Drug Crazy
How We Got Into This Mess and How We Can Get Out
Drug Crazy: How We Got Into this Mess and How We Can Get Out - Lessons from the Old Country - Page 161
By 1991 the health officials were breathing down her neck and she was in serious danger of losing the kids. Frantically searching for high ground, she heard about John Marks in Chapel Street and went there to see if it was true. Marks and his staff examined her, investigated her background, confirmed that she was indeed a heroin addict, and on her next visit he wrote her a prescription for a week’s supply. Almost unbelieving, she took the slip of paper to the chemist up the street and he filled it without batting an eye.
As she stood at the counter staring at the small round container of pure heroin and the packet of new needles, an odd sensation washed over her. The auger of panic that had been twisting her gut every waking moment for a decade was spinning down. For the first time in memory, she had a tiny bit of brain space that wasn’t focused on the next fix. It began to dawn on her that it no longer made any difference whether or not her dealer would show up. She didn’t have to figure out who to con, how to get the cash, what to do if she got busted, or if the shit was any good...
She slipped the packages into her purse and as she turned away, she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the glass and for the first time in ten years she stopped to take a serious look. She was stunned.
Then she glanced down at her children, and she said, “Oh, my God.”
The morality that had been instilled in her as a child suddenly came flooding back. “I felt so disgusted...” Over the next weeks and months her dose was stabilized at a point that allowed her to function without suffering withdrawal, and within a year her life had been completely turned around. “I've been able to rebuild a home. And I can take the kids out for treats. I can do anything that anybody else does. The only difference is that I'm on a heroin prescription. I can have one injection and I can function normally for the rest of the day.” The piece of paper John Marks handed her almost nonchalantly turned out to be a passport out of hell. By 1994, she was again talking about one of





