I am a part of Generation RX.
I was a part of Generation RX.
Not only was I a tiny part of it, it only took a few months to be completely engulfed in it. Starting at age 16, I would be lying if I told you I had any medical or emotional problems that I knew of. I was just copping free pills off a friend in high school to cure the boredom that was sophomore year. I had always been extremely social with all the friends a kid could ask for, but for some reason, I still felt emptiness plague my days. By the time I turned 17, I was no stranger to substance abuse. Becoming progressively more reckless and even more careless, I found a sanctuary in grass, dabbled in cocaine, and dance around with ecstasy- just to name a few. Once 18 finally rolled around I was in what I believed was my prime. I was finally about to graduate from the leech of my days, ready to move onto an endless pursuit of sex, drugs and rock and roll. So I thought.
I decided to take a year off from college to work at my family’s restaurant to save up cash, and hit the road as a singer/songwriter. However, being stuck in small town New Hampshire while all of my college friends were moving on with their lives and enjoying exciting new environment changes, really did a number on my head. People told me too much time on my hands would get me into trouble, but I shrugged it off, “Nope, I’ll be just fine.” I wanted to believe in myself but my nose was getting longer by the minute. I had many questions unanswered and troubles were dropping my branches of life like an ice storm all around me. Before I knew it, my power was completely out. My family and its troubles never crushed up pills and shoved them up my nose but I believed the gigantic hole in my heart needed to be filled with something. Anything.
Self-treatment became an hourly ritual as I became an expert at my escape. My tool for success? Painkillers. Pot, cocaine, and beer were meant for consuming with my friends to get some quick kicks, but painkillers, those were all mine. A little, blue Percocet was all it took to keep me running from my life. I became rewired; marking the start of a greed I had never known myself capable of. My problems disappeared when I was functionally high out of my mind with each day revolving around finding money, finding a fix, and carrying on. It was lonely, but at that point in my life I had come to embrace the loneliness. As long as I had my pills, I had a friend.
My dealer’s arrest after a year of use forced me into a detox without rehab. I eventually put the pieces of my life back together without the percs, packing up my belongings and moving out to New York City. After one solid month of sobriety, I found myself right back on the same track, with more dangerous people and a much more dangerous substance: Heroin. It was a short dance with Brown Betty, but I danced and hit the bottom faster than ever before. I would return back home to concerned family and friends questioning my weight loss, the incredibly dark bags under my eyes, and why I was constantly in and out of bathrooms with a runny nose.
On December 18, 2012, I returned home, fresh off a bag of dope, to an intervention fueled by my entire family. Before a word was said, I broke down in tears, quickly I agreeing to check into a rehab. While most of my opiate-fueled brain resented the idea of being stuck at the Phoenix House in Keene, NH for thirty days, the last sliver of my once entirely pure heart, knew what I had to do.
So far, it’s the best thing I have done for myself, and more importantly, the people I truly love. I was once willing to live and die for my drug of choice, but all of that junk is just junk.
Life… now that is something worth dying for.