A FAMILY'S STRUGGLE AGAINST ADDICTION

My son Michael was one of the victims discussed in the article "Heroin
victims' parents try to save others" (Inquirer, May 15). I was willing
to tell Michael's story because I wanted to prevent other families
from experiencing the tragedy of losing a child to drugs. Although the
article told about the things we are doing now to help others, it did
not do justice to the effort we put into trying to save our own children.

My son did not just start drinking at age 12 and then die of a heroin
overdose at age 20. There were many years of his disease progressing
and our constant attempts to help him.

According to a personal drug history that Michael wrote while he was
in rehab, he and his friends began drinking on weekends. Michael wrote
that he was the only one who wanted to drink during the week. Clearly,
he had the disease of addiction. By age 14, he was experimenting with
marijuana and LSD. By age 15, he was using marijuana on a regular
basis. When he was 16, Michael was put on probation because of an
arrest for possession and his continued use of marijuana.

Michael continued to need to be "high," but soon realized he did not
want to pay the consequences of "dirty UTs" (urine tests that are
positive for drugs). A friend told him they were not testing for
heroin and that he would not get addicted if he snorted the heroin.
This information was only half true. Michael did get off probation,
but at the age of 17 he was a heroin addict.

We participated in many counseling and family programs with Michael at
the numerous rehabs he attended. We were taught the three C's - we did
not cause, and could not cure or control his disease. I understood and
believed the first two but was convinced I could control the disease
by controlling Michael. I eventually realized nothing was going to
stop Michael from getting his drugs. He was the only one who could
control his disease, but it had too strong of a hold on him. He
expressed this in poetry:

I go without my suicide lover,

My controller of every move I make

For just one day, I start to burn from

within

My whole body begins to ache

Each bone feels like it will break

This terrible agony I cannot take

It pulls me back to its strong embrace

Countless attempts to free myself from its grasp.

But in due time it takes me back

On that one-way track

All is lost, never again will my mind be totally clear

Even when it's gone, I live in fear

Of its return and the unearthly burn.

Unfortunately, Michael did not live long enough to develop the
strength he needed to control his disease. I will never see my son
again. The little boy I raised will never grow into the man I hoped he
would be. I cannot help my son anymore, but if sharing his story with
others helps just one person, then Michael's life will have some
meaning and not have been in vain.

Linda Brayshaw

Lower Makefield