I am 29 years old, a mother of a 2 ½-year old son and I live with his father. Jeff and I have been together for four years.

I was raised with a very close small family. I have a mother whom I adore, a stepfather who is great, and my father

I felt on top of the world.

is one of my best friends. I wasn’t surrounded by drugs, poverty, or abuse. I graduated at Kent State University with a communications degree and I have worked for every penny since I was 16 years old.

When I was 26 years old I tried my first drug ever -- Ecstasy. From that point on, I experimented with different drugs but they never really grabbed me. They were just an escape here and there.

In 2002, I got pregnant. That day I found out I stopped using drugs or alcohol. Problems arose with Jeff and we split up last summer. I moved out with our son, got an apartment, worked 50 hours a week and was depressed out of my mind. During this time, I ran into an old high school friend at the gas station. He gave me his number so we could catch up.

Within one week of meeting up, he introduced me to meth. I did one line in hopes of feeling a tad bit better -- he told me it wasn't addicting and I felt on top of the world.

After a couple of weeks I felt amazing

Meth made me believe I needed nothing else but it...I left my son to get high, and cook dope.

-- never tired, I could go to work, take care of my baby -- take care of EVERYTHING. Within two months, however, nothing seemed to matter but making sure I was high.

I decided to tell my son's father that I thought I had a problem, but I was scared.

My friend Ron (not his real name), had showed me how to shoot it up, wich was a entirely different ball game. He was also a cook, so I was able to get dope whenever I wanted.

I moved out of his apartment, quit my job, and my son and I moved back in with Jeff 120 miles away. We thought, as a family, we could beat this. We told no one what had happened.

Looking back, I had never intended to quit. I would drive and meet Ron to get dope after we moved. Finally, he just picked up and moved into hotels near me. We thought we were in love.

He taught me how to cook. He told me since I was a beautiful woman with no previous police record I would never get in trouble. I spent four months hiding and protecting my

I missed my baby, but I was no longer worth being a moether, a daughter, a girlfriend, a friend. I was nothing and I wanted to get high until I died.

addiction. I would fake sleeping next to Jeff every night so he would think I was not using and I would pitch food away so he thought I was eating. We had our son put in daycare, because my family thought I was going to therapy and doctors for my problem. I made them believe my eating disorder was back. That's why I was loosing so much weight. I was living a double and lonely life.

The days weren't long enough. I could no longer live like this.  I was shooting 2 grams a day, cooking in hotels, and when Jeff would go out of town for work I would cook at my house.

Finally, in November, Jeff found out everything. He put me in the car and drove me to my parents. They had planned an intervention. My whole family sat waiting for me in my parent’s living room. That night, I had Ron Pick me up at the end of the driveway and I ran.

I left my son to get high, and cook dope.

Meth made me believe I needed nothing else but it. Now, I have lost my car, my son,

We didn't go out. We ate every few days to keep our buzz on. At this point I was maybe 90 pounds...

and I told my whole family to f*ck off.

Ron told me he would take care of me. We would get ahead and I would get my son back. For eight weeks I injected about 3-4 grams of meth I made a day. I was never not high. I could not face the reality of what I had done to my family. My arms. legs and neck were bruised from stabbing my self. If I wasn’t cooking I was shopping for ingredients. I was the devil.

Ron would leave me all the time for days with no food, car or phone. It would be just me and the meth lab. I remained scared out of my mind daily. Still, never high enough.

Once, we thought I overdosed because I began bleeding out of my vagina everywhere -- it would not stop. Ron threw me in a car and dropped me off to a hospital. He left me there. He was so paranoid; he thought they would arrest him.

It turns out, the miscarriage I had two months prior was not fully finished which is why I was bleeding.

I got a cab, and went to the hotel, finished a cook and got high. I did not care if I died at this point. Ron came home and made me understand why he did what he did. I fell for it and we got high again.

We cooked just enough to feed our intense addiction and made enough money to throw another batch on. That's how we continued to live. We didn't go out. We ate every few days to keep our buzz on. At this point I was maybe 90 pounds and I couldn’t fit into adult clothes at Wal-Mart.

I missed my baby, but I was no longer worth being a mother, a daughter, a girlfriend, a friend. I was nothing and I wanted to get high until I died.

Ron has left me again -- he wouldn’t answer his phone for five days.
My arm was swollen because I have missed again and my bottom has hit. I took about four grams of dope and every water soluble pill in the house and put it in a needle. I said goodbye to my baby boy, and shot it in my arm. I wanted to die.

I woke up 18 hours later still alone. I surrendered myself to my family. They had a rehab all lined up waiting for me in Florida and I got on the plane two days later.