ADDICT IN THE FAMILY

Justin Wilson Has a Sister. She Became Addicted to Heroin. Now He's
Raising Her Kids. and That's Just One Story of Those Who Survive When
Heroin Overtakes Someone They Love.

Justin Wilson

Justin Wilson is talking about the human wreckage left after his
sister and her husband became addicts. "It all started close to three
years ago," he says. "He had two back surgeries. With that, he started
to get prescriptions for Percocet, which escalated to Oxycontin. They
were getting 'scripts for close to 400 Oxycontin [tablets] a month,
between the two of them. Because they are so addicting, the street
value on oxys -- you can literally get a dollar per gram. They were
getting 80 milligrams. So you're talking $80 worth of street value for
Oxycontin. A bag of heroin is about $10 to $15. You can do the math.
It was a lot easier for them to turn that money around and go buy
heroin. Heroin is a lot cheaper." Today, both the sister and
brother-in-law are in jail. They also lost their kids. The state's
Department of Social Services (DSS) stepped in. Wilson and his wife
have temporary custody of the three children. One's 17, one's 2 1/2 ,
and there's a baby only a month old.

These aren't the stereotypes of the strung-out. They're not homeless
or mental patients or ex-cons (although they're convicts now, thanks
to their addictions). They're working people, as regular as they come.
The new breed.

Mental-health professionals will tell you that addiction is a disease,
and a bad one. One comparison holds true: There are survivors. For
every junkie, there are family members who also suffer. As Wilson
says, they're hidden victims. "My family has changed its life around
180 degrees," he says.

We sat down with four families who are caught in the vortex of the
disease to talk about their stories of hurt, expectation and recovery.
These are their stories in their words.

Justin Wilson talks about his sister.

She was constantly strung-out, constantly looking for money -- $10
here, $5 there. Two years ago is when it really started to hit; at
that point, they were taking that 'script and turning it right around,
right to the heroin. Once it got that bad, neither one of them were
working. She lost her job. He was so strung out, he never went back to
work after he had his operation.

In the beginning, we were in such denial. First we thought, she had a
couple of kids. Then, I would say about a year ago, we took off the
blindfolds and said there is a problem here. We had a family
intervention and willingly they went into the Adcare program here in
Worcester. They spent two weeks there and then they were actually on
the methadone program in Worcester. It didn't last.

In all honesty, I think the source is from these prescription drugs,
the opiates used for pain. I blame the doctors to a certain degree.
What doctor in their right mind would give a prescription of that
quantity and think that is normal? You find more of the average,
common person -- or even elderly people -- who are addicted to these
pain medications. Of course, once they are addicts, they are just
going to keep going. The way the system runs, it's just incredible.
You can just jump from doctor to doctor.

And, I blame it on my sister and brother in-law for not learning how
to take a 'script. It's outrageous. I've heard other horror stories
and they all stem from the prescription drugs. That's where it starts.

There would be times when they would look good and almost be
productive, where they'd actually go out looking for jobs, trying to
do the right thing; but they would just slip right back. They had to
take random urine tests. They were failing all the tests, so DSS
stepped in and took the kids away.

That was only two months ago. We took the kids because we wanted to
keep them in the family. DSS ran a query check on us and we were able
to support them financially and provide a good home for them.

He is in Bridgewater. She is at MCI/Framingham. She was arrested three
different times for shoplifting -- all in Worcester. This is the first
time that she has actually gone to jail, so let's hope that she's
actually hit rock bottom.

His family, last month, went in front of a judge and had him forcibly
put in for a one-month detox. I suggest that anytime you see the
signs, do that. As soon as you realize that there is a problem, get
your family together, go in front of that judge and say, "Listen,
there is a problem here."

I don't think people realize what families go through. A lot of people
will just keep feeding them and feeding them. It doesn't help. At some
point, you have to wash your hands. I think it is something that
should be told.

