Youth’s emptiness leads to addiction

As a young child I developed a kind of emotional void. This was not from a lack of being loved, or from not having food, toys, or a roof over my head. The best I can describe it, this void was just within myself. Of course, being a 6-year-old child, I had no notion of being obsessive, compulsive, egotistical or driven by self-will. My parents worked very hard for my older brother and me – extra hard for him due to his learning disabilities.

When I was 9 years old, there came a new addition to my family, a baby brother. I recall being jealous, angry and full of rage because I knew that meant even less time for me. I was afraid I wouldn’t get the attention I wanted, and I began to rebel. In my mind, negative attention was better than no attention.

I never talked about how I felt because I was always told that everything would be fine. I had seen what some adults did to relieve stress, like smoke and drink. I made a decision to steal and smoke one of my mom’s cigarettes. I discovered that the empty feeling I had felt for some time did not exist while I was smoking that cigarette.

That first cigarette made me lightheaded, my body tingled and reality was gone for that moment. The experience opened a door that I didn’t realize I would have to work hard for the rest of my life to close. In addition to cigarettes, I started stealing money from my mom. After a while, I could no longer fill the void with cigarettes so I started stealing alcohol from my friends, parents and older siblings. The alcohol provided the same kind of escape from reality that the cigarettes had, but it was stronger; it made me pass out. At first I drank on the weekends at my friends’ houses; pretty soon I was drinking during the week as well.

At this point, my parents were legally separated and in the process of getting divorced. My father slept on the couch for three years and took his stress out on me – but I know I also added to his stress. My mom smoked weed to mask her sadness and slept away her days. I didn’t really know how to control my behavior, but the way I was treated made me feel more angry and resentful.

My mother ended up getting her own apartment with her new boyfriend. I went to live with them in a new town and only saw my dad once a week. I continued drinking, but the alcohol no longer did its job and I found weed. Marijuana brought me to a new crowd of people and a different type of attitude and ego. I started getting into fights and breaking into people’s cars and stealing just to support my bigger habits.

Marijuana made me feel untouchable, invisible and indestructible. I started doing really badly in school and got into fights, too. The school demanded that I go to counseling for my problems. This was my first experience learning about the physical, mental and emotional effects of drug addiction. Still, I was nowhere near ready to accept myself as a drug addict.

My parents began going through some good changes as a separated couple. They spent more time with us kids, good quality time. As they changed for the better, I changed for the worse. I started self-mutilating with lighters, cigarettes and razor blades because it was a stress reliever. I spent less time at home and more time getting high with my so-called friends. This is where my life of crime began.

At 14, my friends and I robbed a gas station and had a good time with the money, or so we thought. Eighth-grade graduation came and went and high school started. I met some dealers in school and got involved with cocaine, LSD, mushrooms, Ecstasy, and heroin. My mother, through these times, spent her time wondering if I was going to overdose or die in some other way due to my addiction.

In my junior year, I got expelled for using drugs on school property. I didn’t care; I just continued to do anything and everything to get the drugs I wanted and needed.

On the first week of January in 2000, I was arrested for planning to kill someone I knew after a drug-related argument. I was tired and beaten, and I knew my life was out of control. I told the police everything I had done, hoping I would have to go to jail and not have to worry any more about my drug habit. Thank God, I didn’t get what I wanted.

Right now, I have been clean and sober for about 51/2 years. To anyone who may not understand drug addiction, I can explain that it’s like a powerful itch that I feel all the time. And if I scratch it, even once, I may scratch myself to death.

– Anonymous in eastern Maine

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