When it hit the newsstands, I received an outpouring of letters from people who’d been or were then facing their own or a loved one’s addiction. To spread the word, I wrote about our family’s experience in an article in the New York Times Magazine. I wanted to plead with them not to deny what’s in front of their eyes and waste no time in intervening. I wanted to forewarn other parents, so they’d know, yes, it can happen to you. I didn’t think my son could become addicted, but he had. Like most people I knew, I thought drug addicts were the kinds of people we see in doorways in neighbourhoods most of us try to avoid – people obviously strung out, often homeless and possibly psychotic. I’d been caught off guard when he became addicted.
This cycle continued for an interminable decade until, after half a dozen treatment programmes, Nic stayed sober for a year and a half. Each time I felt hopeful, but he quickly relapsed after being discharged. Nic’s drug use would be interrupted by catastrophes – overdoses and arrests – and I was able to get him into rehab programmes. We don’t know if your son’s going to make it.” Another ER doctor called one predawn and said: “Mr Sheff, you’d better get down here. Once, an ER doctor called to say he might have to amputate Nic’s arm, which had become infected because of IV drug use. Every time I thought it couldn’t get worse, it did. He broke into our home, stole from us and even from his beloved little brother, Jasper. Nic became addicted, and his life – and mine – went into freefall. He didn’t know it was possible to feel so alive. He now says that everything changed for him when a friend gave him crystal methamphetamine. Nic’s drug use escalated and, by the time he was 17, he’d tried pretty much every one you can name. What was going on? What I now know is that though on the outside it appeared that Nic was doing well, he suffered inside, plagued by self-doubt, anxiety and depression.
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