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I Got High With My Mother

My story is anything but typical... I'm a heroin addict in recovery, but my journey started much differently than others. I got high with my mother.

I was raised in a very good home with my mom and my older brother. I lived a normal lifestyle; I lived comfortably, didn’t struggle, and got along with my mom.

I was the average kid; drank a couple times, smoked a little weed, but nothing serious. I didn’t get into fights or skip school. I had my G.E.D and was in college by the time I was seventeen.

I had a good life.

My mom was my hero. She was such a strong, independent, and happy person. I wanted to be just like her.

At the age of 17, my mother was hurt and was put on pain medications she rarely took. One day I had a headache and asked her for a Percocet. I had taken them before so I didn’t think much of it. For whatever reason, I decided I should snort it.

That was the beginning of the end.

My mom walked in. I thought I’d get in trouble, but instead, she started asking questions, and then suddenly bent over and took a line herself. Apparently, she had had quite the volatile relationship with cocaine in the past, and had stopped using when she got pregnant with me. She hadn’t touched so much as a joint in 18 years, and that was all over in an instant.

Before I knew it, I was addicted. I started with Percocet and moved on to Oxycontin. I thought it was a game. I knew nothing about addiction or dependency until it was too late. My mom became a trigger for me, and my right-hand man. Every step I took, she was right there beside me, blindly following the next high. Three years later I found myself needing the drugs to survive.

In the fall of 2010, I got pregnant with my beautiful, amazing baby son—my heart and soul. I told myself I HAD to quit. Unfortunately, due to a rare disorder, I was on Percocet my entire pregnancy. Though I did not abuse them, I still took them enough to stay addicted. After my son was born, I thought I would be okay. I ended up with MRSA shortly after and once that healed, I needed to have gallbladder surgery. I got MRSA again after the surgery and knew I was going to be on painkillers for a while. After months I finally healed, and the doctor discontinued the narcotics without warning. I couldn’t handle taking care of a young child alone…and sick.

I turned to heroin when I convinced myself it was “cheaper” and “worked better.”

I always believed my son was out of harm’s way because I wasn’t getting wrecked or allowing fools around him. It took me a while to realize how much this shit was controlling my life. Seven times I watched my mom overdose and thought I lost her, and it still wasn’t enough to convince me to quit. I knew the drugs were going to be the death of one of us. Eventually, I was arrested and charged with possession of a large amount of heroin. I took the fall for someone else, and it turned out to be the best and worst thing to happen to me. That was the day I was done.

My son has always been my everything. He’s the reason I wake up every morning. I wasn’t willing to go to jail and lose him. It wouldn’t have been fair to him—he never asked for that life. He deserved so much better then what I was giving him.

The next day I signed up for the methadone clinic. That was February of 2013, and I am proud to say that both my mother and I have been clean since.

My son finally has the mom he deserves, and we both finally have the life we deserve.

I don’t know where I would be had I not been arrested. This month I will have a year clean, and I have never felt better. I thank God for opening my eyes and showing me where my life was heading. I would have ended up in jail or dead. I may not be where I need to be today, but I sure as hell am not where I used to be.

It’s all uphill from here. Enjoy the ride.

This post was submitted by Chara.

photo credit: Indy Charlie

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