Addiction
Will People on Drugs Do Anything to Get Their Fix?
They find creative ways to procure the needed funds — something the non-addicted person may never think of
Many of us know one — the person who struggles to survive, abuses drugs, is always looking for a handout, and if desperate enough, will stoop to unorthodox methods of supporting themselves.
In my family, it’s my older son, Derek. Finding high school too difficult, he never received his diploma and then had trouble entering the workforce.
Luckily in his favor was the fact that he was an amazing drummer, second only to Gene Krupa, but he could never stay in any band for long due to drug abuse.
Also going for him was his ability to understand construction, although his only training was from working with a few friends. He convinced many to hire him, but was always fired shortly thereafter due to showing up late and becoming argumentative with those around him.
The whole family tried at different times to help him. It’s been a struggle to keep him safe, alive, and housed.
Since he’s become an adult, he’s lived with me several times, as well as with my sister, his other aunt in Florida, his younger brother, and a few other short stretches here and there with friends.
We love him and worry about him, but he’s hard to handle. Even though we always end up taking him in, we always end up asking him to leave.
During the day while I was at work, he would keep busy by practicing the drums and eating everything in sight, then eventually started rummaging through the house to find money for drugs.
One day, after I came home from work, I opened the door to my walk-in pantry, turned on the light switch, and found the light did not come on. I looked up to see wires hanging out of a hole in the ceiling — there was no fixture!
Derek had removed the whole thing, brought it to the local hardware store, returned it for money, and then bought drugs.
It’s time for him to go!
The saga continues.
Years later, after cycling through us again, he ended up staying with his brother, who now had an apartment and was running a small business. Derek asked for a job and a roof over his head, swearing the years taught him a few lessons and he would never do drugs again.
As usual, he started out fine, worked hard, minded his manners, and didn’t touch anything that he shouldn’t. But he blew it again when he took money out of a donation jar at his brother’s job and was banned from there forever.
Un-housed again, he came to stay with me. Is it my turn already!?
I’m his mom, and I’ll always feel for him, regardless. When he behaves himself, he’s a pleasure to have around, so once again, I let him stay as long as he didn’t use drugs and remained respectful.
At first, he helped in the house, cooked occasionally, and was pleasant to be with.
He was living with me rent-free and receiving pay for jobs he did above and beyond household chores. Before long, he was helping less, sleeping most of the day, staying out late, and still expecting a non-ending supply of money from me for his cigarettes and gas.
That could only mean one thing — he’s doing drugs again.
A sudden change of attitude
Just about the time I was becoming too stressed by him and ready to suggest he give someone else the pleasure of his company for a while, he surprised me with a complete mood shift.
Maybe he realized he’d better shape up or lose his nice, cushy bed.
There was always something to fix at my house, and we would establish ahead of time how much I would pay him for taking on a task or small project.
When he asked if he could fix a broken section of fence, we negotiated a price, even though I had just paid for his tires, and gave him gas money to go to the lumber store for a few needed items, along with my credit card.
I trusted him with the card as he couldn’t buy drugs with it — it was giving him large sums of cash that were an issue.
The store was 15 minutes away. He was only picking up a few items that should have cost around $85, and I expected him back in less than two hours, ready to make the repair.
His first story
Over four hours later, he finally returned home with the needed items and a far-fetched tale about losing my credit card in the store, spending hours looking for it, recovering it miraculously on a shelf, and then finally being able to pay for the items I needed.
It was the fishiest story I ever heard.
I immediately called Credit Card Services and told them I suspected unauthorized activity on my card and asked how many transactions were put on it that day. The woman on the phone told me there were two — one for $86, and the other for a $465 storm window, which I did not ask for.
She then asked if I would like her to send me a fax of the receipts. I definitely wanted to see those transactions.
I waited anxiously for the fax, knowing it held an answer. Someone made a large purchase, and I needed to know if it was my son or if his story held up. I kept quiet until I could get to the bottom of it.
When the fax arrived, it was ridiculous and laughable. The signature on both receipts was from the same person, and both purchases were made only three minutes apart, which totally discredited his story.
He immediately became defensive when I called him in to my room, saying, “I know it’s about the card. Someone must have made a purchase on it while it was missing.”
“I’m not going to argue with you, but I am going to tell you I know you made both purchases, and there’s no sense denying it. I already sent for the receipts, and here they are,” I announced, holding up the evidence for him to see.
His new story
Without hesitation, he spewed out the truth as if proud of himself.
No one, meaning me, would give him money, so in his mind, he had to come up with the perfect scheme to procure it.
First, he had to find a repair to make then convince me to allow him to do it. He knew asking for my credit card would be easy as he would claim it was safer than giving him cash.
I fell for it.
He would then wait near the cash register until just the right person came along. It had to be someone he knew or could befriend quickly — someone who was about to pay cash for a large purchase and wouldn’t mind giving my son the money instead, allowing him to put their purchase on my credit card.
The funny thing is, if he hadn’t taken four hours to pull this off, I wouldn’t have noticed until the credit card statement came in, and he would have been long gone.
“Hand it over. Give me the cash you just stole!” I said, raising my voice.
“It’s gone. I owed someone money, and I had to pay them back!” He said as if it were a good excuse.
Hopeless and helpless
There wasn’t much I could do except yell and express my disappointment. I knew he wouldn’t give me back the $465, though I did threaten to call the police if he didn’t figure something out.
It was the last straw for me. It was a hopeless situation — I felt helpless, and he needed to go.
Maybe he realized the anguish he’d caused or knew I would make good on my threat, because he promised to stay a few more weeks and work off the money.
He did stay a little longer, and in addition gave me $150 in cash from another job he was working on before taking off again, but it wasn’t even close to $465 — and then he was gone.
The joke of it all
Despite the fact that he used my card fraudulently, I had to give him credit for coming up with his ingenious scheme, and wondered how long it took him to hatch his plot.
Imagine if he had put his mind to better use — how much more he could have accomplished in his life.
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