'METH-A-FRIEND-OF-MINE'

Woman Has Been Addicted for Nearly 20 Years

Since August, Michelle Hopkins says her self-worth is as low as it's
ever been.

But she hasn't hit bottom. Yet. That scares her the
most.

And it's not just one thing that brings her down, although everything
in her life seems to hang on her nearly two-decade-long addiction to
methamphetamine.

Hopkins is closing in on her 40th birthday. She's never held a steady
job. There were two stints in prison on theft charges. Last March, she
was told she'd die from cervical cancer.

But she survives, as she always does, and today is cancer-free, but
still a frequent drug user.

Her oldest boy, 21, was just released from two years in prison on a
sexual assault conviction.

She owns a 14-foot by 70-foot mobile home, but struggles every month
to pay her $150 lot fee at a trailer park in Ames. Just last week she
sold an '85 Ford Bronco II so she could make this month's payment.

Her only income is $600 a month in disability payments. Most of that
feeds the one constant in her tumultuous life: her addiction to, as
she puts it, "meth-a-friend-of-mine."

"I don't have a specific reason why I get high; I just get high
because I want to get high," she said while drinking coffee at Perkins
Restaurant this week.

She's been using meth for so long the stereotypical labels of "junkie"
or "meth-head" don't bother her anymore.

"Yeah, I am that," she says. "So what?"

Law enforcement officials charged with tracking meth use in Story
County say the problem is reaching epidemic proportions. They feel
they've only begun to tap into the meth market.

While drug agents say using, selling and manufacturing meth in Story
County is no worse than it is anywhere else, more of the community is
blind to people such as Hopkins.

The high is too good

On Monday, Hopkins said the last time she got high was less than a
week ago. She doesn't shoot meth every day. That costs too much. But
when she does shoot meth, it is usually a gram or more.

"Most people when they sit down and get high they may smoke or shoot a
quarter gram," she said. "I will do a whole gram. It is like I can't
get enough when I first start the high. My mind, my physical being
just consumes me. I want more dope. You can't satisfy that. It is like
a hunger. It doesn't seem to get satisfied."

The only way she does meth is by using a needle to shoot it into her
veins. She's given up on snorting or smoking it.

The needle is its own addiction. She lifted the sleeve of her sweater
which showed that she's already worn out the veins in her left arm.
How soon will it be before she can't shoot meth in the right? She
doesn't know.

She won't shoot the drug herself. She always has to have someone else
do it. Someone else has to be there for her to get high.

Hopkins, an only child, loves the high meth gives her. She's happy for
a little while. She wants to clean up physically. She's motivated to
get organized. And she has a social life again and feels people want
to be around her.

About a month ago, Hopkins went to Des Moines and came back with an
ounce or more of meth. There are about 28 grams in an ounce. She fed
her addiction and that of eight to 10 others for a week.

"I didn't have to get high by myself," she said. "I had someone there
readily available to help me shoot dope. They served their purpose and
I served mine, knowing these people were not going to be my friends
later."

Addiction specialists say a sense of belonging, acceptance or holding
a certain status in a group is a main reason people turn to drugs. And
then they will do anything to keep that feeling coming back again and
again.

The downside, Hopkins said, is that she becomes an emotional mess
while getting high. She is unpredictable. There is anger and crying.
In a split second, she can be paranoid and convinced people are
talking about her, plotting against her - these are typical side effects.

Then, she says, it always climaxes, sadly, with that one sudden moment
of despair. It hits you like a brick wall.

"You are out of dope, and you are so desperate to find out how you are
going to get high again or how you will ride out that high," Hopkins
said. "You will put yourself out there to do what you need to do to
get high."

More than once she's come home and told her youngest son, 18, that she
spent all her money on meth and she can't afford to pay the rent or
buy groceries. She's stolen money from relatives. Christmas presents
for her kids were returned so she could use the money to get more drugs.

But to her, it's somehow worth it. It is not like those middle school
and high school days in Boone when Hopkins was an outcast and had
nobody but her alcoholic parents.

Now, she says, "It's always treat on Michelle."

'I am a survivor'

Hopkins has never sought treatment for her addiction. She's been
through a couple of 12-step programs but only because she had to.
Prison. Cancer. It doesn't matter; she always goes back to meth.

"I want to be done." She pauses. "But I still keep going, I guess.
Even thinking of it makes me crazy."

Up until a couple of years ago, her mother was her best party friend.
They did meth together. Her dad knows about her addiction. He loves
her nonetheless.

"No matter how bad I get or how well I do I can still expect the same
from him, which is great for me," Hopkins said.

Her kids are anti-meth.

"It's probably the hell I put them through while I am on it," she
said.

So what's next? Hopkins doesn't know. It's always day-to-day. Hoping
the electricity and water aren't turned off the next time she comes
home. Hoping she's not evicted. Hoping to feed the addiction she can't
kick.

Her lifestyle and its consequences are real and easy for her to
understand. But the power to change has always been beyond her reach.

One minute it's this: "Once I have the first taste of methamphetamine
I will chase it. I will do whatever I have to do. I will seek out
anything to continue that high."

The next minute it's this: "I hate to say it, but I think death is
going to be my bottom. I question that a lot, because if nothing else,
I am a survivor. But nothing seems to be stopping me, you know. I
still want to get high."

Michelle Hopkins

Age: 39

Children: two boys, ages 21 and 18

Where: She grew up in Boone and now lives in Ames

What: She has been addicted to methamphetamine for since the age of 21