The first time I ever illegally used prescription opioids, I was 12 years old. I fell between the deck and swimming pool at my house and hurt my wrist. My mom didn’t take me to the doctor. Instead, she crushed up Vicodin and put it in my drink because I couldn’t swallow the pill.

First, it made me sick. Then I loved it.

By the time I was 15 or 16, I was going to the doctor for pain medications. They diagnosed me with juvenile rheumatoid arthritis, which was a misdiagnosis. Later on, I found out it was osteoarthritis and fibromyalgia.

I went doctor shopping forever. My mom was an enabler. I was taking pills in high school because my mom would bring them to me. I hate saying that stuff because I miss my mother. She’s taken care of my daughter Larissa and I don’t want to talk badly about her, but that’s where my addiction started. It was a bonding experience. We would take pills and decorate or go do things.

After awhile, the pills became super expensive.

Larissa’s dad doesn’t know, but he was the first person who sold me dope for myself. He thought I was getting it for somebody else. He would have never given it to me. He didn’t want me to use dope. He was always behind that locked door, and I wanted to know what was taking him from us. Once I did it, I opened that door.

I thought it would bring us closer, but it only tore us apart. I’ve been with Larissa’s dad on and off for 14 years. Larissa watched him hit me. She witnessed all of it. Now she’s afraid for me. She doesn’t want me to be with any man.

I’ve been in so many drug rehab programs. Every time I get close to getting clean and stable, I screw something up. But, this last time, I was president of the house. I supervised almost 50 women.

I got in trouble during my time as program president and I was put on restriction. I had gone to a Walgreens while I was out without telling anybody. The whole house had to vote whether or not to keep me as a president because I should be leading by example. It was almost a unanimous vote to keep me. They said I advocate for them. I love these women. I had been in the program for 13 weeks.

My parole officer actually told me recently that he was proud of me. I haven’t had charges in two years, which is really good for me. My judge said that if I keep doing well and complete my program, he’s going to close my case.

I need stable housing and I want to be able to take care of my kids and do what I'm supposed to do. I want to do something different this time. Larissa is afraid for me to come home and relapse, like I have done countless times before.

Larissa told me she just wants to know what a home is, which made me cry.

I have too much to lose this time. I’ve never had the Office of Children, Youth and Families involved before. All of my “nevers” have happened: I'm never going to shoot heroin. I'm never going to smoke crack. I'm never going to lose my kids. I'm never going to be homeless. I’m never going do things that I don’t want to do for money.

It’s like a line in the sand you draw. And you just draw another one. And another one.

My aspirations and arrests

I went to the Everest Institute-Pittsburgh to become a patient care technician. I was the president of the parent-teacher association at Larissa’s school. I was a straight-A student for most of my life.

I had 78 hours left of my Everest internship when I got arrested.

You can’t be a patient care technician with a criminal record. That’s when my record started. I got arrested in 2009 and, by 2010, the chaos started. Larissa was 8.

My aunt keeps reminding me, “You got to be her mother, not her friend.” I parent out of guilt. Anything she wants, I give her because I want her to be happy. I need to be stern with her. She needs stability. She needs structure. That’s why I wanted her to live with my grandmother’s sister. My aunt can start that process; Larissa is living with her now.

I am living with Larissa’s letter. I’ve read it in my support group and now other people read it in their group. I carry it with me. It’s flimsy from me reading and re-reading it. The first time I read it, I tuned it out because I wasn’t ready. Then she sent it to me at the program. I read it and I sobbed. It’s helping me heal.

Any time I get frustrated, my therapist tells me, “Go read your daughter’s letter.”

And then the part where it says, “Why doesn't my mom or dad want me? Why did they choose a needle over me?” I used to think that my parents chose everything over me.

All of her feelings, I know them too well.

Lynann Michelessi is a Pittsburgh resident and mother in recovery from drug abuse.

This story was fact-checked by Lindsay Patross.

Edited by Halle Stockton and Mila Sanina.

Web design and development by Natasha Khan.

This project has been made possible with the generous support of the Staunton Farm Foundation.

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