There are a vast number of problems associated with today’s opiate problem. Streets are littered with needles, drug-related crime has increased and overdoses and deaths have surged way beyond what is the “norm”.
With all the talk of opiate addiction, it seems a lot of us have forgotten what started this epidemic. All we hear about is bad dope, fake pills and elephant tranquilizers hitting the streets and killing hundreds.
The opiate epidemic in this country has continued to get worse, not better. Over the last 2 decades, the heroin problem has been especially bad and not just in some areas of the country, but in most areas.
In the wake of the opiate epidemic , families across the country have one nightmare in common… a loved one overdosing. Any family touched by opiate addiction knows all too well the fear that shoots through their body like electricity every time the phone rings or an ambulance drives by.
I grew up about 20 minutes outside of San Francisco in Marin County. I had a pretty amazing childhood. Sure, there were some ups and downs, but for the most part, I was a happy, energetic child that loved life.
Before coming to Narconon Suncoast , I lived and died for heroin. It was who I had become. I had been using for 8 years and I truly got to the point where I just threw in the towel and accepted the fact that I was going to spend most of my life in jail or prison. Or I was going to die a junkie.
Before I came to Narconon Suncoast , I was badly addicted to drugs and extremely suicidal. I lacked enthusiasm for anything, except for heroin and my cat. I constantly lied to my mother and refused to take responsibility for any aspect of my life.
Throughout the decades, creativity, music and drugs have gone hand-in-hand. Rock musicians and artists have long proclaimed the benefits of drugs, saying that they give them the inspiration they need to create their art.
The drug abuse crises have born nothing but pain, death, suffering, misery, over-stuffed prisons and billions of dollars for the profiteers.
“A mental state of panic was how I felt. I never would have thought that one hit off a joint when I was 13 would have led to laying on a bathroom floor, praying for something, anything to put me out of my misery.