Drugs do not judge nor do they discriminate. They love and thrive on all pain equally regardless of education, money, position, religion, etc. or lack there of. Drugs welcome with open arms: the lost, the weak, the traumatized, the abused, the forgotten, the unheard, those who can’t cope, those that it is normal for… and even those who appear to have had a good life. The snake uses the green truth to lure all of them in with the promise of purging their pain at little cost.
The real truth is that the snake LIES about the apple to those who use and those who haven’t yet started. The falsehood of freedom flows from it’s venomous mouth. In the moment that the apple is bitten, a soul is placed up for sale. Once the drugs begin to wear off, the pain rises to the surface and more is needed to cope. Drugs appear to be a caring friend but with each passing use, drugs are slowly replacing the emotional definitions of the user with its own. Drugs are a nightmare in a pretty package.
The room that Ryan overdosed in had had drug paraphernalia all over it. Ashlee had been there while the paramedics worked on Ryan and had told me about it. Even though I hadn’t seen it, I do have a visual that comes to mind whenever I think about the trauma of that day. The home had belonged to someone who had worked for the police department. Someone who was unaware or couldn’t cope or was waiting for the right moment for it to all change. I had hated, for years, that someone for allowing those things to happen in his/her home that had affected my son…until I realized that someone was not unlike me. It had been easier to blame what was in front of me just as it had been easier for others to blame me for their choices.
There had been several addicts who had used with my son in that room during that night. I do not know exactly how many were there when they had discovered Ryan in his overdosed state later in the morning. I do know that 2-3 of them had attempted to lift Ryan up in order to dump his body in an alley. Out of sight, out of mind. He was too heavy for them and they had been forced to call the paramedics. The call I had received about Ryan had come from one of those 2-3. How hard or easy had it been for him to call me right after having tried to get rid of my son? That thought enraged me for years until I realized that if a dream, a poster child, had been willing to destroy himself, then he certainly would have been willing to destroy Ryan. To destroy anyone. That was drugs emotional definitions at its worst.
Once I had arrived at the hospital, I was immediately rushed back to the emergency room where Ryan was. I had expected the worst but I had found him awake on the gurney and able to speak. I was so happy. In my head I had thought he might have suffered brain damage from oxygen deprivation but he was fine. He had told me that “he had not messed up”. I had told him that “I knew that”. After all, I thought he had drunk alcohol because of that phone call. I had breathed a sigh of relief. I was smiling as I left to go to the little room where family and friends could wait in private.
Ashlee was there and had already spoken to Ryan. As I entered the room, Chad, a young man we had been friends with since he was a kid asked if he could go speak to Ryan. He had told his boss he was leaving work. He had not cared if he was fired for it. I had walked him to that curtain and returned to the room. As family and friends entered, I had reassured each of them that Ryan was fine. Chad returned and had told me that the doctor had needed to speak with me. I had been sure that Ryan would be released in a few hours because he was awake and had been able to speak. I wasn’t thinking about anything other than that had been close but he had not suffered any real damage.
As I had walked back into the curtained area, the doctor told me that Ryan’s lungs were shutting down. They had needed to intubate him or he would die. Ryan was speaking. He was telling me not to let them. He said he really would die if they did that. I was turning between Ryan and the doctor as they both spoke with force. I was stunned. Wait. What? He was fine. He was speaking now. He spoke before. How could that have been possible? The doctor had told me to step out. I turned to Ryan, leaned down and in a quiet voice I had told him “It would be okay. That he had to do this or he would die”. I left and had stood by myself just outside of the curtain area.
Even when the doctor had called me back in, I was still not processing what he was saying. I was in shock. As I answered the doctor’s questions about Ryan’s drug use, Ryan’s blood pressure had sky rocketed. The doctor had yelled at me to be quiet. Even though he had been heavily sedated, he was still able to hear my voice. The doctor had ordered the nurse to give him more “drugs” to quiet him down. The stress on his lungs had also stressed his heart. There had been a concern he would have a heart attack. The irony was that if Ryan had been awake, he would have loved that they had needed to use more drugs to sedate him.
Once again I was sent to that little waiting room. More people had come in while I was gone. I had let everyone know that the doctor had had to intubate Ryan. Despite that seriousness, we had not thought or wanted to believe anything other than Ryan would be fine. Everyone was talking as if we had gotten together for the holidays. There had even been a moment of laughing just as the doctor had walked in to that little room. He had looked directly at me as he spoke. His voice had sounded angry as he had said the words, “Do you not understand?!? He is probably NOT GOING TO MAKE IT THROUGH THE NIGHT!!!”.
A dream became a nightmare. A soul was sold. Drugs tricked all us. The mirror told the truth but we didn’t listen. Everyone lies. Everyone enables. The poster child and the fallen angel are no more. I can’t breathe. I…just…can’t…breathe…
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