My 21-year-old daughter is a junkie, and I love her more than anything in the world. There, I've said it.
She is beautiful and brilliant and she sticks needles in her veins, on purpose. Failing that, she cooks heroin in a household spoon over a candle. In between her trips to the Bronx and downtown N---- or S----- V----- in search of the drug, she may or may not seem like a normal person, depending on her mood, but if you walk into her room you'll see a refuse-strewn disaster area and wonder how anyone could live like that.
Her dad basically blames me; if I hadn't allowed her to leave school at the age of 16 this never would have happened...and I'm willing to admit blame there. As an adult, I should never have been swayed by a sixteen-year-old's arguments against schooling, and somehow, I should have kept her from falling in with people who used during the long, empty, unschooled days. Well, I didn't.