STARTING OVER

Medford Woman Turns Her Life Around After Years Of Addiction

EDITOR'S NOTE: This is the 12th in a series of stories on addicts
recovering from meth use. The stories run on the first Sunday of each month.

Disguised as a benign mood-booster, drugs first entered Cerella
Powell's life by way of her mother.

At 14, Powell struggled to balance school, chores and a dysfunctional
home life in Rogue River. Diet pills, Powell's mother promised, would
give her daughter energy.

"I was able to do all the work around the house ... and my homework,"
Powell, 49, said. "A lot of the belief back then was if it was
prescription, it was OK."

But the pills -- Dexedrine -- contained amphetamine, a stimulant
similar to methamphetamine. Meth eventually cost Powell jobs, homes,
relationships and more than two decades of living before she found
her life's purpose coaching other recovering addicts.

"Addiction is a cunning disease," she said. "It becomes a way of life."

Then known as "crank," meth became Powell's drug of choice in her
early 20s after teenage years spent dabbling in amphetamine, LSD, PCP
and hallucinogenic mushrooms. Meth was cheaper than any other drug
and induced a longer high.

"There used to be tons of it around this valley," Powell said.

Powell and her husband held steady jobs when snorting the powdery
substance. Once her husband started injecting meth, he stopped
showing up for work. Unable to pay their rent, the couple frequently
moved and Powell began selling meth to make a little extra money.

Her marriage of 10 years unraveled, Powell left her three children
with their grandmother and set out for Portland, where she fell in
with a "meth cook." The man took her along on a trip to Utah, which
put up fewer roadblocks to buying the chemicals needed for
manufacturing meth. But the duo was arrested there and jailed.

When Powell made bail and tried to reclaim custody of her children,
child welfare intervened, citing her four felony drug charges.
Banking on the support back home, Powell entered treatment at OnTrack
Inc. in Medford.

"I thought I could do it for my kids," she said.

For about a year, Powell eschewed all illegal substances, worked and
secured housing. But the temptation to smoke marijuana was too much
to resist, and Powell discovered she could smoke, rather than inject,
another drug -- meth. Before long, she lost her job and her White City home.

"I had everything going for me," she said.

In an ill-fated attempt to escape meth's clutches, Powell moved back
to Portland. But she started injecting meth again and found herself
pregnant. Yearning to get clean, Powell still battled despair at
being 40 and alone with a child on the way. She couldn't resist the
drug for more than a few weeks at a time.

Despite dependence on meth, Powell delivered a healthy daughter, now
7, and secured a telemarketing job in Medford. For about three years,
she used the drug at breakfast before going to work. Hiding it was no
longer necessary because her two oldest children also were addicts.

Powell's oldest daughter, however, sought sobriety at an OnTrack
residential program with her young son. Afraid of losing her
grandson, Powell promised she, too, would get clean. When the promise
didn't ring true, her daughter left the area, casting Powell into a
depression over her grandson's departure. More meth salved the hurt.

But the drug also skewed Powell's judgement and after a run-in with a
co-worker, she was fired.

"You just don't think rationally," she said.

This time, Powell said, she couldn't bring herself "back up." She
lost her home, her driver's license and her car within six months.
Arrest became a monthly nuisance while she lived at a "flop house" on
Medford's Haven Street. Wanted for not appearing in court on driving
offenses, Powell was never found in possession of meth.

One police visit, however, curtailed the cycle. Powell's youngest
daughter was at risk, child welfare workers determined, and she was
taken into foster care. Powell moved to a Medford homeless shelter
before entering the very OnTrack program her older daughter
previously completed. To avoid any barriers to reclaiming her younger
daughter, Powell stayed twice as long as required.

"I was like a sponge in there," she said.

Her daughter came home six months later, and Powell -- a stand-out in
treatment -- started doing office work at the residential program,
moving to OnTrack's main office in September 2005. Powell joined the
ranks of about 60 OnTrack employees in recovery, said Executive
Director Rita Sullivan.

"It brings an added perception," Sullivan said, adding that clients
don't feel judged when staff have been in their shoes.

Hoping to make a difference in the lives of younger families, Powell
put in for a job at Sky Vista, a new Medford apartment complex that
houses many OnTrack clients. There, Powell helps residents overcome
credit difficulties and access services. She attests to nearly three
drug-free years.

The job had an added benefit: Forging professional partnerships with
the courts, police, child welfare and probation officers reversed
Powell's previous perception that society was against her. Following
more than two decades on the fringes, Powell filed a tax return last
month that truly reflects participation in society.

The milestone, Powell said, proves "it's never too late to change your life."