Beverly Conyers (a pseudonym) is a successful author and teacher who lives
in Worcester County. She is the author of Addict in the Family: Stories of
Loss, Hope and Recovery, in which she reveals her own daughter's addiction
and how she learned to detach herself to become more helpful.

In the early '90s, when my daughter was in high school, I became
concerned because she started dropping out of all the activities that
she used to enjoy. I took her to several counselors, psychologists --
and even one psychiatrist -- to find out what was going on. I later
found out that she was smoking pot and doing a lot of LSD. Looking
back, it seems amazing to me that no one talked to me about the
possibility that she was doing drugs. I was so blind myself.

We talk about the addict being in denial, but I was in big denial. I
think a lot of people really are. Anyhow, she moved out of the house
to live with her boyfriend when she was 18. They became big coke
addicts, which I didn't know. She just became totally distant from me.
I knew something terrible was happening. I thought she was depressed.
I thought she had anxiety. I did not believe it was drugs, although it
was in the back of my mind. I just couldn't face it.

She was living over by Pleasant Street. I went over to her
neighborhood one night and saw her station wagon with all their
belongings piled in the back. I went over to the apartment where they
had been staying and buzzed until the couple let me in. I asked, "Why
would you kick my daughter out?" They said, "Do you know your daughter
is a heroin addict?"

They were living in the car.

She was 23 then. I can never forget that feeling, like my stomach fell
out of me. I just wanted to die. I had to grab onto something, I felt
so sick. Her car was parked on West Street. I went over and stood
there in the shadows, waiting and waiting. A white car came by with a
bunch of guys in it and she got out. I went over and confronted her.
She looked horrible. She gave me this little sleepy smile and said,
"Hi mom. What are you doing here?"

I said, "You are a heroin addict." She said, "You're crazy." I said,
"Show me your arms." Then she turned and started to run. I ran after
her. I said, "I'm never going to stop running. You are going to tell
me about this and when I see a cop, I'm going to tell him about you
and have you arrested. You cannot outrun me." We ran for several blocks.

In her book, in a chapter called "The Stranger You Love," Conyers
writes of that moment when she discovered her daughter and the
boyfriend had been evicted: "In the four months they had lived there,
their apartment had become almost uninhabitable. The filthy bathroom
contained a phone book that they used for toilet paper. The living
room was a chaotic jumble of dirty dishes and soiled clothing and
bedding. The bedroom floor was covered in feces from their cats and
ferret.

"My daughter always wore the same long-sleeved shirt stained with
sweat; the cuffs and sleeves were speckled with dots and streaks of
blood. Her shoes smelled like rotten meat."

I didn't know anything about heroin. The whole concept of being a
junkie is so ugly to me. I just could not imagine that one of my
children could ever use heroin. I basically thought they were too
intelligent. I was just devastated and determined to do something
about it. I was going to force her to come home with me and force her
to get treatment, to get better. She went to counseling, but she's
never really had any treatment other than a weekly counseling session.
She's gone to NA (Narcotics Anonymous) and things like that.

One of the comforting things about going to the Narcotics Anonymous
meetings was most of them were parents and normal people; couples who
were married 30 years, go to church, who are active in their
community, who've done everything they could to raise their children
responsibly.

At first I thought, well, obviously her dad left and I am a single
mom. That was too painful for her and that's what caused this. It's my
fault. Then I saw these people who had done everything that I wished I
had done. Their children are in the same situation. I began to realize
that you really couldn't say what causes it. You can't feel
responsible for this addiction. These drugs are out there. If I knew
then what I know now, I wouldn't have let her live at home. When she
checked herself out of detox, I would have said, "I'm sorry that you
decided not to stay with it but you can't live here until you are clean."

I miss her. That's the main thing I feel. I really miss her. We used
to have fun together. We used to have a relationship that I treasured.
Now she is so distant. I don't want to give the impression that I know
for certain that she is still using because I don't. She could be
struggling with recovery at this moment. I honestly don't know.

