“I start going through the bag he left at my house. I find everything. All his empty capsules, his spoons, his syringes. I realize he disposes the heroin capsules in cigarette boxes. There is so much. I feel like I can’t breathe. The tears fall as the images hit me in the face. My son. My son is a heroin addict. Knowing it and seeing it are completely different things. I’m not the same mom I was yesterday.”
‘The day I called my son a junkie. Twice. I’m not the same mom I was yesterday.’: Mother pleads with son to enter rehab for heroin addiction, ‘What is your plan? Prison? That’s next.’
‘I woke with a softball size lump on my neck. I couldn’t breathe. They looked at me like I had 3 heads. Without saying a word, the doctor packs the wound and sends me on my way.’
“I fell asleep. The blood from the gauze had dried to the pillow. When I rolled over, it pulled the gauze out of the fresh wound. I panicked. I went into the bathroom. This was the most insane moment of my existence.”
