SAM'S STORY - WALNUT CREEK TEEN'S ROAD FROM METH

When Sam first tried crystal meth with her Walnut Creek high school friends
last year, she was scared. But she liked it. She did it again. And again.

Sam had always hated her body, and now she was losing weight. She finally
belonged. She'd been depressed, and the meth was holding that at bay.

Yet not much later, she started fighting with her parents and her friends.
Sometimes she spent days on end in her room, fearful that the police were
about to knock at her door. She was sure they were coming to get her. She
couldn't sleep. She weighed only 100 pounds - down from 145. She saw a
skeleton in the mirror. Her hair was falling out. She felt alone.
She was anything but.

Just as meth has become an epidemic in gay communities across the nation,
so it has infected the country's suburban teens in alarming proportions.
National health studies show that use of methamphetamine is growing faster
among American teenagers than any other drug. Only marijuana is used more
than meth.

National health experts say meth gets an ironclad grip on suburban teens
like Sam because they are bored, troubled, ready to travel. They're loaded
with emotional baggage, looking for a way out. Often they're depressed,
stressed beyond their limits. Maybe an attention deficit disorder or
learning disability was never discovered.

"Meth will . . . kill you," Sam says. "It f- up my life."

Sam's life so far is 17 years long. She lives at home in Walnut Creek with
her parents and younger sister. The family is comfortably middle class. The
house is four-bedroom, three-bath. Their drive is private. They own a truck
and an SUV, two boats, a large-screen TV.

But from January to September of 2002, their life was a living hell. Sam
was disturbed and using meth. Her father drank heavily. Her mother was
already exhausted from muscular dystrophy.

During the nine months of turmoil, Sam never had any problems getting meth.
It was cheap - the going rate for one night's worth for two was $40 - if
she had to pay at all. Sam says friends at Northgate High School often just
gave it to her.

"It's everywhere," she says. "You can't escape from it."

But escape it she did. And she and her family hope now that by sharing
their experience - everything but their last name - they will help others
escape, too.

This is Sam's story.

The First Time

Growing up, Sam never cared for Britney Spears. Or dieting. Or athletics.
Instead, she drew and wrote poetry. She downloaded music from the Internet.
Her favorite band was Sublime, whose lead guitarist, Bradley Nowell, an
idol of Sam's, died of a heroin overdose in 1996.

Sam wore jeans and a sweatshirt most of the time. She lined her eyelids
with a dark pencil, but left the rest of her makeup subtle.

Sam was not part of any clique at school. Her younger sister, Jessica, was
always the goal-oriented one. Jessica, 15, got straight A's in school and
was a varsity cheerleader with a brilliant smile.

Sam's family lived a typical suburban life. Her mother, Stephanie, did
volunteer work, and her father, Mike, was a telecommunications manager. Sam
liked to just hang at Sunvalley Mall in Concord and strum her guitar with
her friends in the park.

In the summer of 2001, Sam tried alcohol. She was 16. Her drink of choice
was beer - MGD was her favorite brand. She also smoked weed. Then in
January 2002, she did some cocaine.

She knew nothing about meth. A couple of weeks after doing the coke, a
friend offered her some meth.

Because she was at her friend's house, and her girlfriend was doing it, it
seemed OK. Sam swallowed her fears. All told, there were four girls. They
each snorted some.

And then they snorted more.

Sam and her friends liked to call meth "tweak."

Soon enough, Sam was snorting or smoking tweak every day. It made her happy.

It made her talkative. It made her energetic. And she lost lots of weight.

These were the good times. They didn't last.

Signs of Trouble

A schoolmate of Sam's called Stephanie in late February. She hadn't been
showing up for class. She was constantly stoned, the friend said. Her
parents were infuriated. They sat Sam down and confronted her. She lied to
them. She told them she'd been getting high on weed - marijuana, that was all.

When she owned up to her parents days later, told them she was doing speed,
they were shocked. Then worried.

"It's the worst s- you can do," they told her.

They grounded her for a week. Sam thought the punishment was unfair, but
she knew she could wait them out.

She started sneaking off through her first-floor bedroom window and making
up stories about whom she was seeing. All the while, she was smoking pot,
but not meth. Her friends didn't have tweak. She did this from January
until the end of August. Then one Wednesday night, she did some cocaine a
friend had. The next day, her friend got some tweak. She was back on it again.

She hung with school friends who sold drugs on the side. Two male friends
would give her the drug for free, or at least dirt cheap.

She isolated herself from friends who didn't do drugs so they wouldn't find
out about her habit. She was ashamed. She was "cracked out" - irritated,
agitated, paranoid. She thought people were watching her every move. She
started to hallucinate.

One time, she went to the mall with her sister. She used her dad's credit
card to take $20 from a cash machine, to buy drugs. Her dad found out.
Jessica told on her big sister. Her dad exploded, gave Sam a verbal lashing.

That night, Sam ran away. She was leaving for good. She went to a friend's
house in Walnut Creek.

She smoked pipe after pipe of speed, until 7 a.m. the next day. Her parents,

meanwhile, frantically searched all night. They finally found her by
calling friend after friend. They brought her home.
On her mom's birthday in August, she was so high she didn't want to join
the family celebration at a restaurant in Lafayette. She was exhausted and
fell asleep in the car. Her family forced her to go inside. All Sam could
think about was how much she hated being there.

She wondered whether her parents would notice how large her pupils were.
She didn't eat a thing.

For four weeks, throughout August, Sam smoked meth every day. After she ran
away, her dad sat her down and asked her if she wanted help. She said yes.

In early September, she began a drug rehabilitation program at New Bridge
Foundation, a private outpatient clinic in Walnut Creek. Her parents'
insurance covered most of the cost.

