I'd like to say I'm surprised at the ignorance on drug use and addiction, but I guess I'm not. I'm sure most people won't even take the time to read this, and that's fine, but maybe it'll even just provide one person with a little more insight and compassion. I get tired of seeing people on here calling drug users trashy, scum of the earth that should die of an overdose. I mean really? Are you that heartless and pathetic? Despite people's confused judgment and ignorance on the topic, I don't mind sharing that I'm a recovering addict myself, probably why I have the sensitivity when people say these cruel things. Anyway I'm going to share the most condensed version of my story I can, to hopefully shed some light on this taboo topic. And hopefully this won't be too long.

I was raised in a middle class household with my one brother. My parents were good parents, they were strict when they needed to be, and didn't just let us do whatever we wanted. After my 4th grade year, my parents got a divorce. I lived in Utah with my dad, my mom and brother moved back to California where I was originally from. My dad was/is my best friend. Through junior high and the beginning of high school, I was a great kid and student. During my 9th and 10th grades of school I did well. I got a 4.0 and was on track to be the valedictorian if I continued what I was doing, I was involved in lots of extracurricular activities, went to church. I struggled with anorexia but I did receive counseling. I wanted to be a fighter pilot and go to the Air Force Academy. I'm certain if I would have stayed on the right path I would have achieved my goal. My dad got remarried at that end of my 9th grade year. I liked my step mom, but it was hard sharing my dad considering I spent the last few years just me and him. I was always against drugs and drinking, I had no interest and knew it's ill effects from my paternal uncle. Well one day during 11th grade I had the opportunity to try alcohol, to this day I still don't quite understand my reasoning. I was never the type to be influenced by peer pressure. I had been struggling with depression and just feeling this emptiness. Well one drink is all it took. To try to make this as short as possible I may skip some things.

