FREE ESSAY ON DIARY OF DISPAIR

DIARY OF DISPAIR

A Diary of Despair
A Chronicle of Heroin Abuse
As Seen through the Eyes
Of a Mother
Jennifer Bernstein
Drug Use and Abuse
Professor Santucci
4/26/99
Dear Diary,
I think back, and I smile at the little girl I used to have, all pigtails and lace. I can
still hear her laughter echoing through the hallways of our home; see her swinging on the
swing set in our backyard, her long curly blonde hair, full of pink ribbons, sailing
behind her like a pool of melted gold. When the sun hit her face, she just glowed, her
green eyes sparkling, her red cheeks, full, lush and alive. What happened to that little
girl? Where the hell did I go wrong?!? Why am I sitting in a cold empty room, where she
used to laugh and play, clinging to a teddy bear she tossed away years ago, wondering
where she is tonight? OH GOD, just bring her home safe, I'm begging you.
Dear Diary,
Today I found money, along with my credit card, missing from my purse (Beschner p.51). I
also woke up missing a daughter. I can only imagine where she is now. I don't
understand!! It's like she's like the girl in The Exorcist, she seems possessed, but by
what, I don't know! Just last week we had ourselves a "girls day out". We treated
ourselves to makeovers, had lunch, bought new outfits, even caught a matinee movie!! We
had a great day; she was my little girl again. But now, I find myself alone again,
wondering, worrying, and praying (Gustafson p.45-46). If only I knew what was going on. I
know adolescence is a time of turmoil and rebellion, but this all doesn't seem normal.
She disappears for days, DAYS!! And when she finally comes home, it's an all out battle.
I threaten her, I scream at her, I plead with her, only to have the door slammed in my
face! I'm nearly at my wits end. I wish her father was still here, I need help. I can't
go through this alone. I'm scared.
Dear Diary,
I don't know who she is anymore. I fear the little girl I once knew is gone forever now,
never to be seen again. This person is unrecognizable to me. She went from being an
honor-roll student to dropping out of high school. She's emaciated, her clothes (if you
want to call them that, they look like rags to me) hang on her; she looks like she hasn't
bathed in weeks. Her face, once full of joy and hope, is emotionless now. When I do see
her, she only has angry words for me, before stealing some of my money and storming out
of the house (Gustafson p.48-49). I want to reach out to her, but I just don't know how.
I fear the worst. I don't want to admit what my heart already knows. 
Dear Diary,
My worst fears have finally been confirmed. I found a needle in her drawer. I confronted
her. My hands are shaking as I write this. GOD how could this happen to my little
girl!?!?! WHY?? It didn't go well. She admitted it. She looked straight into my eyes,
with a cold harsh stare I barely recognized (but somewhere, deep down in that gaze, I saw
her, the child I once knew) and said "Yeah, I'm using. There's nothing you can do about
it", and then walked away (Gustafson, p57-56). I stood frozen. I felt my soul ripped from
my body. I feel as though I've lost her forever.
Dear Diary,
It's been about a month since I saw her last, the day I found the needle. I have no idea
where she is. If I knew who her friends are, I'd call them, but she's been so elusive and
secretive (Gustafson, p52) during the past year, I have no idea who they may be. Who ever
they are, they probably got her into all of this.
How could I have let this get so out of control? Looking back, I should have seen this
coming; I should have recognized the signs (Gustafson p.86). I could have stopped this.
NO! Stop it!! I can't do this to myself. The past is the past and yes, mistakes were
made, but the damage is done and I can't dwell on things past! I have to take action, I
have to get my daughter back!
Dear Diary,
I went to the library yesterday and checked out everything I could find about heroin
abuse. I am determined to understand what my daughter is going through, that way I may be
better prepared to find her and help her.
These books are a godsend. They help shed so much light on the whole situation. They've
helped me realize that my daughter is under the physiological and psychological control
of her brain. This drug (I like to call it poison) is what is driving my daughter's every
thought and action. It's what she literally lives for. Her brain makes it so; once it
tasted a little, it begged her for more and more and more, making her whole world heroin.
That's why she seemed so unrecognizable to me, and why (even if she gets treatment) a
part of her will always remain foreign. Her whole life now is going to be a battle
because her brain is now conditioned to need heroin (Ruden, p 52-53). All these books
seem to have one common theme, all of them mention something called the Nucleus Acumbens,
a structure in the brain rich in something called Dopamine, a neurotransmitter (that's a
chemical in the brain that neurons, the cells that make up the nervous system, use to
communicate information to another neuron (Levinthal p.62) ).