I do feel hopeful. I know she has a lot of pride. I think she is going
to be on the road to recovery. I think there will be people to guide
her. It might not be her family members. For an addict it's usually
not the family that gets them clean, it's usually other people. She is
very strong-willed. When she decided that this is worth doing, when
she decides to take that step, I am confident that she'll do it, that
she will be one of those success stories and she will be able to use
all these horrible experiences to help others.

Goodbye, My Brother

On stage, John Morello looks to be the same age as the high school
students in the audience. His clothing, body language, tone, slang and
even his ideas create a character who is a teenage boy. "Everyone at
my school," he says, "all they do is hate each other all day. It's the
only way I can deal with school. I just take E because it makes me
like people I wouldn't normally like."

Morello is not a teenage boy. He graduated from Millbury High School
in 1987 and hasn't been back. Until now.

The teenager, named Pi, is one of five characters in Dirt, Morello's
one-man show. Each character has a different story. Drugs affect each
character. Each character teaches a lesson about substance abuse
without preaching.

Amid jokes and laughter, Morello touches upon some very real, very sad
circumstances. The horrifying and sad confessions, juxtaposed with
some very funny moments, are powerful. When the show ends, Morello
addresses his young audience; this time, as himself. He lets them in
on his own difficult past. He makes a point of avoiding melodrama,
simply stating the facts. He talks and the students listen.

When John Morello was 12 years old, tragedy struck his family when his
oldest brother, Henry, died in a motorcycle accident. "[My brother
Glenn and I] buried our feelings in drugs," says Morello.

John Morello never considered himself an addict and was never even
curious about heroin. But Glenn moved beyond casually smoking weed. By
the time John was 15 years old, Glenn was addicted to heroin, and
their relationship was instantly changed. "He had an addiction in
him," John says. "He was clean, but out of nowhere one day, he went
out, he used and he overdosed."

The crowd that had been laughing only moments before is now silent.
"The little choices you make now," he says, "affect your life."

To support his drug habit, Glenn went to his parents and other family
members for money. When the situation was desperate, things were
stolen. "That's when there started to be a wedge between us," says
Morello.

His parents knew what was going on, but according to Morello, did not
understand the severity of the situation. "There was a bit of denial,"
he says. John, his sister and their divorced parents could not agree
on the right thing to do for Glenn. "It was a big source of argument
all the time," says Morello. So Morello's father, a World War II
veteran, continued to help Glenn financially and support him
emotionally (as best he could).

Providing help for his brother was a huge challenge. "I spent a lot of
time getting him into rehabs," he says, "but there was so much red
tape."

Often, addicts don't work; therefore, they don't have money or
healthcare, leaving them completely dependent on the state. "The state
only pays for seven-day detox," says Morello, "so by the time you were
just about clean, they would put you back on the streets."

John went to extreme measures to get his brother help. "I had him
arrested," he says. "He gave me this look when he was walking out of
the courthouse like he was never going to talk to me again. And then,
a week later, he called me and he was crying and he said, 'I just want
to thank you. I think you saved my life.' "

The last time Glenn Morello went to rehab, he remained clean for two
years. But his disease had not been cured. He made one bad decision,
and his life was ended. "I'd be in the nightclubs doing stand-up,"
says John. "Then, I'd go home and I'd be thinking, where is my brother
tonight? I wanted to do something. I wanted to use my talent. Thus,
Dirt was created."

- -- Hannah Knafo

Robert is a 27-year-old white male from Gardner. He says that he has
been doing drugs for more than 10 years and has been in and out of
some 40 detox centers. Taking a seat in the library at a local
residency program, he tells his story.

My grandfather was a severe alcoholic who died from alcoholism. My
father was an alcoholic. I knew the addiction was in my family even
before I picked up a drug.

My father worked at Digital. He had a really good job until that
buyout in the 1980s. After that, things went downhill. He stopped
going to church and so did my mother. He had like four disc
operations, so he got into the Percocets. He was poppin' pills.