From there it went down hill fast. I was obsessed. I'm an all or nothing person, if I'm going to do something I want to do it "right". I decided I wanted to try everything I could. After my grades started slipping, skipping school, being all around an unpleasant person, my parents caught on to what was happening. I think I knew I had a problem, I guess I thought I was smart enough to handle it because I didn't fit the stereotype of a typical "druggie". My friends occasionally drank and smoked weed, but there was a difference when they did it. They didn't drink to get piss ass drunk like I did, they didn't steal their parents alcohol or prescription drugs to do by themselves in their room. Drinking and drugs filled this emptiness in my life, made me not care about all the things I was giving up. Not even six months later my parents sent me to a rehab. They really truly tried everything they could to get me help. But let's face it, regardless of the problem, help won't work unless people let it work for them. I had no interest in giving up my recent obsession, but I played along. Fast forward a year, I'm in 12th grade. I stopped what I was doing, but I also had no friends. I still somehow ended up graduating 11th in my class. I went to college in a nearby city planning on studying mechanical engineering. The summer after graduation I got back into smoking weed, doing lots of mushrooms and ecstasy. The college year started and I only occasionally smoked weed. I did good though, and I really enjoyed college. My depression got worse though, and I got a boyfriend. I ended up finishing my AAS there and then made plans to transfer to a different school and move in with my boyfriend. Well I did that, and I realized I didn't want to be with him. It wasn't exactly a smooth breakup, he was very manipulative, although I was also not without fault. Well over the years I kept in contact with a friend I met when I was 16, at the time I considered him a best friend. Well after I broke up I started hanging out with a guy (not my best friend), we did pain pills and coke occasionally. Then eventually my best friend had some heroin. Shooting up heroin for the first time is an experience like no other. I'll just say it was like all these things in my head clicked and I thought, why isn't this what my life is dedicated to (crazy I know). To me heroin is better than sex, take the best orgasm you can imagine and times it by 100. Well as you can imagine, it was the beginning of the end. I not only got addicted to the drug, I was addicted to the needle. I had to drop out of school because I was nodding off in class, I spent my 2000 dollars savings in less than 2 months. I quit my job, and my child hood best friend was getting ready to kick me out of our house we rented. I remember the first night my dealer said she couldn't hook me up, I cried, I literally sad on my bedroom floor and wept. I wasn't too familiar with withdrawal at this point, but I'd soon be. People always take about the physical parts of withdrawal, well personally I think it's the mental part that's the most painful. My parents wanted to send me to an out of state rehab, I accepted hoping it would get them off my back. I spent a month and a half there. When I got back I almost immediately relapsed. For reference I think I'm around 20 years old at the time (I'm now 26). Anyway my dad came to me and said, "Lauren, you can either stop using and live here, or you need to leave". I left. I had no job, no money, hardly any friends. I went to the major city and took up residence as one of the homeless. I met a guy there, about 12 years my senior, and we developed a relationship. A toxic, abusive relationship based on drugs, where we panhandled and stole in order to get money for drugs. We were doing heroin, meth, and crack regularly. Well eventually I had enough. I called my dad around 3am to come pick me up from his nearby train station. That few miles I had to walk by myself to the train were interesting and scary, I did my last shot I had and continued on. The creepy men that stopped and solicited me were only mildly frightening to the man that kept following me. I had to wait at the train station for a few hours until the first train came. I remember lying on the filthy floor looking for spare change under the vending machines so I could buy some food. As I laid there on the floor I thought to myself, how did I get here? How did I get so far from everything I once valued and treasured in my life? Shortly after I arrived home I asked to be put in the local rehab facility, where I would actually be able to detox with meds for the first time. I knew if I didn't get help I'd go back in a short time. Well I was there for a month, I enrolled in college again to finish my degree. I moved back up to school and relapsed. I had been clean for over 60 days, during that time I tried so hard, I did everything my NA sponsor told me to. I went to meetings, I kept up with aftercare. It wasn't enough. I met a guy in one of my classes he seemed nice and asked if I wanted to go smoke weed so I invited him back to my dorm room. I took the first hit. I felt light headed and had to sit down. My vision started going black and I couldn't move my body. I remember waking up in the middle of the night with only my underwear on. I thought to myself, you deserve this, you brought this on yourself. I'd like to say this was the first I had to drop out again, and this is where it gets even worse. I started doing things for drugs I'd never thought I'd do, I won't go into detail because some of you are so damn judgmental. I experienced lots of shitty things, and had people treat me terribly. Eventually I really had had enough and went back to rehab, again. After that I'd use occasionally until one day I decided no more.

There is a whole bunch left out of my story, and I'm not asking for pity. I should mention I met my husband in rehab, we have a beautiful 14 month old daughter and I'm due with our son in October. I have my bachelor's degree in anthropology. Unless you have an addiction, you have no idea what it feels like. To want those drugs more than anything, knowing you'll lose all your family, friends, respect... everything. People would say, why not just stop, well it's not that fucking easy. If it was, do you really think people would choose drugs and these terrible situations over everything good in their life? Anyway I've been able to stay clean by being on a medication called subutex. I'm not entirely sure what my point was for this, but not everyone fits your stereotype of a drug user. I made 1 mistake as a teenager (what teenager doesn't do stupid shit?), and it cost me a lot. Yes I made that initial decision, but I didn't choose to have an addiction. I wish I didn't, but this is something I will struggle with the rest of my life probably. I still have days where I think about using, where I have bad cravings and think, maybe just one more time. Then I look at my beautiful daughter and I remember I keep fighting to overcome this addiction for her, and myself too of course. I never want to have to look back and feel bad that I chose drugs over my child. Although I've been clean for a few years (I don't keep track because it gives me anxiety), sometimes it feels like just yesterday and I'm experiencing all those painful emotions again. Maybe just consider that people who use drugs made 1 bad decision and as a result have a life long disease, that doesn't mean they're terrible people who deserve to die by overdose. Maybe instead of judging about something and someone you know nothing about, you could offer support in hopes that that person may eventually achieve sobriety.