I never stopped. I continuously used and used to not stay bad or sad, to always feel good, not to feel nothing. There wasn’t even a reason anymore. I used and that was it. This is the one and only thing that tragically marked my days.
I remember one Christmas Eve
I went to Padova like I always do and spent all my money on heroin and cocaine, going back home as usual the first thing; a fight with my mother and then I would lock myself up in my room.
Starting with all the rituals, that night I wanted to destroy myself more than usual, the substance was there and nobody could stop me. At some stages I don’t know how I managed to stay standing, I don’t know how long I was there for, maybe for a few minutes, when my mother opened the door. I by chance opened my eyes just after a few moments just to see my mother looking at me while I still had the spoon and the syringe in hand. She began to scream, wanted to take that crap from my hands, I can’t remember exactly what was said but I can imagine. My only reaction was to push my mom and father out and slam the door in their faces. That night I heard my mom crying and sitting on the floor outside my door but I didn’t care, I was good like this.
The next day I showed up at the lunch at my uncles home. Christmas we are always all home and together.
That day I went home I was just a corpse with long-sleeved shirt so no one can see my arms devastated and didn’t eat anything that was on my plate because I was too busy trying to keep my eyes open without hitting his head on the table. That was the straw that broke the camel’s back.
That day everyone in my family saw what condition I was in and so they decided to take the situation in their hands. Luckily my uncle knew a colleague who had a son in San Patrignano and that day all approved that is was the right decision to send me there. Obviously I didn’t want to go but a few nights after my uncle came to my house and began to speak with my mother, it ended in a way that I never expected. While I was there I remember that he spoke to my mother as if I wasn’t even there and at one point said, “ If you don’t send Nicola a San Patrignano the same thing will happen what happened to Nicoletta.” At that point she turned, not even mentioning my sister. Him with his usual coolness that is strongly represented in the house told everyone my sister died of anorexia and that was the real cause of the heart attack and her death. That night I didn’t sleep and in the morning when I woke up found all white spaces where there use to be pictures of my sister, my mom had removed all memory of her.
From that day forward, something in me snapped, it wasn’t easy but I started go to the association and with great difficulty I managed to quit heroin. My parents helped me and sent me to a house in the mountains to help with the withdraw symptoms. I felt deep hatred towards them but on the other hand was grateful that they pushed me to find this new road. Now I have been living in Sanpa for 3 years and 10 months and the difficulties I face here have served me to rediscover myself and family member who have been close to me forever. If it weren’t for this place I probably have the same fate of so many of my friends still making my mother and family suffer