My father passed away from an overdose when I was 14. He was 42. It
was self-induced -- alcohol, opiates and barbiturates. A farmer's wife
found him in the middle of a field in Hollis, New Hampshire, at like,
two in the morning. He liked the country. I guess he was trying to
find some serenity. It is something that rides with me everyday. It
will be 12 years but it feels like yesterday. Gardner is a small, nice
little town, a bunch of Canucks, economically depressed. It's out of
control with heroin addiction. It all comes out of Fitchburg.

I was introduced to heroin when I was 16. I fell in love. It was nasal
at that time, not tar. I remember it was an Apple bag, going for about
$20 a bag. If you go to Lowell, Lawrence, Springfield, and you get a
bundle, which is 10 bags, it's around $60, sometimes $40. Worcester
and Fitchburg probably have the best dope in New England. I lost three
people this year.

I ran all winter. I was sleeping in a car, running around Worcester,
boosting, doing what we have to do to get it done. I just woke up one
morning, got on the phone and said this is it. I didn't know it at the
time, but I had picked up charges. There was a warrant for my arrest.
Police were looking for me.

My habit at the time was a bundle to a gram a day. With the coke, it
was up to $1,000 a day. I got to the point where I couldn't even look
at myself in the mirror. I ripped off a boss who was also a good
friend of mine. I really didn't need to do it, but that's where it was
taking me.

My mom is a big part of my recovery. I mean, I stay clean for me first
and foremost, but even yesterday, I stopped in to say hi to her and
she was like, this is the nicest Mother's Day present. I didn't even
bring anything. I should have stopped in the yard and picked a flower.

My mother just went through colon cancer. I remember going to see her
at Brigham and Women's [Hospital in Boston] the day she went in for
surgery. She asked me to leave; "I don't want to see you like this." I
thought I looked fine, but I was like, 120 pounds. The girl I was
dating had $48,000 and we went through it in like, four months. So, I
can only imagine what I looked like. I was in rare form.

My mother used tough love. She shut me off. There was a time when I
wasn't allowed on the property. She said, "I know you are using. Take
a hike." Tough love has pretty much got me to open my eyes. I value my
family, but when you are active you don't even care about yourself. I
was usually hoping my next shot was a hot shot.

You have to see it yourself 100%. Nobody can do anything for you. I've
OD'd four times. It never scared me. They thought I was suicidal. I
was like, no, I got a good bag of dope. If someone goes out [dies],
it's -- Where'd he cop? It's really like that. It's sick.

Robert's mom is the mother of two children. She's still recovering
from cancer, works a fulltime job and lives in Gardner.

After my husband had passed away, I pretty much lost sight of a lot of
things. I wasn't really there for my son. I feel bad and I can't undo
what has been done. When I was aware that he was using, I always told
him that I didn't want it in my home. I tried to do the hard love, but
I didn't do it right. I tried telling him that he couldn't be here,
but then I'd always end up taking him back. He'd always say he was
going to do better.

I've done that since '98, '99. Then I went through a bout of cancer.
My son and his girlfriend ended up coming and living here. That was a
big mistake. I lost a lot of things. They were stealing, trying to
pawn it, so they could get their drugs. Not until this last December
did I tell him never to step foot on my property until he cleaned up
his life. This past Christmas, he came to visit me. He came up to me,
gave me a kiss, said he loved me. When I went to my wallet, there was
$40 missing. That topped it all off.

I understand that it is a disease. My son is a good and loving person.
Underneath all of it, there is still that boy that I raised. I can't
do any more than that.

I can be there for him but I can't make him not put that needle in his
arm. I finally had to realize that I had to let him go and say you do
it on your own. You don't know how much this hurts to have this
detachment from my son. You don't know how much I want to be able to
say, "You can come home." I can't.

I am always on guard. Whenever I see him I always look at his eyes to
see what he looks like. I know when he is using. I can tell by his
skin whether he has or hasn't. I always worry about when he goes with
people who are not a good influence.

