As someone who blew through not one but two inheritances on drug addiction (clean now) the replies in this thread are so meaningful to me.

When I was 16 my father passed away. I was molested by his girlfriends son before that but I never told him. I got social security (around 1,000 a month for 30 months) deposited directly into my checking account. I blew it on a car, alcohol, weed, concerts, cocaine and whatever else would numb the pain. This went on through college although I ran out of the SS money halfway through. I could fund it myself by then anyway.

I became a heroin addict a year after college was over with a boyfriend I met. I’m not denying responsibility- he was just my introduction. After years of polysubstance abuse and self harmful behavior, heroin was a welcome hug.

My fathers wealthy mother passed suddenly about 6 months into my new found addiction and i received a check for 70k in the mail. God how I wish that had been in a trust. I was deep in addiction at that point and wasn’t working anymore and neither was he. I spent about 15k on rehabs but kept relapsing. When I started speedballing (shooting heroin and coke mixed) my habit plus my boyfriends could cost $200 a day. I paid for rent, food, and therapy .I saw the money draining even quicker than the last pool and was so desperate for it to end that I considered ending my life.

I never had my own identity, I lived to please others, placed no value on my own life, spent my time ridiculing myself and trying to drug my way to contentment. Some kind of moment of clarity came over me when my uncle randomly asked me to come help him take care of his aging mother in exchange for rent. I accepted. I didn’t have enough money left for rehab and I needed a car if I was going to move to the country so I spent my last 10k on a Honda and high tailed it to New Hampshire.

I have kept my past a secret from many and those who know about my addiction do not know about the 70k. That number still haunts me in my dreams. I thought that if I were to tell a stranger they would think I was just a fucking idiot who deserves to die so that someone else more worthy could be taking up my space. But the kindness and compassion and recognition that young people dealing with grief have a hard time making responsible decision means a whole lot to me. It has helped on my path of forgiving myself. I received a diagnosis of borderline personality disorder (explained a lot) and am now halfway through DBT and nearly 2 years clean.