Fifteen years ago, I was the lucky parent of a child who decided to embrace the street life, upgrade his hobbies to include meth, opioids, and other fun substances that could end his life with a snap of a finger. Oh, what a thrill it was to scour neighborhoods where I was sure he frequented. It was like a never-ending treasure hunt, except the treasure was a strung-out son. I did find him a few times, and boy did he put up a fight when I insisted on rehab. He was all, “no way, old man. Let me be a junkie in peace!” Ah, good times.

Of course, me being the silly goose that I am, kept trying to force him into a rehab program after he turned 18. I mean, come on, what’s a little fatherly coercion between family members? Unfortunately, he was too out of it to make any rational decisions. It wasn’t his fault, really. When you’re high as a kite, the only decision-making you’ll be doing is what Snickers bar to buy at the convenience store.

Many of us can’t grasp what addiction feels like because we have the luxury of breathing air. But let me tell you, according to one druggie, it’s like being deprived of oxygen. You’ll do anything to take a breath, even if it means punching, kicking, and knocking down walls. Drugs aren’t a want, they’re a need. That’s why these poor souls will lie, cheat, steal, and do whatever it takes to get their fix. It’s like when I really want a burrito, and I’ll do anything to get my hands on one. No? Just me? Okay then.