Addiction

A very close and personal friend of mine goes by the name Addiction. You all might know her. She makes appearances on TV shows and movies as a common enemy of all, but the desired partner of one, demented and disillusioned individual; this person is always crazy, somehow. No one takes the time to realize the intensity and chemical foundation of addiction. Addiction is not a choice, much like how race, gender, or sexuality is not a choice. So why are addicts punished so cruelly for something they cannot control?

Let me tell you a story:
I have a sister. Let us call her Britney. In high school, Britney got arrested for the illegal possession of one thing or another. I was the one to answer the phone call at my house. I was the one who handed the box with the policeman's voice coming out of it to my mother. I was riding in the car as we picked her up from 'downtown.' I was there to witness the future downfall of Britney.
No more was the pleasing personality, but an ever changing mix of emotions, ranging from a terrorizing rage to a blank disposition. I was young and did not understand. I did not understand why Britney was no longer in college and why we had not seen her for over a year. I did not understand why she packed her belongings in garbage bags and left, all those years ago.
Another phone call. This time, from a hospital. This time, I did not answer the phone, nor was I there in the hospital as they explained her shaking leg and destroyed veins and black dots on her arm and sunken face and weight loss. But I was there, standing in front of my house, as she came home. Britney came home, bringing with her her new best friend. Thinking back on the scene now, I can almost see next to Britney another figure; a clear form in the shape of all my worst fears, holding my sisters hand, guiding her through one mistake after another.
Addiction has been a part of my life for years, almost as long as I can remember, but perhaps the saddest event my old friend Addiction has caused is the most recent travesty.
Britney had a baby. The baby, let's call him George, was born, but had to spend his first few months in the hospital because he was born addicted to heroin, just like his mother. Once he was healthy and released, it appeared that Britney was turning over a new leaf. She was not, apparently, on drugs, but she did have to deal with a load of court cases. Unfortunately, Britney was sent to jail for past crimes. From jail, she was transferred to rehab. For months, nearly a year, she had been away at these facilities. She is missing the life of her son, the life of her family, the life she could be having, the life she is supposed to be living right now. The date of Britney's release from rehab and back into our home was a week away. In just a week, Britney, George, my mom, me, we would all be together! We bought beds, we set up a new room for George, we bought baby toys and books, we were buying food! Everyone was excited. Perhaps this would be it for Britney- no more hardship, no more disaster. Everything would be okay from here on out.
Another phone call.
Ring, ring. Addiction calls.
Britney has been sent away from rehab and back to jail because she is not clean.
Britney will not be reunited with her son, with her mom, with me.
Ring, ring.

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