crystalelliott@ever-wondered.com

The Author
Written For All Parents, By A Parent Who Knows

I want to tell every parent who reads this book that I am a recovered addict. For fourteen years I suffered the effects of being addicted to drugs, so I know first hand just how insidious and damaging are their effects. I know how addiction to drugs can develop and what problems surround the affected person and her/his loved ones because of this involvement.

When I finished the manuscript for this book, I sent a copy to my Mum and Dad, and two trusted professional friends. I asked them if I should tell the reader that I have had many years of personal experience as an addict.

They responded with these comments:

“Readers do not want a sterile dissertation from someone who has had only ‘theory’. They want to receive information from someone who ‘has been there’.”

“Yes, you should state clearly that what you are writing about is something you know about because you have experienced it and lived to share the story. What you write is far more factual than 'theory' or second-hand knowledge. You have a life experience that is unique -- one, which is dreadful in parts -- much more than most but, one, which has a wonderful ending (and that is not 'most'). You really must lay it out.”

“Most parents will ask why you are in a position to give valid answers to these questions. The answer: Because you have ‘walked the road!’ Knowing that you have made a massive change in your life, you can give parents hope, as well as, inform them.”

“You’ve personally lived through what it is to be a drug addict, a user, and an abuser. People will read your book, thinking, ‘This woman knows what she is talking about. She’s been there, done that and has managed to recover!’ (Maybe there is hope for me, or mine.)”
Without telling my whole life story here, as that will be written in another book, it is appropriate to explain to you in brief, how my past relates to this book and why my addiction developed and subsequently progressed.

My past is riddled with some of life’s most horrible experiences, both independent of drug use, and related directly to drug use; however, I feel it is important to look at what happened in my life prior to my exposure to drugs as I am discussing preventative measures in this book. My early experiences also provide reasons, in part, as to why I developed the psychological profile that contributed to me developing such a problem with drugs once I did eventually start to use them.

I must state at this point that writing about my past and my family has been very difficult, as I know I have always been a very loved child and yet my life went so wrong.

My parents did their very best. They always loved me and I them. I chose to shut them out of my painful world. I chose to never call for help. I did not want to be a burden. I could not identify the reasons behind my own feelings of why I felt so empty, alone, worthless, insecure and depressed, so how could I explain to them or to anyone else? I did not know how, so I did not bother trying.

I do not, nor cannot blame anyone for the path I have travelled and the awful experiences I have endured except of course those people who deliberately abused me. One can only try to heal the effects of actions like theirs.

Of course, a lot of things could have been different, circumstances could have been different, and choices could have been different; however, what happened in my life, is just what happened, it is my unique story.

I was born in Adelaide, South Australia, and I am the middle child of three girls. My older sister is Rachelle and my younger sister is Michelle. When I was born, my mother became very ill and, unfortunately, no hospital would care for mother and child together, so I had to be cared for in a separate hospital for the first few weeks of my life.

I recently asked my Mum to write me a note about my early years, the times I could not remember. Here is an excerpt from her letter:

The hospital I chose to care for you turned out to be a disaster! They neglected you, darling! The anguish I felt when I called in to pick you up and saw your scalded, blistered bottom, nappiless, stuck up in the air to “dry out,” and the only comment from the nurses was, “We are short staffed.”

From there I took you home and, whether it was before or after that experience, I found a beautiful family who did cherish you while I was in oblivion somewhere. They did what I did, which was to take you (in your bassinette) from room to room with them so that you always had someone with you; however, it was not your Mum. I could not breastfeed you. Despite this, I still feel the bond forged during pregnancy and immediately after birth was very strong. It has never diminished.

Whether it was because I sensed fragility in you or, whether I was trying to make up to you for those traumatizing separations, I am not sure, but I only know that I felt a need to protect you. Perhaps I overdid it.

You were so sensitive that there was never an occasion when a reprimand was warranted. You were mortified if you did anything wrong. You punished yourself. I do remember spanking your leg once. You were silent for half an hour and I found you emerging from the bathroom with a whole box of Band-Aids placed on top of each other over the pink impression left by my hand. That was an occasion when I felt so ashamed, so guilty for having smacked you and yet, so charmed that you would associate pain relief with Band-Aids.

