'I want my son back'

Late one afternoon weekend last fall, Will sat down in his parents' pleasantly-decorated living room in Colorado Springs and told them he needed to tell them something.

"I have a problem," his mother recalled her 20-year-old son saying. "I think I'm addicted to heroin."

"Will" is not his real name. He and his family spoke to The Gazette on the condition they not be identified, partly out of fear of retaliation from the people who supplied their son his drugs.

But all three wanted to tell their story so that other people tempted to use heroin don't make the same mistake he made and that those who have get professional help right away.

Will is fairly typical of the new breed of heroin addicts whose youth and high-achiever status are distinctly different profile than the kind of users that counselors have seen in the past.

His confession stunned his parents, who cycled through several reactions: shock, disbelief, gratitude that he trusted them enough to confess and a desire to help him.

Nothing in their past had prepared them for this, nor for what was to follow.

"I'm a child of the ‘60s and ‘70s," the father said. "We all did our drug experimentation back then. But the heroin thing, that was like a whole other place to go and we didn't mess with that."

So they agreed to help. They found a doctor to prescribe medicine to help Will through his withdrawal. For three days he suffered through it on their living room couch. His mom kept him supplied with chicken noodle soup. It was like he was getting over a bad flu, she said.

They thought the worst was over. They were wrong.

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‘I want my son back'

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A few months later, the mom recalled getting a phone call from her son.

"How are you?" she asked.

"Not too good, I've been arrested."

Will's recovery had been short-lived. He had gone back to smoking heroin and had maxed out his parents' credit card. Now he was accused of possessing heroin as well.

His parents were devastated. His father couldn't believe the level of lying that his son had practiced. His mother now understood why she kept finding ballpoint pens and bits of coke cans around the house. They were Will's improvised drug paraphernalia.

This time, they sought help. The counselor who evaluated Will put it to them bluntly.

"You've got a real problem. This is a real mess," the mother recalled the counselor saying. "That is not your son out there," she added, describing how out of control Will's drug use had grown.

The mom looked at the counselor and said, "I want my son back."

They enrolled Will in a treatment program at Parkview Medical Center in Pueblo where he spent 18 days. And they got him on-going treatment.

What Will and his parents had not realized the first time was this: you can't shake a heroin addiction like it's a bad cold. You need professional help and a network of support.

Looking back, Will's father said it's no wonder his son relapsed and lied about his drug use.

"He didn't have a chance," the father said. "He was not himself. He became the drug."

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‘A phone call away"

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Last week, while an afternoon thunderstorm rolled overhead, Will sat drinking a glass of water in the same room where he first told his parents of his addiction.

He's better now. The craving is still there. But he's better equipped to deal with. But he also described how easy it would be to get the drug.

"It's one phone call away," he said. "I could probably get it right now in a half hour."

In the beginning, Will said he was convinced that he was smoking opium, which somehow sounded more exotic and less grim than heroin. By the time he realized the difference, he was too hooked to do anything about it.

He never injected the drug, but "I can tell you, I got extremely addicted and messed up just smoking it."

For now, Will lives each day one at a time. He's back in school. His relationship with his parents is different, but they are working on it.

His advice to others in his predicament is straight-forward: "Get help, because you're never going to do this on your own. I know it's not an easy thing to do ... but in the long run, it will save your life."