Pubdate: Tue, 30 Aug 2005
Source: Kentucky Kernel (KY Edu)
Copyright: 2005sKernel Press, Inc.
Contact:  http://www.kykernel.com/
Details: http://www.mapinc.org/media/790
Author: Crystal Little
Bookmark: http://www.mapinc.org/meth.htm (Methamphetamine)

KENTUCKY'S METH PROBLEM TAKES A TOLL ON USERS AND THEIR FAMILIES

This column is in response to John Dixon's column yesterday, "Drugs don't 
seem so tantalizing when you meet users' children."

I've never understood drug use, even in the recreational sense.

It's not that I'm a self-righteous, straight-laced Pollyanna.

I'd like to think that it's because I possess a rational mind, and I'm 
capable of intelligent choices.

But the methamphetamine problem slowly miring Kentucky in a cesspool of 
strung-out junkies desperate for their next fix, even in my tiny hometown 
in the south central part of the state, makes me wonder if I'm not missing 
something, after all.

I mean, any substance that mixes Drano, lighter fluid, striker pads from 
matches and antifreeze has got to be fantastic, right?

Not to mention the lure of the drug's euphoric side affects: nausea, 
twitchiness, paranoia and the possibility of emulating the Human Torch if 
you make a mistake putting together a batch in the bathtub of your 
apartment. You can blow your backwoods lab out of existence with one false 
move - there's a marketing plan that's sure to reach the masses of bored 
teenagers languishing in suburbia, or trophy wives with nothing better to do.

Clearly, I have no pity for addicts, though I do realize some people do 
draw the absolute worst lot by no fault of their own, and it's easy to want 
to find an escape - any escape - from reality and its inherent problems.

But there's certainly no excuse, or reason, to lose yourself, and, in 
effect, your free will, to such a dangerous substance.

Maybe I sound cold and out-of-touch with my peers. Maybe my intolerance for 
drug users makes me a terrible person, and getting high is OK and fun and 
socially acceptable.

But these reasons ring hollowly in my ears when I glance at my older 
brother's left hand, my eyes riveted on the splotchy scar across his knuckles.

It's the remnant of a two-year-old chemical burn, a painful and obvious 
souvenir from a botched attempt to cook meth at 3 a.m.

I've seen the anguish my mother has gone through and barely survived, 
certain that if she'd only "raised him right," this wouldn't have happened 
to her 28-year-old son.

I've argued endlessly with her, talking in circles, trying to make her see 
that in the end, he is his own person, a product of his own choices, and 
nothing - absolutely nothing - she could have done would have made any 
difference. She didn't put the glass pipe in his mouth. She didn't push him 
into the life he chose.

I watched him enter rehab last year, almost daring myself to hope.

I shouldn't have been so stupid - I found a used needle crammed under his 
mattress two weeks after he came home.

I've dealt with my own rage, angry at his poor decisions, at his blatant 
disregard for everything but his craving for the drug. I didn't speak to 
him for a year, while he served his 16-month prison sentence.

It's hard to trust someone after they've violated your confidence so many 
times. It's going to be difficult, when he finally comes home, to accept 
that he's decided to make positive changes in his life.

The signs are there: He's been clean for nearly 16 months in a place where, 
if he wanted, he could get his hands on illegal substances. He's gained 
back the weight he lost - his 6'5" frame shrank from 240 pounds to an 
emaciated 165. He wants to take college courses and help me care for my 
mom, who has multiple sclerosis.

Still, it's a tentative trust at best.

Sitting with him and managing to have a "normal" conversation - well, as 
normal as a conversation can be during visiting hours at Louisville's 
Dismas of Portland just off 15th Street in the proverbial ghetto - I'm 
beginning to believe there's life after meth.

The cost, however - physical, psychological and psychosocial scars for the 
addict, and untold emotional trauma for their loved ones - isn't something 
anyone should wager - "recreational" or not.

Crystal Little is a journalism senior.
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