Those two years were the happiest of times. You joined in the baby’s ballet class as Little Bo Peep and discovered how people loved your giving charm. Then I became pregnant with Michelle and, again, was very sick. There was not much giving after that. I was very nauseous. Rachelle again was your mother.

The foregoing is just a foundation to help reassure us both that under the circumstances, I did the best that I possibly could for you, my darling Crystal. That is the one assurance that I draw comfort from

As stated in my mother’s letter, I was separated from her for a short time. Apparently, that has an effect on a child that can be long lasting, yet I never took it into consideration that these separations were attributable to any of the problems I developed later on in life. Perhaps, they were; however, under the circumstances, my mother had no other options, but I know for a surety, there was still plenty of love.

Later in this book I discuss how a child’s needs are unfortunately but, not intentionally, unmet by their parents. Sometimes, it is just a matter of circumstance like it was in my life several times. I was and, always have been, extremely sensitive and would take everything to heart. I was also gullible; in fact, so gullible that my family could say anything to me and I would seriously believe them, making for quite a few funny scenarios, or family jokes.

In the past, I have often considered my extreme sensitivity as a bit of a curse. Now that I have a better balance in my life, I understand that my sensitivity has its place, and it no longer undermines me or jeopardizes my well-being; rather, it is a cherished quality.

My mother also stated that I commenced learning ballet from an early age. Ballet eventually became the most important part of my life; however, little did I know that it would become not only the greatest source of joy, but also the greatest source of heartache in my life.

Our family moved around interstate quite frequently when we children were growing up. Then eventually we settled in Melbourne, Australia, but we still constantly moved from house to house. My early memories are full of happiness, fun and family togetherness, although like every family we had our own share of problems. My parents suffered trouble within their marriage, financial difficulties and uncertainties about future employment and business opportunities. As for how my sisters and I fared, I do not remember much of my parents’ troubles rubbing off on us kids when we were young, but we had our own issues to deal with.

My major problem when I was young was non-acceptance by the kids at school. By the way, this lasted throughout my entire school years. I was forever being ostracized by my classmates and remember a lot of painful times because I had no friends. Mum would try to reassure me, but it still hurt.

Then, when I was seven-years old, I was waiting for Dad to pick me up from ballet class. I was sitting just around the corner from the ballet school and a man stopped his car, got out and asked me street directions. Of course, I did not know the street he was talking about -- I was only seven. He then pulled out a knife and told me to be quiet or I would get it. He proceeded to walk me to his car with the knife in my back. I could remember thinking, “This can’t be happening to me.”

Somehow, I managed to open the car door as he started to drive off and jumped out. I ran the opposite direction and he turned with his fist pointed towards me and shouted, “I’ll get you later.” He never did. I went to the court case to give evidence. He was sent to prison, and I was sent to Show and Tell at school by my Mum to warn other kids about the dangers of strangers.

Around that time, my grandpa started to take me out the back to the garage to play Naughts and Crosses (like Tic-Tac-Toe). I was his favorite granddaughter. The only thing was, we never played Naughts and Crosses. Instead, he used to take me to the garage to sexually abuse me! No one knew because I never told anyone. This lasted for three years. I did not tell my mother until I was 25-years old.

Again, this must have affected me psychologically, but I never thought it contributed to the problems I developed later on in life. As a woman, I guessed this experience must have had some effect, yet I didn’t feel I could blame any of my problems on something that had occurred so far back in the past. I guess I lived in denial, thinking that if I did not address what had happened it would somehow go away and I could disassociate myself from any effects. Of course, this was an extremely unhealthy thing for me to do and probably prolonged the real reasons behind my inability to cope with life, my lack of self-esteem, and to the severity of my problems with drugs.

My love of ballet continued to grow as I grew older and, like my mother has since told me, I was never as stubborn as when I insisted that I wanted to pursue ballet for my career. At the age of twelve years, I excelled in my ballet classes and my mother took me to an audition at a renowned school in the city. This was a government owned school that taught ballet and music, combined with academic tuition for the year levels: Form 1 to Form 6 (finishing year), where students were only accepted on a scholarship basis.

