Miller

David Miller
Nancy Roche
Writing 1010-018
11 September 2014
My Generations Literacy
I belong to a digital generation where Facebook replaced emails faster then the letters
before them. Our written language is continuously being shortened and edited. Expressing
meaning has grown more challenging as our vocabulary has been stripped down. So when I was
thrown in to a situation where it was essential for me to be transparent and concise with my
words, I was brutally underprepared.
I was fourteen and I was beginning the experimental phases of my life. I had already
started smoking weed and drinking by this time and an entire new frontier of possibilities had
opened up for me. All the caution my parents and teachers had bestowed on me had already been
discredited through personal experience. I didn't feel addicted to the plant I had started to smoke;
it didn't make me feel lazy or stupid either. Alcohol hadn't killed me yet and my own experiences
hadn't shown me how terrible it could be. So what else had been a lie? I was in the ninth grade
and as far as I was concerned invincible.
A little more than halfway in to the first semester a new vice was offered to me. A close
friend had torn his ACL and had been prescribed fifteen mg Hydrocodone. The small baby blue
ovals seemed to be as innocent as the aspirin my mom took so often, and the promise of yet
another new altered state of mind was too much to bear.
With a large friend pool healthy allowance and plenty of free time it was not a difficult
thing to find painkillers. Before Christmas break I had tried my hand at most synthetic opioids

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and had started experimenting with other pharmaceuticals. That orange bottle with the white
label and lid became symbol for me, a promise of respite from my existence, which had become
such poor alternative to dream world of Oxycontin.
Was I happy? Obviously not. How could I be? There was no fulfillment in my life; I was
stagnant and septic with no purpose or direction. I was a pubescent fourteen-year-old boy and I
had already developed a serious addiction. My life was an out of control freight train and the
destination was inevitable.
Winter had come and gone and spring was starting to show in the foothills. The
rejuvenating atmosphere was stirring more and more families from their homes, and as they left
we moved in. The average house party was a drunken collaboration of anywhere from fifteen to
one hundred teenagers. The police were a constant thereat to our fun but with so many of our
peers we all though our odds were pretty good at getting away. For me these parties were an
excuse to get as inebriated as possible in a short amount of time. Smoking weed and drinking
were the norm, it wasn't uncommon to mix in prescription meds and occasionally the odd point
of ecstasy. Another personal ritual was to lock myself in the bathroom and scour the medicine
cabinet for anything to further my intoxication. At the end of the night I would usually end up
passed out in an unusual corner or throwing up most of the nights festivities.
A good friend of mine hosted one such party; Alexa had lived two blocks away from me
ever since we had started at junior high together. Her grandparents were vacationing in Florida
and with only a small amount of convincing she consented to allowing a few friends over. The
party was nothing exceptional, with less than thirty kids and not quite enough alcohol to get
things really riled up. At one point in the night I found myself in an upstairs bathroom which I
recognized as the one connected to Alexa's grandparents bedroom. A quick check behind the

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mirror revealed a plethora of those small orange bottles. As I scanned the labels none stood out
to me, but after a second sweep one name stood out. The label read Exalgo 8 mg and in fine print
underneath Hydromorphone. I stared at the small black lettering for a second, and without
hesitation slipped the bottle in to my pocket. Hydromorphone is a rarely prescribed pain reliever
more commonly known by its brand name Dilaudid. Thirty minutes later and I was in heaven. I
had never taken this drug before and immediately I was hooked. I finished the bottle in the next
five days; Alexa's grandparents returned the next. They noticed the missing bottle immediately
and confronted their granddaughter. Alexa, being aware of my recreational habits, asked me
about them; unfortunately she withheld her grandparents awareness of the situation. Not
knowing the consequences I admitted to taking the Dilaudid. The next day Alexa confronted me
in person, she had told her grandparents who had taken their drugs and they were inclined to
speak to my parents about the situation. I panicked. My parents are both doctors, strict with their
discipline but lacking in their insight. They would be hard pressed to be understanding of my
addiction, and hiding it seemed impossible. Alexa suggested I talk to them, but the idea of
confronting two practical strangers about such a shameful part of my life was too much. The
corner I was backing in to seemed so absolute that at the time both running away and even
suicide were seriously considered.
This is why I am so grateful for the written language that is so integral to our society. I
decided to write a letter. Handwritten and delivered, my goal was to plea for forgiveness and
mercy with promises of turning over a new leaf and seeking help. I don't remember exactly what
I said in the letter and I'm sure it wasn't a literary masterpiece. I kept it short and was as honest as
I could be, and by either some miracle or the kindness of an elderly couple the letter worked.
Alexa brought me back to her house after school and I had a short but terrifying talk with her

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grandparents. They didn't seem as much mad as concerned, they wanted to help me in any way
they could. I refused; I lied and told them my parents were helping me through it. They conceded
and wished me the best of luck.
I ended up quitting the drugs on my own, and besides a small but almost disastrous
relapse, I haven't opened an orange bottle since. Written words can communicate sincere
emotion without personal contact. Being able to use your words well is a skill well worth
investing in. Being able to use words to your advantage is a skill I will never under estimate.