My eyes still speak of stories that have never left my lips; and of all the times I hid behind diagnosis’ that were written on my scripts. I always had imagined dealers as being criminals and thieves- But, my first dealer was a doctor…. How had I really been so naïve? I hadn’t asked to be raped, to have my body used against me as a weapon- What a fucked up thing to use your fists to teach a lesson…. Hands around my neck strangling me with his deception. Black eyes fade….split lips heal, bones can always be reset, But that lifeless look of hatred is one that I never will forget. I started to panic-I was crumbling; fear sat so quietly devouring my soul, I’ll forever curse the moment that first substance made me whole. I was only 15 then- all I knew was I’d been hurt and was in pain,, I never thought one day I’d be sticking a needle in my vein. Had one tiny blue pill really sent me down the road of my demise? Would losing everybody’s trust be worth the frantic mess that came with all the lies? Society took mental illness and painted over it with shame, So let me be the first to stand up, proudly- and attach that stigma to my name. Denial is deadly, denial really is no joke- Denial hides behind the truth in which one day we always choke. My whole family rallied around me- they held me up when I couldn’t stand, But, addiction snuck up behind me and ruined everything that I had planned. I never even noticed that as time passed I popped more pills, and nowhere in that pamphlet had it warned that, “this prescription kills”. I didn’t grow up sheltered, we were proactive- I had D.A.R.E. But no class taught me how it felt to be so lost in such despair. I had been fighting writers block for what felt like years… …there were so many drugs…and too few tears. I wonder how things might have changed, if all that time spent high could be exchanged. It was the streets that taught me how to cope…. Whose rigid hands revived my hope…. As I was blindly placed into the arms of dope. I had always sworn that that wouldn’t be me- because um, aren’t all addicts thugs? Well karma slapped me upside the head the day I fell in love with drugs. The rug got pulled out from below me, What? I have a drug problem? Are you insane? I was completely oblivious to the spell addiction had cast onto my brain. My family continued to carry me- they didn’t cut me off or throw me out, Their love shined through the clouds that had been shadowing me with doubt. So, I straightened up; got clean; started living life without a sense of entitlement, While embracing recovery I finally saw the light, and told my addiction it was time to go into retirement.
As a guest on this site , click in MY SITE in the upper left of the black bar above …
follow prompts to BLOG …..( then ADD
OR click on the BOX N PENCIL in the upper RIGHT ! WRITE ON ! !
your administrator , Craig/Dad-2 www.facebook.com/drugaddictsagainstdrugs
😎Craig Dickinson Daad
I’ve been involved with Addiction for 40+ years in NYC ,Staten Island ,Brooklyn ,queens and Long Island where heroin is the king next to Cocain Marajuana and today’s various pills which are the dance club craze , usually used on the weekends. And in all my time and through all my associations, it’s still Heroin that kills US. Please alow me to introduce this problem —to the reality at hand. We’re trying to teach teens who are stoned…not to be…and it’s just not working.
For the record books
Growing up in the 60s, you knew what pot was. Marajuana was as popular as the Beatles. And Continue Reading…
- You may know his story, but if not… Please read and feel free to share!
Here is a link to my son’s page where you can read his story… You may recognize him, as he was a child actor for over 17 yrs…
When you get to the bottom of the page to the Message Boards, and click on Heroin Kills. I put this on his page so that his fans would know the truth of what happened to my son. I hate Hollywood rumors and the stigma that comes with it.
“HEROIN,TRY ME ONCE AND YOU’LL BE MINE A TRIBUTE TO TODD MOUNT Jr.
I was asked to share my sons journey with heroin. He died 11/7/13. He was 22. He battled for about 3 years and did really good at times. He was 96 days clean and doing great. For what ever reason he decided to use and he died. In his room on his bed. I performed CPR but it was too late. He was my only son. I have 1 daughter who turns 18 tomorrow and now she is an only child. My heart breaks for her. The more we make a commotion then sooner things have got to change. We are losing a generation of kids right before our eyes. Just Click on the link below and it will take you to the show, God Bless..http://thereslifeafterdrugsradio.com/201-2/
It’s time to change your perspective!
SEPTEMBER 8, 2015 BY DAVE COOKE 2 COMMENTS
Perspective Change – 100PedalsPeople often have different perspectives to the same incident or event. Many times our perspective defines how we respond to a particular situation. To provide clarity to this thought, I am sharing a remarkable story a friend shared about an experience with his daughter:
A father and his eight year old daughter were on a hike. Even though the hike was not overly difficult, there was a stretch of extensive climbing. After climbing awhile, the daughter started to repeatedly ask the typical childlike questions: “how much farther?” and “are we there yet?” After hearing this a few times, the father stopped, pointed to the horizon and said to his daughter “we are going to that big rock.” His daughter said, “Dad, I don’t see the rock.” He made several attempts at helping her locate the rock on the horizon. Each time his daughter said “Daddy, I don’t see the rock.” Finally, he kneeled down next to her to point out the rock and he discovered he couldn’t see it. The change in the slope of the landscape combined with his daughter’s height prevented her from seeing the rock from her perspective. It wasn’t until he realized what his daughter saw from her perspective was he able to realize why she was struggling to see what was so obvious to him.
When I was in rescue mode with my son, I held on to one perspective that was neither helpful to me or him. Even though he was an adult, I looked upon him as my little boy. Every time something would happen, the father in me would swoop in to help my son. In doing so, I was not empowering him to be the man he needed to be Continue Reading…