Hello. My name is Karen.

Hello. My name is Karen, and I'm an addict. I've been sober now for 14 days, 11 hours and 53 minutes. Sobriety is boring.

I started using when I was 5. I remember the first time I used. I was sitting in a movie theatre with my dad. We were watching Sleeping Beauty. The Prince saved her with a kiss...and I was hooked. After that I started using any chance I could. I would flip past the flowers and sailboats in my colouring book, and only colour the Princesses.

When I was alone in my room I would dress up in my play clothes and dance with my Knight in shining armour. I would dream about my fairy tale. I would anticipate the day when it would all come true.

I started collecting anything that helped me feed my habit; bed-time stories, Barbie dolls, Easy Bake ovens, and Cabbage Patch Kids. All of them fueled my addiction to an unprecedented level. I realize now that I would often cry out for help at school. I would incessantly draw Princesses. I was always reading the books that ended with "...and they lived happily ever after" -- but my cries went unnoticed. My teachers failed to recognize my addiction. I was a functional addict.

In the playground we played kissing tag. My addiction allowed me to be kissed by grubby boys with their grubby faces. When tag didn't thrill me anymore I sought out higher doses: I started performing in school plays. I needed to act out the ups and downs followed by a Happy Ending.

Sticker books began to be filled with scratch n' sniff cinnamon heart stickers, then fairies, then googly-eyed rainbows. When we started trading friendship pins, I filled my laces with pins that had little hearts instead of dice. When all the laces on all my shoes were filled -- I moved on to my figure skates. I took skating lessons, ballet, tap, and jazz. Anything that let me sing and dance to my fantasy. I sang solos from "The Sound of Music" in the school choir.

Valentine's Day was an ultimate high. I would carefully construct my mailbox and cover it with hearts so as to entice all my classmates to give me what I needed: the most Valentines' in the class. At home I would store them safely in a shoe box and look at them every day until the following year when I could collect more.

Soon I started noticing that all the music on the radio was talking to me -- about my addiction. It was intoxicating. I entered my pre-teens obsessing about New Kids on the Block. My teen years were occupied with stalking cute boys at school, and drawing their names on my binders and pencil cases. In University, I eventually overdosed.

I've ODed a number of times in the past 12 years or so. It's hard being an addict. It's lonely. No one quite seems to understand where I'm coming from, myself included.

So as I enter my 15th day of sobriety -- bored to tears and wondering if I'll ever have control over my addiction -- I look outside. It's sunny. I'm antsy. Maybe I'll walk around and pick some flowers for my apartment.





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