Narconon Gave Me My Mom Back
As a child, I had the unfortunate experience of being raised by a drug addicted parent. My mother started abusing drugs when I was just over one year old. Her addiction and I grew up together as siblings would, developing into two separate parts of her life that she would soon have to choose from.
Since I was so young, I was unable to fully grasp what was happening. I couldn’t outright say “my mother is a drug addict,” simply because I was too young to know what a drug addict was. I was only aware that something was wrong. My mother was physically there, but mentally absent. Some days, it was as if she didn’t know I existed at all. She could not see me and all I could see was her struggle to maintain ‘something.’ I later found out that that ‘something’ was her drug addiction.
As I got older, my mother’s addiction became more and more severe as well as noticeable. Her and my father were at constant war, which resulted in their divorce. My mother moved us away to a new home where I hoped and prayed things would be better, but I was wrong. Growing up in a small town does not leave room for secrets. Soon enough family, friends and even strangers we passed on the streets were fully aware that the woman holding my hand was a drug abuser. I never understood why I received so many looks of sorrow cast down at me from most every adult I crossed the path of, but their languishing eyes and upside down smiles told me that I should be weeping for something that I was too little to see. Juvenile and naïve, I strolled past these people and didn’t look back.
One of the most difficult things I had to face while my mother raised her addiction and I together was school. Uncomfortable parent teacher conferences and awkward school events, eventually ended with an entire school faculty knowing my mother’s secret. I lived my life as though I were a porcelain doll. My teachers and counselors sidestepped most, if not all, conversation with me about my mother. It was as if the slightest hint of what my life was like to those who looked in on me from the outside would shatter me into a million fragile pieces that would be impossible to put back together. For years, I waded my way through school with stapled on rose colored glasses, never putting my finger on what was really going on in my life.
As I matured, I began to put two and two together, but could never bring myself to conclude that my mother was using. I loved my mother, I refused to see the ugly truth behind her late nights and locked door. Looking back now, it should have been as plain as the tears in my eyes and the grief-stricken glances I received from family members, what was really happening. There was a brick wall of ignorance that towered in my way, jading me from the truth. It wasn’t until I reached 10 years of age that I was told what the problem was that I had been looking directly at and yet hiding from. My mother was a hard-core drug addict and she had been, literally, my entire life.
Knowing all of this now, makes me wonder why no one stopped to help. None of the adults who seemed to be so distressed upon seeing me with my mother, offered their hand to help her through what was significantly hindering my childhood and what could have potentially ended her life. In the end, my own family banded together to assist her in recovery.
My Uncle stuffed my mother into a car and drove her to Narconon, while she bargained and lied about her addiction.
This was over 12 years ago and my mother is still clean and sober. She has now devoted her life to helping others who have stranded themselves on the same boat, that she was once captain of, to find their way to health and sobriety.
When she was taken to Narconon, she was reluctant at first, but she made the choice to complete the program. The program helped piece her life back together and she was able to rid herself of the addiction she tended to for 10 years and choose me, instead. I am forever thankful to Narconon for helping her to make that choice.
- Anonymous