There was a limit of twenty students per year level. It was expected that the graduates from this school would go on to be part of the Australian Ballet Company, or another leading overseas ballet company. I was twelve-years old when I won a scholarship into this school. It was my greatest dream come true.

Everyday, school comprised of half a day of dance training and half a day of academics. By now, my ballet training totaled a minimum of 37 hours per week, but the more I danced, the more it hurt, and the more I sweated, the more I loved it. It was my reason for being. At the end-of-year examinations I was one of three students from the whole school to receive an A grade for ballet. This was unheard of for a first former (which is considered equivalent to Seventh Grade of Junior High). My exam results meant that, not only was I part of this elite group of twenty best dancers of the country for my age, I was acknowledged as one of the best, if not the best of the entire group.

Unfortunately, the result of this mark of excellence meant I became extremely disliked by my ultra competitive classmates. I never spent any lunch times with my classmates. I used to sit on my own in the park everyday or just go straight to the rehearsal room and practice my routines during lunchtimes. My classmates excelled at ostracizing me with whispers, notes sent ‘round the classroom about me and general bitchiness.

I only had one girlfriend, and she has remained a beloved friend even to this day. My darling Samantha, thank you for your kindness and acceptance.

During Second Form (Grade Eight Junior High), I auditioned and was accepted to be a part of the Australian Ballet Company’s production of Cinderella. This was another great achievement for a child, my age. I was still at the top of my class and I was still disliked immensely. My hours per week of training continued to increase. I was thirteen-years old.

It was during this time I developed anorexia and bulimia, and suffered extreme anxiety and self-consciousness about my figure. My figure was fine; however, my mental picture of myself was not. I used to starve myself for two weeks at a time or, when I did eat, I would make myself throw up, even after eating only a peanut! This sometimes meant I self-induced vomiting six or more times a day at times. Meanwhile, my self-esteem took a huge nosedive, with most all of my thoughts centered on losing weight and of how fat I thought I was.

During the course of the year, I began to suffer from acute tendonitis in my ankles from point shoe work (dancing on my tippee toes). I was often given physiotherapy for my tendonitis, but the problem only worsened.

After consulting a specialist, I was told I needed surgery; however, I refused to do this until the end-of-year examinations were over. I just swallowed anti-inflammatory tablets for my ankles and continued through to the finals. Again, I topped the class, but my ballet was suffering.

I was very upset about the thought of surgery. In fact, I panicked at the thought of not knowing what the outcome would be, but I had the operation and, instead of being out of action for a short time, I ended up on crutches for five months. My ankles did not heal with enough flexibility until late the following year. The result: I never danced ballet on point shoes again!

After the operation, my mother, father and I attended a meeting with the Dean of the school. She advised my parents that, even though I had won a six-year scholarship and the school had no right to expel me from the program, I should nevertheless consider giving up my scholarship. She pointed out that, even if my ankles healed properly, it would be a long process. She also told me I had developed excessively strong thigh muscles and, though my dancing abilities were excellent, my body might develop wrong for ballet.

I remember that meeting with every fiber of my being. I remember the feeling of having my whole world collapse. In that moment, it felt as though my arms and legs had been cut off. I was almost paralyzed by grief. I not only had stuffed ankles, but the comments about my physique, absolutely crushed me. After all my work, after all my hours and years in training, after all my accomplishments and amazing results and success in ballet, this was all I had left. I knew my greatest and only dream could never be.

I was more than devastated. Something major changed inside me. I lost all self-esteem, when before I had possessed plenty, only because I knew I was so good at what I did -- ballet. I lost all sense of purpose. I lost what I loved the most. At the tender age of only fourteen years, I had a broken heart, which has really only just mended since my recent rehabilitation, but I do not know if it will ever mend completely. I was in suspended agony for years.

The next year I started what I called ‘normal’ school. Because of the operation on my ankles, I still used crutches and felt particularly conspicuous, as I could not even carry my own books. I felt very insecure, worthless, empty inside. This meant making new friends was almost impossible, and I became despondent. Looking back, I never did actually make friends. I only made acquaintances. I was a loner.

As my ballet school had only demanded the basic essentials in academics, I struggled with the increase in work at this new school, but I still made very good grades. I did not recognize my own achievements though. I was too locked up in my own world of loss to give myself credit for anything good I’d accomplished.