Sam had to make a pact with herself and her family. She signed a home
contract that said, in part, "Today is my last day using speed." The
contract required her to list the friends she vowed not to see, to submit
to two urine tests a week to check for drugs.

Sam was on the road to recovery.

A Shocking Revelation

Weeks after signing the home contract, Sam attended a family treatment
meeting with her parents at New Bridge Foundation. Teens around the room
were sharing their stories.

Sam had been telling her parents that she hadn't used meth since beginning
treatment - and they'd believed her. But at this meeting, Sam piped right
up. She looked at Stephanie and Mike and said: "Mom and Dad, I used."

Stephanie's heart went to her stomach. She began to sob. "I thought you
were through with it, Sam." Stephanie couldn't stop crying.

Sam would relapse two more times.

Setting Goals

By November 2002, Sam had been clean for 45 days - the relapses were a
thing of the past.

Sam agreed with everyone that she needed some goals to help her stay drug
free. She filled out a form from the New Bridge Foundation that included
warning signs to watch out for: "lack of meetings, isolation,
anger/saddness (sic), hanging out with using friends, going to partys. (sic)."

She also listed issues to work on: "dealing with my anger, keeping busy,
working out my feelings, staying clean."

At about the same time, Sam began seeing a therapist, Dr. Alex Stalcup of
Lafayette, who diagnosed Sam as being depressed and started treating her
for attention deficit disorder.

Despite Sam's progress, Stalcup was concerned. His patient's recovery was
very fragile.

Day 64 of Being Clean

On a December day in Walnut Creek, Sam's mother is still adjusting to the
ordeal of her daughter's meth addiction.

"I'm the pushover mommy," Stephanie says, sitting at the family's kitchen
table. She has changed her parenting techniques. "It took awhile to sink in
that things aren't right and I have to be stern. I also don't want to get
in her face. I'm trying to let her work through things. We're taking it
from day to day."

Stephanie and Mike took away Sam's driving privileges indefinitely. They
forced her to come home immediately after school or any meeting of
Narcotics Anonymous. Her mom drove her to the meetings.

Stephanie and Mike had other issues to deal with. Sam couldn't stand the
thought of being in the house because she resented the temptation of Mike's
wine and beer in the refrigerator. After a family discussion about Mike's
drinking, all alcohol was removed from the house.

Stephanie and Mike went to a meeting of Al-Anon, a program for friends and
families of alcoholics and addicts. At the meeting, they learned that
addiction is a disease. It's not somebody's choice. It's not under their
control.

That helped.

Ups and Downs

On Day 94 of being clean - early January - Sam was moody. She slept until
midafternoon. The doctor had her on a new antidepressant.

Stephanie had gone into Sam's room days earlier and was certain she'd
smelled the stench of alcohol.

"She's just not a happy person," Stephanie says. "I think it goes back to
her ADD and depression. I'm very worried. It's just scary. As a mom, you
want to fix things, and I can't fix this.

"She doesn't want to be around the family. She wants to avoid
responsibility issues. Her schoolwork is still sitting there."

Sam's father also believes that the family and its problems contributed to
Sam's escape to drugs. But he says adolescent experimentation and Sam's
isolation took their toll.

"Kids, as they grow up - we as parents have our ideas - you try to teach
them," Mike says. "Sometimes yelling and screaming happens in every family.
That probably contributed as well. When they don't do well at school, you
put pressure on them, and they try to escape from pressures.

"Speed is rampant out here, as I'm sure it is everywhere. We're proud of
her for being able to beat it, stay off it. Not a lot of people can do that."

Stephanie is afraid every time Sam leaves the house that Sam may not come
home - ever. "Hopefully she'll stay in aftercare. We're going to use all
the resources we have."

Stephanie might worry less if she could hear her own daughter's stories.

Like the story where Sam handles a New Year's phone call from one of her
old using friends.

"She told me she hadn't slept for a couple of days," Sam says. "She's
dating a drug dealer. Those people don't appeal to me. She was saying,
'Let's hang out. I haven't seen you.' I didn't want to talk to her anymore.

"This is the best I've ever been. No more lies, no more hiding, no more
chaos. Instead of dealing with problems in bad ways, we work it out. I
thought meth was fun. In reality, it was not fun."

Sam came to realize that boredom played a role in her getting hooked on meth:

"Everyone has lots of money. Parents give kids money. There's nothing to do
in Walnut Creek. Meth puts excitement into your world. It was my favorite
drug to do. It's also the worst. It's so dirty."

A Big Day

"Way to go, Sam!" says teacher Amy Bush, handing Sam a letter. "Done!" Sam
says. "I'm going to hang it on my wall. Yahoo!"

Sam has just completed her course requirements at Nueva Vista Continuation
High School.

"At times, it was like pulling teeth out with pliers," chimes in Nueva
Vista Principal Julie Hernandez.

Sam's final project, handed in on Jan. 31, was several poems and a paper
about her battle with meth addiction.

Sam turns 18 on June 4. She will receive her diploma June 8, then plans to
continue her studies at Diablo Valley College in the fall and look for a
job. Her dad has promised her a Jeep and a cell phone.

"I have goals and plans and deadlines and clean days to keep track of," she
says. "I can't use. I could die. Things will be the same if I use again. It
used to solve problems when I was high. Now I deal with problems."

The Future

As of today, Sam has been clean for 220 days.

It hasn't been easy.

"I'll still be here to do anything I can to help her," Stephanie says. "You
can't give up on these kids. You love them and want them to get through it.
They can't do it without a strong family."

For her part, Sam has never been happier - or felt stronger.

"I don't want to go back," she says. "Things are really good now. I've got
my house, my dad is buying me a Jeep, I got my cell and my parents' trust.

"Adulthood means I've got to be responsible now, do stuff for me my parents
can't."