With him being where he is right now, and having a good support, I'm hoping
that he's going to realize that he doesn't need to use in order to feel
good. He needs to look in the right direction.

The Drug of Choice

Heroin is an opiate produced from morphine. It causes more
drug-related deaths than any other illicit drug. According to the
National Drug Intelligence Center, heroin has emerged as a threat
equal to or greater than that of cocaine in Massachusetts. Heroin's
increasing popularity is due, in part, to its being cheaper and more
pure.

"Here's what we know," says Michael Botticelli, assistant commissioner
for substance abuse services at the state's Department of Public
Health. "Heroin use has been on the rise since the late 1990s. Part of
what has precipitated that is, availability has gone up dramatically.
Because availability has gone up, the cost has gone down. In some
areas of the state we are seeing a bag of heroin for as low as $4.

"The other piece is the purity of the drug. Where it used to be 50% of
any given dose was pure heroin, we are seeing it at 80% to 90% pure."

Botticelli says the problem has reached epidemic proportions across
the state. Up until the 1990s, heroin was largely seen as an urban
problem. Today's epidemic is much different. "It's taking on a much
younger profile," he says. "When we looked at heroin use across the
state, there are high use rates in every geographic area and in every
income group. This is not just a poor urban issue. This is an epidemic
in the truest sense of the word. It's across the population everywhere
in the state."

Last year, the state had 2,372 admissions from residents of Worcester
that indicated that heroin was their primary drug of choice. "Let me
tell you the bad news," Botticelli says. "When we looked at the number
of admissions by cities and towns, Worcester was second only to Boston
in the numbers of treatment facilities for heroin use." Now it's the
young using heroin. More than 4% of high school boys across the state
say they have tried it; 16% of 8th graders say heroin is easy to
obtain. These days, heroin costs less than a six-pack of beer. You
don't have it on your breath and before you start injecting, you don't
have the tracks of needle marks. "The marketing has gotten quite
sophisticated," Botticelli says. "The dealers have a concerted effort
to market these drugs to kids. They'll package them in cellophane bags
with smiley faces and cartoon characters."

On the streets of Worcester, police are finding bags of dope with
pictures of ladybugs on them with names like "King" bags and
"Knockout" bags. They're literally different brands, like cigarettes
or soda. "There are all different kinds. They all have their own
stamp," says Sgt. Timothy O'Connor of the WPD vice squad. "What that
does is signify one dealer from another. People will go around
looking. They know the ones that are strong.

"Instead of the normal, everyday street junkie, we are finding a lot
of high school and college kids who are using. They don't inject it,
but they snort it. For some reason they don't think they are hardcore
junkies. They will even tell you that when you arrest them -- "I don't
shoot it" -- like that's OK."

Heroin users say the dope on Worcester streets is usually high in
quality. "You know why that is?" asks Sgt. O'Connor. "What happens is,
say one of these people from the towns comes in here and they put
their money together to buy a gram. They buy a gram for $90. They
bring it out to the town, but before they sell it they step on it --
they'll cut with powder or Manitol, this stuff called Manite. You go
out to the towns, the stuff is weaker. It's already been stepped on a
few times."

Sgt. O'Connor says the WPD makes street arrests for heroin everyday.
"We had six today alone -- street-level drug dealers. The buyers come
from all the neighboring towns. When they come here, you know what
they are here for. They get dropped off in the same area. They leave
their car and walk down and try to score a bag."

[sidebar]

WHERE TO FIND HELP

If you or someone you know is struggling with addiction, the following
list of resources may help.

Massachusetts Prevention Center 508-753-3115

Spectrum Health Systems 508-854-3320

AdCare Hospital of Worcester 508-798-9946

Henry Lee Willis Center 508-799-0702

Advocates Community Counseling 508-485-9300

Primary Care Group 508-949-8100

Community Health Link 508-764-4272