Apparently, heroin (as do most drugs of abuse) enhances the release of dopamine in the
Nucleus Acumbens. The Nucleus Acumbens plays a role in what one-book calls "incentive
salience". He said that "incentive salience is a psychological process that transforms
how we perceive stimuli by making them more attractive and wanted" (Ruden, p.55).
Attractive and wanted. I just keep saying those words over and over in my mind.
Attractive and wanted. My little girl was once attractive and she is still wanted, always
will be. She used to crave school, lived for it even. She was a straight A student and
was so happy. But when her father died, something in her seemed to die too. She cut
herself off and I wasn't able to reach her. Now her only ambition in life is her next
fix. Her brain is so conditioned, just the act of cooking the dope and drawing it up in
the syringe can start that release of Dopamine; she can actually begin to feel high
before she's even plunged that garbage into her arm (Ruden, p.55) 
Then, once it's injected she becomes overwhelmed with an immediate sense of tingling
warmth; the book I read described it as an orgasm only tenfold, followed by a sense of
tranquility, to the point of drowsiness. Her pupils become constricted and her body
releases histamine making her itchy (looking back, if only I had recognized those
symptoms, if only I had seen what was really going on!) (Levinthal, p.103) The scariest
part of everything I've read is how easily heroin can kill you. It acts on the
respiratory regulator in our brains called the medulla (Levinthal, p103) it depresses
breathing to such an extent, the first time user can overdose and die. Apparently the
effective dose and the lethal dose of heroin are so close, overdose is accomplished with
ease (Levinthal, p109-110). Knowing all this helps me understand what she's going though,
but it doesn't make me feel any better. My little girl is out there. My little girl can
die.
Dear Diary,
I FOUND HER! OH GOD! It took me days, but I found her! I hit the streets determined to
find her, asking everyone I saw if they "recognized the girl in the picture". God, I must
have said that a million times! But it worked!!! I did it! I won't go through the
miserable details, but I eventually found her sitting in an alleyway by a dumpster. I
barely recognized her, and I don't think she recognized me at all, she was too strung
out. I just snatched her up (she was as light as a feather) and brought her to the car.
She was like a rag doll in my arms, limp and unresponsive. During the car ride home she
began to "sober up" I guess you can say. She said "mom" in a raspy voice I could hardly
tell was hers, and I looked over at my child, not knowing what to expect, half-afraid
she'd try to jump out of the moving car. But she just grabbed my hand and held it tighter
then I ever remembered, and with tears in her eyes, whispered " I'm so sorry, thank you."
Thank you.
She's upstairs now, sleeping. We had a good talk before she fell asleep. She wants to get
better, she agreed to treatment. We're going to a rehabilitator tomorrow. I know it's not
even half over yet. There's a long road ahead. But I'm going to be there for her.
I better go put on another pot of coffee. I have to stay up tonight. I know she'll want
another hit before the night is over. I'm not letting her leave this house tonight. I
think writing is the only thing that has kept me sane through all this, it's the only
thing keeping me going. I don't know what's kept her alive though. What she must have
gone through out there. I think she was too embarrassed to reveal everything, but she did
tell me she was reduced to selling her body for heroin. She had a pimp who basically used
her for income. She worked; he got the cash and supported both their habits (Beschner
p.55). He evidently had a temper. She didn't have to tell me, the bruises on her
beautiful face tell all. I can only guess what other horrors she must have endured. Maybe
it's better I don't know all of it. She is only a shell of the girl I once knew, but I
love her, and I'm going to get her through this.
Dear Diary,
As anticipated, she tried to leave last night, I found her getting dress, mumbling
something about "need a fix". She was shaking, her eyes looked wild, I had never seen her
like this. I stood in front of her to block her from leaving, and as frail and sick as
she is, she pushed me to the ground with what seemed like the strength of 20+ men! But I
had been prepared, I had changed the locks. When she discovered her key didn't work and
she couldn't get out she began banging at the door and flinging everything she could grab
around the room (Levinthal p.106). Then as suddenly as it had started, her energy left
her and she feel to the floor in a sobbing heap. I crawled over to her and put my arms
around her. It was a humid summer night, but she was shaking and cold to the touch
(McAuliffe, p 74). I helped her up to her room and bundled her up. She was sweating under
all the blankets, but still begged for more. So far it was just like all the books had
said. Everything I expected was happening, so I knew it was going to be a long night, and
it was. She vomited repeatedly, complained of severe abdominal cramps and had diarrhea
(McAuliffe, p.70) It was the most gut wrenching night of my life, watching my baby go
through this, and not being able to help her. I had to keep telling myself it was
temporary, and despite her many declarations to the contrary, she was not going to die
(McAuliffe, p 70). It must have lasted 12 hours (it seemed like an eternity). 
