What's Your Story? Submitted Stories

What She Does Not Know

My friend has a problem, and sometimes I feel like I'm the only one who notices her when she's lost and she's tormented and she's alone in the world. And when she's high, she comes to me and she tells me what she's done, whether it's speed or cocaine or something bigger and faster, something harder and louder, something else that takes the person I laugh with and depend on away.

She is ripping herself away from her truth, and the only way I can reach her is to let her know that I care about her. All I can do is listen to her babble when she's high, and weep when she's coming down, because I can't fix her. All I can be is a friend to her until she realizes she has a problem, until she stops running from her daytime self to the lure of things that make her worries rest. I can't make her stop. So it's been hard, to have her pass out and the line go dead. To have her come to my house running on speed not to be with me, but so that she doesn't get caught.

It is my right to help her. And to point out to her how strong she is, how real and breathing and clear she is to me, and to everyone. She is calling for help but doesn't know it yet. She is yelling and swallowing her tears, because somewhere she knows that she can't keep packing herself away. Some time this anger or fury or sadness will find her, and she needs to stand in its torrentialdownpour and get filled by it, because somewhere inside her she is empty. I can't be her mother, and I can't be with her all the time, telling her what she can put in her body and what she can't. So she has gotten lost somewhere in the deep end, and I can't pull her out, but I can show her how she can do it herself.

I am watching her, and I am hugging her and trying to remind her of the countless reasons why I am so much better from knowing her. I can listen to her when she needs me, and when she doesn't. I can let her know that,no matter what she does, she is my friend, and nothing will change that. I can take a step back and see what's taking parts of her away. I can encourage her to answer honestly when I ask how she is. I can remind her about moderation. I can point out the people who love her. I can show her how much she needs to stop for herself. I can be a positive influence on her. I can listen to her when her voice hints of this thing that she is missing and can't find. She needs to see for herself that her daytime self is alive and beating and multicolored. I can help her remember what her life was like before the dealers and the midnight fixes. I can help her stand tall and strong, on feet and legs and ankles she trusts. I can help her see that life is not about three-hour solutions that make her wake up feeling dead. I can be someone safe to her. I can care about her so much that I point her to the exit and hold her hand as she gets there.

My friend has a problem, and I am helping her. I am lis tening, and I am talking, and I am working with her, and I am learning how to be the best to her. I have unshakable confidence in her, and I know that she can stand where she is and she can stop. I can be the person she turns to, because she can't see right now that she can turn to herself. She can't see it yet, but soon.

CONTENT DISCLAIMER

The Brent Shapiro Foundation for Drug Awareness does exercises limited editorial control over the information you may find on FRONTLINE STORIES web pages. Opinions expressed on FRONTLINE STORIES web pages do not necessarily represent the official views of The Brent Shapiro Foundation for Drug Awareness.

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The disease of alcohol and drug dependency, and it is a disease, is suffered in silence. Those who have it or have a special person close to them suffering from it, hide it from the world due to embarrassment, shame, and humiliation, and endured it in isolation and silence. This, despite the fact that this disease affects almost every family in America in some way from family members, loved ones, friends, co-workers and even as a taxpayer carrying the enormous social costs of this disease.

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