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How To Cope With Teenagers That Use Drugs ?

your child or someone in your family needs more love or support.

... three signs, be worried! Most likely your child

or your family needs some professional advice or psychological help.

... five and more signs, be really alert! Seek an expert

right away, especially if these are signs from 13 to 18.

Ada Evans, a lawyer

She wouldn't want anyone to go through the same disaster. She found

out that her only son had become a drug addict. It is well known that

people who take drugs rarely return to a normal life, but Ada Evans was

ready to do everything to save her son. And a miracle happened.

I was sure that if a person was into sports he wouldn't have time to

do anything bad. My son had played tennis since he was 11 years old. He

showed promise and I was confident in his ability. Probably one of the

reasons for his drug addiction was a fight he was in, in which a mentally

unbalanced teenager stabbed him with a knife and perforated his lung and

heart. He was miraculously saved by a surgeon, but after the operation

his mood began to change. He was often depressed and lost his interest

to tennis because his former friends were forbidden to him. I began suspecting

him of taking drugs when I found a burned spoon at home (first the powder

is dissolved in a spoon and then the spoon is heated in a fire, so the

spoon always has a mark). I spoke to my son about it, but he denied everything.

After that, I began noticing his strange behavior. But I didn't want to

believe the worst. His friends denied everything and I didn't have any

proof. I never saw any needle marks on him. It was a stroke of fate, then.

My son was dating a young girl who was working as a nurse in a hospital.

They were celebrating New Year's Eve together in his room. And suddenly

I heard the girl's cry, "No. I don't want to." I broke the lock

on his door and saw that my son was about to give her an injection. And

I understood everything: they were drug addicts.

I had a very hard time. I understood how horrible his situation was.

The thought that I could lose my only son was shocking and everything

seemed unbearable. I think of myself as a strong person, but on that day

I gave way to despair. Finally, though, I grew stronger.

And I began fighting for his life. I tried to speak to him but he was

on the needle already and was in pain. I didn't know who to talk to. I

felt needless shame and I couldn't tell anyone about it. But time passed

and finally I understood that my shame was nothing compared with his life

and his health.

First I decided to send him to a hospital, but he refused to go there

without a fix. I was forced to give him money for a fix in order to get

him to the hospital. He brought the drugs home and did everything in my

presence. You can't imagine how I suffered realizing that I was powerless

to stop him. I did it just to make him go with me to the hospital. He

stayed there for several weeks. I don't want to criticize their methods.

They gave him medications and tried to make him more responsible.

But when he returned home, everything began again. One expert said to

him, "You took drugs for two years and you will be in recovery for

five." My son then said, "Mum, I don't want to live anymore."

We went to a drugstore and bought tramal. He injected himself and he felt

better.

We tried every possible treatment mode -- even hypnotherapy -- but nothing

helped. Twice he overdosed and I broke down the door to his room. I saw

him passed out with a needle near him. I called the paramedics. I realized

that any delay could mean his death. All through the night, I was writting

letters to him full of grief and pleading. I was on my knees before him.

I was depressed, although I tried not to show it. I had nobody to talk

to. I knew nobody would be able to understand me. Everyone would talk

about the mistakes I had made in his upbringing. And I suffered. Every

time I was at work I wondered whether he was alive. I didn't give up.

And God heard me praying. The parents of a boy who had the same problems

advised me to go to a rehabilitation center where their son had been helped.

Once again I bought drugs for my son in order to make him go with me.

It was a terrible trip but afterwards, something began to change. I remember

the awful minutes when, having taken the drug and being in a good mood,

he told me to bury him in his black shirt because he believed he wouldn't

recover. But before going to this rehabilitation center he said, "I’m

only going for your sake. I’m sorry that you’ve been suffering

with me every day of my life." He went there. After the first course

of treatment, he was treated for eight months. And then he worked there





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