DRUG HELL ENSNARES USERS

They Can Watch Themselves Fall Apart, And Still Only Care About A
Fix

LeeAnn Thomas had lost her home. Her furniture, in storage, was being
pilfered away by drug dealers who traded her drugs for it. The custody
of her young son, who was in the care of relatives, was under the
state's scrutiny. Her car was gone, sold for cash to buy drugs. Her
marriage was threatened.

But that didn't matter.

All that mattered to LeeAnn was where her next fix of meth would come
from.

LeeAnn lives in Davis County. She's still stunned when she ponders her
and her husband Jeff's $200-a-day drug habit. "I don't know where the
money came from. We figured it out once that in eight months we went
through $50,000. You'll pawn, you'll steal. I stole from my own
family. You'll do whatever it takes to get your drugs," she said.

LeeAnn and Jeff hit bottom nearly two years ago when they were both
arrested on possession -- again. This time, it meant jail time for
both. Sitting in a cell gave LeeAnn time to not only start to dry out,
but to think. And what she realized was that she didn't want to end up
this way.

Enter Judge Jon Memmott and Davis County's drug court.

Drug court is less than two years old in Davis County. For those
who've faced multiple drug convictions, it offers an alternative to
sitting in jail. Addicts exchange a guilty plea for the right to
participate in drug court.

"It's not an easier program. For the drug user, it's a harder
program," said Memmott.

Instead of languishing in jail, participants are actively engaged in
reconstructing useful lives under the scrutinizing eye of the court
and its team of counselors, law enforcement agents and the judge.

Memmott knew the Thomas's were a gamble. They had several prior
drug-related convictions. They were severely addicted, and had lost
everything. The court was in its early stages, and the judge had
decided he wanted to test it by taking on the toughest cases.

"I figured, if it's going to work for them, it's going to work for a
lot of people," he said.

LeeAnn knew that too. She'd felt the addiction, and knew there was no
way out on her own.

"I was destroying myself," she said, pointing to lines and bumps still
evident along her veins. "A couple of times I had someone shoot me in
my jugular. I shot my legs. I shot the tops of my feet. My arms were
all black and blue because if I didn't hit a vein, I'd poke and poke
and poke until I did. My face was sunken in, my eyes were black, I was
a skeleton. And I thought I looked good. That's what meth does to you."

It was in January 1999 that LeeAnn went to jail.

Her trouble began at the age of 26 when she was introduced to meth by
Jeff. He had been using drugs for some time before LeeAnn found out.

"I was furious the first time I saw him smoking it at a friend's
house," LeeAnn said. She fled, but returned when he asked her to come
back.

LeeAnn said she smoked that night. "That's all she wrote. It's that
dangerous."

Later, she became hooked on shooting up meth. Her drug use continued
for two years. Then she and Jeff were arrested.

Both were sentenced to two months in jail. The court agreed to let
them serve their times separately so one of them could be home with
their son. While Jeff served his time, LeeAnn came clean. She checked
into an outpatient program, cleared weekly drug tests, and got a job.

The climb back the second time wasn't easy.

Memmott pushed both LeeAnn and Jeff hard as they made their way
through drug court. "He told me, "I don't think you're jail material.
I've got a lot riding on you. You'd better not let me down,'" she
said. "That was the first time I had someone have that much faith in
me."

LeeAnn went to school. They both stopped smoking, and gave up former
associations. They went through intensive counseling and submitted to
drug tests several times each week.

The structure of drug court provided a basis for LeeAnn and Jeff's
recovery.

"It got to the point where I was excited to go to court each Tuesday.
I knew I was clean, and I didn't have the fear of a dirty UA (drug
test)," LeeAnn said.

At each week's drug court session, LeeAnn reported her progress to
Memmott. The entire courtroom applauds every participant's answer in a
show of mutual support.

"These are people that have never been applauded before in their
lives. To see their faces light up when the changes come for them, you
know it's making a difference," said Memmott.

LeeAnn admits: "There's no such think as having a drug completely
under control. But when I'd get cravings, all I'd think about was the
fear of going back to prison, being locked in that little cell, and
losing my son. Then I'd remember that when you're doing drugs, you're
doing things even more degrading than just going to jail. You're not a
person anymore. You're just a shell."

LeeAnn and Jeff were the first graduates of Davis County's drug court.
When they stood in the courtroom and accepted their graduation
certificates, they received a standing ovation from the other
participants, from the court team, and from Memmott.

"Without him having the faith in us he had, I know we'd have been
lost. We wouldn't have our son. We'd have been terrified to come out
of jail without this help. I know we would have used again," said
LeeAnn. "He gave us that help. He didn't just throw us away."