FORMER DRUG ADDICT URGES REFORM

Three years ago, Patty Hanson left her home, her husband and her two
children to get high.

On the surface, it's hard to imagine the vibrant 33-year-old, who grew up
in Lacombe in a loving family with a Christian education, as an
out-of-control addict, spiraling toward a drug-fuelled abyss. But that's
the scary reality of addiction. It's a faceless disease.

"Everybody got hurt, everyone who was close to me," said Hanson, who's been
clean and sober for two and a half years. She considers herself lucky to be
alive, and acknowledges that recovery is an ongoing, lifelong process.

If she hadn't sworn off junk, "I'd be dead," she said. "Six-feet under.
Once you're six-feet under, there's no hope."

Hanson is one of several special guests scheduled to speak during Anti-Drug
March festivities in the Lacombe Memorial Centre on April 16. She hopes to
provide a first-hand glimpse into the devastation that drug and alcohol
abuse wreaks on relationships, families and, ultimately, lives.

"It's a progressive disease," she said. "It doesn't get better. It's a slow
way to die."

Hanson added that Lacombe isn't immune to drug and alcohol abuse. Anyone
who believes otherwise is "in denial," adding it's easy to buy narcotics here.

When she was still using, Hanson said she could walk into certain Lacombe
establishments, and through word of mouth or by knowing certain
individuals, make drug purchases.

"Ten minutes" is all it would take to find drugs like crack-cocaine or
crystal meth in Lacombe, she said. "It just depends on what end of town
you're in."

Hanson's path to destruction began like many young people prone to
experimentation--"rebellion and curiosity" played a large role. By 25,
taking drugs was a lifestyle.

"I took anything, as long as I could get out of my head," she said. Crystal
meth, crack-cocaine, even heroin were fair game.

Drugs left her with little or no feelings, like an empty shell.

When Hanson decided to leave her family she said it felt like her life was
slipping away, unravelling into an unmanageable mess.

Addiction had taken over.

Rather than endanger her family any longer, she left her husband and two
children and moved to Red Deer, where she fell even deeper into the abyss.

After about six months of separation from loved ones, sick of what had
become of her life, Hanson asked her mother and father if she could move
back home.

She stopped using on Oct. 28, 2002.

"I had enough," she said. "I was really tired of all the death and hatred
and corruption and my kids needed their mom back.

A newfound sense of spirituality helped heal Hanson's repairable wounds.

"God wanted me back because I'm his daughter and my God doesn't make junk."

Since turning away from drugs, Hanson's had to choose her friends very
carefully. She said she can count on one hand the number of friends she has
who don't belong to her church or aren't in recovery.

Trust is an issue she's grappled with throughout her recovery--knowing
where to turn and who'll turn away.

"It's ironic because when you're buying drugs you're trusting someone isn't
trying to kill you."

It's an issue even Hanson's family is coping with.

"They don't trust me. Trust is earned. It takes time to heal. My
ex-husband's family has problems trusting me and I don't blame them."

Now that she's clean, Hanson's continuing to rebuild her life. She's
enrolled at Red Deer College, with plans to study social work. Relapsing
into old habits isn't even an option, she said. There's too much at stake.

"I'm a mother to my children again. My family loves and trusts me."

Talking about her addictions is a useful tool in the recovery process, said
Hanson, who's given speeches to the Christian Women's Club and youth groups
at St. Andrew's United Church in Lacombe.

"When I do this, it makes me accountable. It makes me responsible for the
words I say."

To youth who are considering drug experimentation, or who already have a
problem, Hanson advises to seek help immediately. Crisis phone lines have
qualified people who are willing to listen and respect anonymity.

"It doesn't matter what you go through, you can change and grow."

One of the most painful parts of recovery is seeing a fellow addict succumb
to the disease. When it happens, Hanson doesn't judge.

"You still love them," she said, her voice faltering. "You pray for them."