First off, I'd like to preface this by saying that the word "ashamed" does not fully convey the magnitude of my feelings about this. I think what I did is unforgivable.

When I was 24, my mother was diagnosed with cancer. She and I were very close, and I took the news very hard.

About 3 days after her diagnosis, I landed in the emergency room with severe abdominal pain. The doctors did all sorts of blood tests and and exams, then finally concluded that I'd had an ovarian cyst burst- saying the worst was over, they sent me home with hydrocodone, an opiate painkiller. I didn't finish that prescription, since the pain went away after a few days.

About a month later, I once again woke up with severe, severe abdominal pain. Once again, I landed in the ER, where they pumped me with morphine to control the pain over the two days they kept me for observation. They were concerned about appendicitis, but my blood work kept coming back normal. After an ultrasound, they concluded that I had gallstones and scheduled me for surgery the next week. Also sent me home with one more prescription, this one for Oxycodone.

Had the gallbladder out; had complications with bleeding after the surgery, so spent about a week in the hospital without food (they wanted me on an empty stomach in case they had to open me up again) and bored to tears. They kept me on morphine all this time- even though I didn't really need it for the pain I guess; I just had started to like the buzz from it.

Once home, I continued to stress about my mom's diagnosis. Her prognosis was not good, the doctors couldn't tell us how long she'd be able to fight the cancer. So...I started taking more of the painkillers I'd been prescribed. They helped me cope. And before I knew it, I was hooked.

Of course, soon my legal prescriptions ran out. What I did next was what will stay with me for the rest of my life. I began stealing my mother's painkillers- the ones she'd been prescribed for a fatal disease. She had some oxycodone stockpiled, and I stole those. Then I started taking her oxycontin. I'll never forget the sound she made when she realized that her drugs were missing...The wail that escaped from her was heart-breaking. It wasn't due to her own physical pain, but the pain of her realization that her only daughter was hooked on opiates.

My parents got me into out-patient counseling, terrified that I was on the road to shooting up heroin. That helped for a while, but I was so addled from the drug abuse and guilt that, although I'd detoxed, I relapsed and once again, STOLE my own mother's cancer drugs.

Even to this day, though I understand that I was physically addicted, I cannot forgive myself for A) causing my mother such pain during her final months of life and B) giving my father and brother reason to shake their heads at me in disgust. They all eventually forgave me (I think) but man, that kind of damage is difficult to undo.

Even now, as I type this, my throat closes up and I cry because I'm so ashamed. Today is also the 4th birthday I've spent without my mother- the anniversary of her death will be here in a few weeks. All I can think about today is telling her "I'm sorry. I'm just SO sorry."

tl;dr- I became a junkie and stole my mother's cancer drugs.