In an open letter published in the Troy Daily News, Christina Ryan Claypool addresses one of the many effects of Ohio’s heroin epidemic: children whose parents aren’t there to care for them. In this case, Ms. Ryan is talking specifically about the orphans of the heroin epidemic, versus the many children whose parents are too far gone with their addiction to be good caregivers or children whose parents have been incarcerated because of heroin. Here’s an excerpt from her letter, and if you live in northeastern Ohio and recognize someone you know in this story, we hope you’ll reach out. The Center for Effective Living offers treatment for opiate addiction and mental health care options for children.
Dear Heroin Addict…
Please don’t think I’m judging you. I understand that your addiction didn’t give you a choice in what was more important, taking care of your son or finding your next fix. Heroin is a cruel mistress, and once she has you, tragically for many people there is no going back. Statistics from http://www.healthy.ohio.gov/ report that, “…approximately eight people die each day in Ohio due to unintentional drug overdose.”
Being addicted to any drug is a mental illness, similar to depression, only it’s not as societally acceptable. According to the National Institute on Drug Abuse, “Addiction changes the brain in fundamental ways, disturbing a person’s normal hierarchy of needs and desires and substituting new priorities connected with procuring and using the drug. The resulting compulsive behaviors that weaken the ability to control impulses, despite the negative consequences, are similar to hallmarks of other mental illnesses.”
Remembering that drug addiction is a sickness is vital in having compassion for your plight, because what heroin has done to your child is heartbreaking. I met him at the movie theater last Christmas season. He was seeing Alvin and the Chipmunks, while I went to view the classic Miracle on 34th Street.
It was bitter cold that afternoon, but your son stood outside of the theater alone with no coat on. His T-shirt left his arms bare, and he looked to me to be all of 12 year old. My maternal instincts kicked in, and worried that he could catch pneumonia, I innocently asked, “Does your mother know you’re out here without a coat on?”
“My mother’s dead,” he said matter-of-factly.