April 19, 2011
By Anonymous

I was twelve years old when I first smoked pot. By 13 I was experimenting with cocaine. By fourteen, I was smoking and drinking every day. My whole family has always struggled with addiction. My father was the alcoholic and addict in our household and I’m a product of my environment.
My dad was my best friend; he was closer to me than anyone. We shared the same thoughts, emotions, and even fed off of each other’s addictions smoking and drinking with each other, just bonding. If he had no money I would pay for it, and vice versa. We had the best times together. We both used to go out in the woods with BB guns and mess around. There was never really a time he and I didn’t have a good time. Even if we got in a fight we would start throwing hands and then laugh about it afterwards. This was why we always were on the same page, we had a one track mind, we think about nothing else but what’s happening at the moment. This overall is what led to both our downfalls, and probably our addiction issues as well. My relationship with my mom never was or will be on the same level that my father and I were on.
My mom and I never really were too close after I started to mature from being her little baby boy and started thinking for myself. I was scared of her when I was younger. She loved to press 911 on the phone. She became so close with the police she even had some of the individual cops numbers on speed dial. Anytime I got her angry, sad, scared, anything she would pick up the phone. Not until I started using drugs heavily did I forget about her love for the police and became very ignorant to her calls and to her. She always thought she was helping me by having me arrested, but all it really did was help to kill my will in the long run and make me not trust anyone. She blamed my dad for all the problems in the family, but I could obviously see I was the problem and no one else. Not until I watched her break from my behavior did I actually care at all, watching her crumble like that did it, it hit me hard adding to my stress and fell on my conscience.
At fourteen my addiction really picked up. My mom and dad had started to fight a lot about my issues. I started to get arrested on a weekly basis; finally the cops had enough and sent me around to a few different placements, this wasn’t really anything to big though, at least not in my eyes. My juvenile record was just all possession charges, but still, it tore my family apart even more. I watched my family fall to pieces and spiral downward; I really thought nothing of it at the time, even though I know I was the main source of the problems. My actions over the years finally led to my parent’s separation and even more consequences as time went along.
I hit a major roadblock one day in school. I showed up drunk that day, like I did every day, but this time, they could smell me. I reeked of alcohol, cherry schnapps was what I was drinking and everybody knew: That’s when they dragged me down to the office. I failed my sobriety test with flying colors. I had no worry though. I knew being intoxicated in public wasn’t a very bad offence. So it wasn’t a big deal to me; but that was before the cop brought my unregistered gun they had found in my car, my heart dropped and I knew I was screwed. For the rest of that year, I spent my time in YDC and rehab.
While I was in YDC, I didn’t really do much of anything. The whole time I was there, I either would be asleep or working out. When I went in I already knew a few of the people who were in the same unit as me, so it made it a lot easier to settle in.
My gun charge was dropped because it wasn’t functional, since I removed the firing pin. I returned to court to see where I would go. Then they ordered me to be on strict house arrest under my mom’s supervision. Days seemed to drag on. I was sitting at my house with nothing to do. No one was allowed in and I couldn’t even communicate with anyone, besides my mom and little sister. I sat at home all day and did nothing but watch TV. Finally after a couple of months they got me into EasterSeals Rehabilitation Center.
I was in rehab for a little over 90 days. Eventually my release date had come. I was shaking on my way to court, and going over scenarios in my head. This made things a lot worse; what if I don’t go home? What if they put me back in YDC? What about jail since I’m older now? I walked in the courtroom my heart still pounding. After the judge and I talked she actually gave me the ok to return home, she was actually pleased with how I was doing. This shocked me since I completely faked my way through it all. As soon as I returned home I started into my same old ways; surprise, surprise. My friends and I got a bottle and a blunt and started right back in.
A few months after returning home I had completely fallen back to my same old self. Then I got hit with news that put me into shock. It felt like someone ripped me in half… my father had gotten into a motorcycle accident and had fatal head injuries. For three days we waited to see if his brain surgery had worked. The doctors finally sat our family down and asked what we wanted to do. The surgery had had no effect. My dad was brain dead with no hope of survival without machines keeping him alive. That was the hardest decision I ever made was telling everyone that I thought it would be best if we let him pass peacefully. I did not want him hooked up to machines all the time. I sat by his bed as they took his life support out. Only my mom and I stayed in the room with him while they took out all the tubes. Ounce they were out, everyone returned to the room. I held his hand as he passed. I felt his pain and I know he felt mine. He and I always had that kind of connection, but it was gone now and there was nothing anyone could do about it. There was nothing to do now but hurt.
My father died from drunk driving, but this taught me nothing for some reason, it just made me hurt. I don’t know why I learned nothing from it, but a few weeks later I was pulled over and charged with DWI myself.
They say “Things must get worse before they get better.” I pray that’s true. My life has been going downhill since the beginning; hopefully it doesn’t stay that way forever. Since my dad’s death, a lot more has happened. A majority of my friends are in jail and/or looking at jail time. Me, I lost my license. I’m accused of being a drug dealer, and I’m looking at four felonies for a crime I didn’t even commit. My one track mind made me forget about all my pain quickly but not permanently. Thanks to that I’m being bit on the ass for my past and struggling everyday just to pull myself out of bed and go on with my life. I really do pray things get better before they get even worse.

The author's comments:
how i have had to live the past

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