The next morning, although she was still experiencing some cramps, diarrhea, chills and
nausea, we made our way to the clinic. Next to the night I had just endured, it was the
hardest thing I ever had to do, leave her there alone. But I knew it was for the best,
and after talking to her drug counselor, I felt even better. He explained that the
withdrawal was just the beginning. Getting over the physical dependence was easy compared
to treating the psychological addiction to the drug (McAuliffe, p73). He stressed the
importance of keeping her away from her old "stomping grounds"; old places where she used
to get high, because it may only spark memories which in turn may trigger craving and a
relapse (Levinthal, p.111).
He also took some time to talk about heroin and the connection to endorphins, naturally
occurring opiates in our brains that kick in after the body has undergone a tremendous
amount of pain or stress. These endorphins are essentially natural painkillers, or
analgesics, that help us to endure particularly painful situations. The problem is that
heroin, also an analgesic, is chemically similar to the chemical that fits into the
receptor sites that trigger the release of these endorphins. As a result, heroin produces
the same euphoric effects, in the absence of the physical stress, which can become very
reinforcing, so we crave more and more (McAuliffe, p. 66-67).
The first heroin high is often the best, he explained, 10 times that of an orgasm. But
that same high can never be produced again. The addicted spends the rest of his/her life
trying to recapture that first high, without success, building up tolerance as higher
doses of the drug are needed just to keep the addict from feeling sick. Eventually, they
are taking to the drug just to stay in a state of "normalcy" (Levinthal, p. 108).
Needless-to-say, I left the counselor feeling more assured that my daughter was in
capable hands, but I can't tell you how hard it was to actually get in my car and drive
away. I won't be able to talk to her for weeks. Helplessness is a horrible feeling.
Dear Diary,
Her counselor tells me she's doing great! I'll be able to talk to her next week!! I'm so
excited!! I miss her so!
Dear Diary,
Tomorrow!! She comes home tomorrow!! I haven't seen her in 4 months! Oh God! Just talking
to her on the phone she sounds like her old self!! I actually recognize her voice! I
can't wait to see what she looks like in person! I can't wait to have her back!! I know
she still has months to years of therapy ahead of her, but she says she's ready!!
(McAuliffe, p.116-117)
I'm doing well too. I've been going to a support group (Gustafson, p.163-165) for
families of addicts. They've helped me through all the guilt I had been feeling. I learn
that guilt helps no one. I need to look to the future, no matter what it may hold and
strive for the best. I have to understand that life is unpredictable and in order to help
my daughter I have to be strong and stop feeling sorry for anybody!
Anyway, I better go, I have to get ready for her! I'm so excited!
Dear Diary,
She was only home a month. A month. And what a month is was. Full of smiles and laughter
and hope. For that small amount of time I had my little girl back. What went wrong? What
triggered it? Who or what did she see? Who did she talk to? I need to know. I'll never
forget what it was like to find her lying on the floor of her bedroom, stiff, cold, a
needle sticking out of her arm (she hadn't even finished administering the whole dose)
(Levinthal, p.110), her eyes wide open, staring out into nothingness. I'll never be able
to erase that image from my mind. Not till the day I die. My baby is gone, she lost the
battle. It was 2 days past her 16th birthday. She was so excited about getting her
driver's license. She wanted to live life; she wanted so desperately to be free.
Bibliography
Work Cited
1. Beschner, Bovelle, Hanson and Walters Life With Heroin
D.C Health and Company, 1985 
2. Gustafson, Ginny and Katherine Ketcham Living on the Edge
Bantam, 1989
3. Levinthal, Charles Drugs, Behavior and Modern Society
Allyn & Bacon, 1999
4. McAuliffe and Zackson Heroin Chelsea House, 1986
5. Ruden, Ronald The Craving Brain HarpersCollins, 1997