bruised, along with being high on crank.

I talked to her when she came to where I was staying.

I have never seen a mother's eyes show so much hurt. We chatted a while.

We cried a while.

We never argued or fought because we were just glad to see one another.
Before she left, she asked me to come home once again.

Even though I had not felt as much pleasure out of any drug than that one
conversation. I still said no. After that day, I quit the needle, but I did
not quit crank.

I was still smoking it and snorting it. Plus, I was still getting beaten.
Before long, the man I was living with got kicked out of the place we were
staying.

We went to live in the woods in half of an old Ford van. We lived without
running water, electricity and sometimes food, but we always had crank. I
did not live in the woods long. After a month and a half, I realized I had
hit rock bottom.

It was a cold night.

I felt like there were people all around me watching what we were doing.

I panicked.

I started crying. This apparently got on my boyfriend's nerves because he
hit me. I lay on what we used for a bed crying and praying.

I made a pact with God that night.

I agreed to never touch crank again if He made sure I made it back to my
mother's the next day. The next day, my boyfriend and I got into a huge fight.

I went home. I have not touched crank since. He came to me a couple of
times after that day, pleading with me to come back to him. I always said
no. I had had enough of his abuse.

I had had enough of the crank.

Plus, most importantly, I remembered the promise I made to God. By the time
I quit using crank, it had cost me a car and being valedictorian (because I
failed a class my senior year due to too many absences.) Most importantly,
I had lost respect for myself, as well as other and I had lost all trust
from my family because of all the lies I had told. I had virtually no
self-esteem left. Even though crank caused me to lose a few things, it
helped me to learn a few lessons in life. Here are a few: No one deserves
to be beaten, no matter what you think you have or haven't done. No matter
how bad off someone gets, never quit showing and letting them know you love
them because people can change. Tough love is sometimes the best love. (If
my dad had gotten me another car like I had asked him to after I wrecked my
first one, there is no telling where I might be; I probably wouldn't be
here sharing my story with you.) Most importantly, whenever you feel like
no one else cares, turn to God. He is always there. Today, I have been
clean for almost two years.

I am attending Motlow State Community College and I make straight A's.