
Heroin, overdoses, needle exchanges, safe injecting centres, methadone clinics… I knew they existed but they were never going to be a part of my life. Happily married with a very normal life in suburban Sydney, we were raising our child in a loving, nurturing and stable environment; no family conflict, no great financial pressures. Heroin addiction happened somewhere else but not in my family – I thought.
Reading the reports these last week of at least 13 heroin overdose deaths in Sydney alone in just one month, I am compelled to tell my family’s story.
My name is Judy Smith and I live in Katoomba NSW. My son and only child Daniel died four years ago from an accidental heroin overdose. He died alone in my car early one Sunday morning across the road from the house of a well-known dealer in a quiet street in beautiful Blackheath. He was 28. That day the sunshine died and our lives changed forever.
I realised Daniel was using hard drugs when he was about 20 though in hindsight I think it probably started when he was about 18, towards the end of his final year at school. It had become evident that he suffered from anxiety and low self-esteem, constantly worried about the world and his place in it. His behaviour was shifting and he had become quite anti-social, choosing to spend much of the time in his room when he was at home. He flatly refused to discuss his mood swings, even though we gave him many non-confrontational opportunities. He sometimes stayed out all night, coming home at dawn. Any attempt to discuss this with him usually ended in explosive arguments which achieved nothing. I remember being very relieved hearing his key in the back door knowing he was safely home. In those days I knew nothing much about hard drugs and so we preferred to think that our son was being a difficult teenager and that it would pass.
The first indication of drug use came late one night at the end of 2004 after the discovery of some unmistakable evidence of drug use in his room. It was not my usual practice to check my son’s personal possessions but on that night I recall having a very strong intuitive need to check a backpack thrown carelessly on his bed to assure myself nothing was wrong. Finding evidence in a brown paper bag was an overwhelming moment of shock and panic. Next morning we confronted him and he was very angry I had gone through his things but then brushed it off, saying he had had a very casual encounter with speed, he would dispose of the items and it wouldn’t happen again. He was convincing and we believed him.
Other incidents then started to happen over the next six months which left me feeling very uneasy, but each time I questioned him he had a plausible and quick excuse. Then one night he arrived home quite late and went straight to his room. I could hear unusual shuffling and banging noises behind the closed door and after looking into his room from an outside window, noticed his demeanour was very strange. When I entered his room and confronted him, I was left in no doubt at that moment that he had been injecting a strong drug. He said he was very sorry and he would never do it again. Once again, I believed him and gave him a chance. A few months later I found an ambulance receipt and when I asked him about it, I found myself listening to my son’s story of heroin overdose. From that time on, even though he kept assuring me that he was only a casual user, it just got worse.
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A really well written article. To often the parents of drug addicted youth shut themselves off from their families instead of sharing their tortuous journey resulting in a feeling that there is no family support. Fear of rejection, judgement or a lack of trust can be a powerful motivator for the immediate family to keep their journey secret. The result of this is the feeling of abandonment for the immediate family and the feeling of helplessness and rejection for the extended family
Reading your story bought back a lot of emotional memories of the confusion and chaos that enters your life when a close family member becomes a heroin addict. I thought it also happened somewhere else. I thought it made my brother the devil incarnate until we visited a wonderful support counsellor whose practical, compassionate and non-judgemental approach to both myself, my Mum and my brother made me see that drugs are everywhere.
My brother was a shy, unacademic, nervous teenager - when he was encouraged to smoke his first hit of heroin, they didn't even tell him what it was. He was such an easy target. We were oblivious to his use for probably 5 years - he just became more and more isolated, more and more secretive, more and more of a nightmare to interact with.
When we found out the cause of his behaviour it was a moment of absolute horror and fear. Thank God we made it the same day to see the social services counsellor who dispelled both and made us realise that now we knew, we could start to fix it. It's not easy but at least trying to understand and empathise completely changed our relationship. The hysteria and retributions mostly died down and we focused on making the best decisions for all of us. My brother committed to getting help 12 years ago - it wasn't easy but he took accountability for his his use and completed a programme which saw him having to make daily visits to the pharmacy, and weekly doctors and counselling sessions - miss a session and he'd be off the programme.
Access to practical support resources provided without judgement is so important. The support from counsellors, doctors who guided us all through the programme made all of the difference - left to our own devices, I believe our story would've also ended tragically. I'm so sorry for your loss Judith and grateful for the support we received that means I still have my brother in my life.