Guest post by Margie Borth
I hate you. Did you hear me? I hate you both – with every fiber of my being.
I hate you, Oxycontin and your parent, Big Pharmacy for luring my 19-year-old son Andrew into your world with your promises of false happiness, fun and security. You are so greedy. You were everywhere, cheap and plentiful – all over his college campus. I hate you for tempting him, trapping him and then whittling away his ability to feel compassion and love before he even had the opportunity to grow into a man.
I hate that you stole his chance to even learn how to develop coping skills that would get him through life when he faced challenges or loneliness. I hate that you gave him an extreme false, feeling of self-confidence that gradually alienated him from the world around him, friends and family.
I hate that you turned him against his loved ones, convincing him he would be better off in your world. I hate that you selfishly took him away from family vacations and opportunities for happy memories.
I hate that you denied him a chance to even have a relationship with a woman who loved him and cared so much. You were very jealous and wanted no one else around.
I hate that you are so possessive you insisted he throw everyone he loved out of his life to hide your dirty secret.
I hate you, Heroin, you were there when your little brother Oxy became too expensive or was unavailable, you showed up – pure, strong and cheap. You stole Andrew away last year at age 23 so he never even met his baby niece. You convinced him you were the most important thing in his life– even over his own flesh and blood.
I hate you for turning my son into a liar, who lived in a world of your false delusions. I hate that you drained his bank account and 401k, lost a job and took away his hope for a future and becoming a father, which he so desperately wanted before you came along.
I hate you, Heroin, for destroying Andrew’s incredible brain. You selfish, jealous bastard– you turned him from a witty, extremely intelligent, goal oriented young man into a helpless, weak, desperate shadow of his former self who thought only of you. He was incapable of normal sleeping, eating and even putting thoughts together after a few months of you in his life.
But he thought he could outsmart you. He thought he could leave you behind when he embarked on his second chance with a new job in Nevada. Andrew never intended for you to be there. He had such a promising future with co-workers who loved him. He tried so hard to hold onto some normalcy– barely able to drive or function at work at the end. But no, you had other plans and insisted on tagging along with him. Even after he detoxed you from his body, you would not let him go or give up. You were relentless. And you won.
Andrew Benjamin Smith died on November 10, 2014 from an overdose after being 19 days clean. He died alone, in the bathroom of a Petsmart. I was waiting at his apartment for his call to pick him up. His call never came. Instead, I got a call from the hospital stating my son was gone forever.
You evil thief.
. . .
Margie Borth is a 54 year old mother of 3, two here on Earth, one now in Heaven. Her son Andrew died 2 months ago from a drug overdose. He became addicted to Oxycontin which was all over this college campus in FL 5 years ago. He then had to turn to heroin because Oxy is now very expensive. He kept it a secret and was highly functional. We only found out 5 weeks before he died. We simply ran out of time to help him. We were very ignorant of the signs. He lived away from us in another state so he was able to hide his secret for a very long time. This drug high jacks the brain and logical thinking becomes impossible. The brain only wants the drug, everything else becomes secondary.
Would you like to see your writing featured here?
If you have a piece you’d like to submit for consideration, please email Angela at abedformyheart@gmail(dot)com with the subject: Guest Submission. We are looking for creative non-fiction pieces that capture the rawness and realness of the reality of life after loss. Important: This is not a call for loss stories, but rather a call for stories that capture the minutes, hours, days, months, years of your life *after* the moment that changed everything. Not a story about how your loved one died, but rather a piece that captures how you get out of bed every morning to face the unthinkable. Pieces must be edited, free from all grammar errors and ready to post. If your piece is chosen you will receive an email response with the date your piece will be published.
. . .
Margie, I feel your pain and pray that you will one day be able to wake up and breathe again. Even though my son is alive and is seemingly doing well, I am all too clear that the success rate is very low. My beautiful son has been ‘in recovery’ (whatever that means) for 5 months… with the help of Vivitrol. The cost is about $1,000 per month and is killing us. He seems to be back to his old self. Of course when that is over I can only pray that he has the skills, tools, desire and coping mechanisms to move through his weaknesses that this illness brings. I’m frightened and scared. All the best to you Margie and hope you find peace. Robin M.
I’m so sorry for your loss. Thank you for courageously sharing your story.
Margie, I love the hate letter. It put into words exactly how I feel. I lost my 23 year old son this past February to heroin. Watching what it does to someone, especially your own child is sometimes unbearable. And when it finally wins…well the pain for us certainly isn’t over. The day I watched him take is last breath, was the day my “real pain” began.