Who Is an Addict?

It started when I was about 13 years old; I'm not sure if I was 13 or 14, to be honest. I do remember the first time I tried to get high, though. That I remember. We smoked a joint, Debbie, my "Best Friend" from elementary, junior, and high school, and me. She got a jump start on me, and I was jealous. I wanted to smoke weed too. I wanted to fit in, be in that "Crowd" of kids that at the time seemed like the really cool people. The way to do that was to do what they did, and what they did was get high.

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We smoked that joint, and I didn't feel anything. I remember that very well. I was an addict before I ever got high, because although that joint didn't do a thing for me, what I wanted when we were done was MORE. I was PISSED OFF. I wanted to be high before I knew what being high was about.

I found out within the next few days what it meant to be "High." I found out that smoking pot didn't making me jump off a building. I found out that smoking pot didn't make me go crazy. I believed that what I was told while I was growing up - ALL OF IT - was a lie. If what they told me about pot was a lie, all of it was a lie.

I was 13. I was a child. The year before I started using, I was playing with toys in my room. I was a straight A student. I was the "Good Kid" of the family. I was the only girl, the middle child; my oldest brother was the hero - he was and is a genius, card carrying member of MENSA, Eagle Scout, and has always been the star. My youngest brother is Autistic - he required 99% of my mom's attention. I didn't make waves, I was the good kid, the helper, the girl, the one that required the least amount of maintainance.

Until the dope came into my life, anyway.

Those straight A's turned into a report card that didn't even have grades on it - you have to actually GO to a class to fail it. By the time I was 17, I was a drop out, had my own apartment, and was a drug dealer. At 17, it is not possible to be a smart drug dealer; it lasted for a while. I went with my roomates to San Francisco to North Beach and sold LSD and methamphetamine to tourists (or anyone who wanted to buy it.) I started with pot at 13 and was using LSD before I knew it was LSD - someone gave me "Acid," and I took it 3 or 4 times before I knew "Acid" IS LSD. I didn't jump off a building, and I didn't go crazy. Speed was next. Speed was king. Cocaine was OK - PCP I didn't like, but I did it if nothing else was around. I never did use a needle, so I figured I was OK.

In October of 1981, our apartment was raided, and I got to go to jail for the first time - I got to sit in the holding cells at the city jail a couple of times before that, but this was different. I was in Oakland, CA, and I got to sit there for about 10 days, and on the 10th day, Halloween, the charges were dropped, and I was released. I celebrated by using the methamphetamine and LSD the cops DIDN'T FIND when they raided our apartment.

I took 8 hits of acid that night. I didn't jump off a building, and I didn't go crazy.

I did walk into traffic. My friends grabbed me, and I was OK. We all laughed about it.

And so it goes. I got older. I got a job at a psychiatric hospital, and I eventually even went to college and got a license as a psychiatric nurse. I got married, I had two children, I worked at a state hospital for 11 years.

I used drugs the entire time. I didn't jump off a building, and I didn't go crazy.

I started using in 1979. By 1994, things were getting off the hook. I was working in Administration at a state hospital in California. I was using obscene amounts of methamphetamine - I went through the cocaine age of the 1980's, and spent an obscene amount of time, money, and life on that drug, too. None of the drugs I used were good for me, but the "King," speed, and the king of all speed, methamphetamine, would, in time, bring me to my knees.

In 1994 I was drug tested at work for "reasonable cause." In hindsite, I know why. At the time, I was outraged. Obviously, someone had it out for me! It couldn't have anything to do with ME, my behavior, or the fact that I was using and staying up for days and days at a time, picking my face to shreds, and manic.

I was finally crazy. It took 15 years, but I got there. I still didn't jump off a building, though.

I handed over my urine sample, and I could smell the methamphetamine in my urine. I made sure to fill the cup full enough to assure it would spill on my supervisors hands. I was also "Sure" I would test clean... insanity....