This story requires a bit of back story. My parents are addicted to methamphetamines. They have done it all my life and still do, to this day. I moved out when I was 16 and haven't been home since. I do not do anything but smoke cigarettes and drink occasionally. I do not associate myself with people that do drugs, other than pot. I have a couple of friends that smoke pot, but that doesn't bother me all that much. I abhor drug use. People that inject themselves with said substances especially. It makes me disgusted and angry. I hate it with a passion.
My friend called me the other night and said she was in a bad way and needed help. I am in Wichita Falls, Texas, she was calling from Oklahoma City, Ok. She wanted me to drive to Oklahoma City, pick her up, and bring her back to Wichita. She wouldn't specify what trouble she was in, she just said she needed me and needed to come home. She hasn't been doing too good and I knew that. She hasn't been able to find a job and had to stay at the Faith Mission a couple of times because she doesn't really have any friends or family in Oklahoma. She is dating someone that lived there and she did have a job, but she got fired. Now, I got the money together for gas and went and got her. I knew something was wrong when I picked her up. She was painfully skinny, almost emaciated, and so was her girlfriend. We got a flat tire right outside Lawton and while my husband was changing the tire, she started rummaging through the trunk for something. She pulled 2 syringes out of her backpack. Her and her girlfriend sat in the back seat of the car and shot themselves up with speed. I confronted her about it when I got back in the car and saw what she was doing. I was violently angry because she knows how I feel about that **** and she knows all the horror stories of my childhood. She said that was the last of whatever she had and she wanted to get rid of it. She told me she had to come home to get clean and she needed to know that I still loved her and supported her.
Here is the dilemma. Do I support her in her effort to get clean or do I wash my hands of her? I want to help her out and I know how hard it is to get clean. I am afraid though. I am afraid that she won't get clean and she will drag me down with her. I will have to relive all those horror stories of my past and I will turn into the scared, lost, broken little girl I once was.