I pretended to my family that all was well. They had no idea I had begun the practice of shutting myself in my room, trying to cut my wrists. I also started looking in Mum’s cupboards for something to knock myself out. I thought perhaps a mixture of pills would temporarily numb me. It was during this year that my sister and her best friend offered me my first smoke of marijuana out in the backyard. Although I had been told not to touch drugs by my parents and, although I knew it was wrong, I decided to try it anyway.

The effect on me was instant! Finally, I’d found relief from my emotional pain. I believed the relief I felt while affected by the drug was the answer to all my problems of being unable to cope. I believed I had found an escape route from my own reality, however temporary it was, and I knew I could reclaim the feeling whenever I smoked this drug.

I continued to ask my sister’s friend for a smoke whenever I could convince him to come to our house. My sister did not know this and, as for my parents, they had no idea what was going on. I later found out my mother did not even know what marijuana looked like until years later. As my parents were unaware of my drug use, they did not know to talk to me about what I was doing. I kept it all a secret and never discussed what my real feelings were or how I was not coping with life, and so I developed a distance from everyone I knew, including my parents.

One day I asked a kid at school how to make a homemade bong. Almost overnight, the news spread. I had become accepted into most every group at school. In a way, I thought this cool, I guess, but I did not really care as I had never really cared about peer group as such. I had become too accustomed to not being included. Anyway, by that stage I was too absorbed in my own secret world, which is where I preferred to live mentally, physically and emotionally. My depression was so intense that it warped my personality and sense of reality.

That brings us to the point of my initial drug involvement. I could continue relaying every horrific event I experienced later in my life in gory detail, but as far as this audience is concerned, what occurred in my preteens and teens is the key focus here. Suffice it to say, I was a person whose use of drugs dived through problematic use straight through to addiction. As I grew older and experienced more and more trauma, my addiction to drugs steadily increased. Instead of just needing to smoke marijuana everyday, I started using amphetamines and other pills. I also began using amphetamines intravenously.

With the exception of catching me smoking pot once or twice, my parents were totally unaware of my addiction; that is, until I developed a fatal heart disease, Sub-acute Bacterial Endocarditis! I suffered from this illness for three months and it almost killed me. The truth is I almost died, because the disease developed from using drugs intravenously. This was a big enough scare for me to back off hard drugs for a number of years.

Due to my illness, my parents finally became aware of the reality of my situation and made many attempts to help me deal with my problems, including consulting many varied professionals. Nothing helped. My deep depression continued and I attempted suicide several times. Fortunately for me, those attempts were unsuccessful.

Although I experienced some horrific events and made some terrible personal choices, I did achieve some good in my late teens and early twenties. I studied nursing and qualified with highest marks in the state. I continued to nurse for five years. I worked and trained as a volunteer fire fighter for four years. I studied as a volunteer ambulance officer for a year. For four years, I worked as a volunteer with the Ronald McDonald House, helping the families of children suffering from leukemia and various other life-threatening illnesses. I volunteered with the Multiple Sclerosis Society and Do Care organization. I also helped with church activities and youth camps.

Regardless of the positives in my life, the negatives were always far more predominant. With my total lack of self-esteem and poor judgment, as I grew older I exposed myself to situations where I was continually being abused physically, emotionally and psychologically. I tried to keep my family in the dark most of the time about how bad things really were for me. I isolated myself, rarely socialized, and the only place I found solace was when I was numbed by some illegal substance.

In my mid-twenties, I became a victim of severe domestic violence over the course of five years by three consecutive partners. These situations were not mild. Many times, I could have been killed from deliberate attempts at drowning, strangulation and extreme beatings. My self-esteem was such that I accepted this abuse until there came a point after the birth of my daughter, Jewel, that I would accept it no more. Even though I did not have the strength required to protect myself, I knew I had to protect my daughter from any abusive environment.

Although I managed to remain, drug free, through my pregnancy, unfortunately, after Jewel’s birth my problems and, definitely, my drug addiction continued to escalate for the next couple of years until the point where I felt I had lost everything. I finally hit what people call Rock Bottom and, again, almost lost my life several times. This was towards the end of 1999. I was thirty-one-years old.

