We all hear about the opiate epidemic that affects our beloved country and towns. The news never mentions the “behind the scenes” affects to the family and friends and many times, it goes unspoken. Drugs tend to leave a trail of emotional and mental tolls on the friends and family, and even though I don’t know how to begin to prevent the addictions, I personally have found myself, too, reminiscing on the memories that I buried for so long.
Often, it begins as simple as distancing themselves from others. When I was a child, I bleakly recall very few occasions where I could look out into the audience of ceremonies and see my mother’s face. Everyone else would have both of their parents, despite many broken households, for support and I would have to try and excuse my mother for neglecting to come. It started with excuses as simple as; “I don’t feel well,” or, “prior arrangements” interfered, but eventually they were just that, excuses.
Many times, I would find myself asking why she would avoid going into public, or attending anything that involved others. I never recognized the stress on her face or the agitations from the drugs. The most obvious effect was the “withdrawal” from her responsibilities and celebrations. My mother believed that she was as entitled to her privacy, as we all were. However, her privacy soon turned into a complete exodus from my life.
As a child, you rely on your guardian to fulfill your simplest needs; food, shelter, clothing, and water. One time after I returned home from school, I walked into the house and there was no power, and since we had a well, no water. My mother had removed all the cabinets in the home for her own undisclosed reasons and was not concerned about how she would store any food. Maybe I was naïve, or hopeful, and just wanted to believe that every family went through spurts similar to ours, but deep down I knew something was different.
Eventually I resumed living with my father after I mentioned her recent actions. For a few months, she would call to ask about my life and school, but that too ceased. There were some months, I would find myself checking the local obituaries and arrest reports in the local paper, trying to understand why she refused to contact me. At thirteen years old, your parents should be preparing you for puberty, supporting you at your sports, and helping you discover who you are becoming as a person. Instead, there I was at thirteen years old, awkwardly trying to ask advice from my father, wondering why it was such a burden for her to be a [minor] part of my life.
As I got older, I began to notice the drug use, and I tried to forgive her absence in my childhood. On several occasions I have made attempts to rekindle our relationship as well as introduce her to my new life that I have built. She recognizes the anger and grudges I hold towards her and continues to dwell on the past, without acknowledging the things she could do to move forward. Instead, she still hides in the shadows, and nobody mentions it, but we all know the person the drugs have made her to become.