I tried many ways to kill myself. I felt completely trapped. I saw no way of healing myself or helping my situation so I wanted out of this world and yet, I felt I couldn’t bear to leave my daughter. My mother had been caring for Jewel almost a month by this stage because I knew she needed a safer environment. I could not be sure I would survive.

During this rock bottom period, I stabbed my stomach with a carving knife several times and slashed my wrists. I was rescued, caught by my ankles, while jumping from a 7th floor window but, later, I did jump out of a 2nd floor window, only to break six bones in both feet and my wrist. I deliberately tried to mix cocktails of drugs I knew would be dangerous and managed to overdose myself two times.

I also managed to get myself in a situation when purchasing drugs, where a man deliberately overdosed me in order to rob and rape me while I was dropped. (Dropped is a term used to describe someone who has overdosed and is in need of resuscitation.) He then dumped me in the middle of the street and left me there for dead. Again, I was resuscitated by ambulance officers and after three attempts I miraculously survived!

A week later, I totally went berserk with grief. Like trying to capture a wild animal, my boyfriend and two best friends bundled me off to a live-in (residential) drug rehabilitation center.

I spent six very long, heartbreaking months in that rehab facility, healing myself. There, I met many other kids and adults, who shared their similar experiences with me. Through getting to know these people and listening to their stories, and from knowing other addicts throughout my life, I learned how other people’s drug addiction developed. I could relate to them all.

When I finally completed the program, I counseled with a very special man, Dr. Peter Webber, a psychologist, who helped me deal with all of my past issues. He helped me complete the last stage of healing that I required. He helped enable me to finally enjoy a happy drug-free life for the first time since I was a young girl.

I have only my story to share with you, but through my personal experience and through knowing many other people compulsively addicted to drugs, I feel I have a lot to share. Because I know drug use starts and develops in so many different ways, I vowed to develop an approach to help parents prevent or reduce the effects that exposure to drugs could have on their children. Within this approach, I felt the need to encourage parents to become proactive in their child’s life to help establish successful life skills that, I believe, have tremendous importance in a child’s life, especially concerning the prevention or reduction of a child’s possible drug involvement.

In addition to this, because I am a parent myself and because I have firsthand knowledge of drugs and what they can do, I have an insider’s awareness regarding the dangers of drugs and alcohol in protecting my own child’s safety. Because of my experiences, I now know what to teach her, and I know what to be wary of regarding her behavior patterns.

The store of knowledge compiled in this book I feel compelled to share with parents everywhere.

I know there is information about drug use and dependency already available to parents; however, I also know from my research for this book and personal experience, what information parents really need to be most effective! It must be easily accessible and it has to be presented directly to parents.

The result: Ever Wondered If Your Child Will Use Drugs? -- a book that incorporates the latest available information on child and adolescent drug abuse, along with what I know to be true from my own knowledge and experiences.

To prepare for this book I have analyzed and re-analyzed how my past situations could have been different. I can now pinpoint the times and areas when my problems developed. I know what contributed to my increasing drug use but most of all, I now know what could have helped to reduce these problems. I did this, not as a regret of what I had lived through but, rather, so I could add to this book what I have learned in order to help others.

No one knows what life has in store; however, I do believe preparation through education will help reduce mistakes and prevent misfortune from developing into tragedy. I can now honestly say I have traveled through hell and back, but I hope my happy ending does, indeed, give hope and help to families of children, who are already problematic drug users. This book also provides helpful information to those families concerned that drug use may happen to their loved ones.

My wish is that this book will help reduce the problem of child and adolescent drug abuse. My hope is that it will inspire a response in every parent and an awareness that what is learned and done now really can make a vast difference in the future of their children.

In May 2000, I was reunited with my beautiful little, then, 2-year-old girl, Jewel, who I consider my angel of hope. Jewel was my inspiration for my recovery and to write this book. In October 2001, I had the honor of giving birth to identical twin girls, my little blossoms. I can now honestly say I have found my life’s desire of inner peace and happiness.

With a great love for life and respect for parenthood,

Crystal Elliott

Reference — Dr. Peter Webber, B.A. Dip. Psych. M.A.P.S.