A journey out of the drug cycle reveals that overcoming addiction is not just a matter of willpower. Understanding from family becomes the crucial turning point leading to treatment and methadone therapy, bringing recovery closer.
“I can’t take it anymore. Please take me for treatment.”
A chat message that Arm (a pseudonym), a 24-year-old man from Tak province, sent to his father for the first time, asking for help after being trapped in the drug cycle for many years. Despite trying to quit on his own dozens of times, he failed. This short message became the starting point for him to step out of the old cycle, move away from drugs, and grow closer to his family.
Looking back at Arm’s childhood, it’s similar to many poor rural children—raised by relatives in his hometown because his parents had to work in the big city, sending money home. They saw each other only a few times a year.
Anan (a pseudonym), his father, said that after Arm was born, he had to leave him with his grandmother while he and his wife looked for work in Bangkok. When Arm reached kindergarten age, an uncle took over caregiving, and later he moved to live with his aunt. He admitted that not raising his son himself and passing caregiving responsibilities around caused their relationship to grow distant.
“There weren’t many people around him. His aunt was often out gathering vegetables and fishing, so he was like living alone freely. During the day, he’d go find friends and only come home in the evening. At that time, there were no phones, so he couldn’t call or contact anyone.”
When Arm was about 13 or 14, his mother was pregnant with a younger brother, prompting both parents to return home to raise their two children together. Even living together again, the parents spent most of their time working outside. As a teenager, communication between Arm and his parents was not only infrequent but felt like talking different languages. The existing distance grew wider, and Arm filled the gap with “friends.”
At school, he grouped with friends as the “back row kids.” With a rebellious spirit and curiosity, Arm and his friends began experimenting with “marijuana” at age 15, without anyone forbidding them or daring to be the black sheep.
“Because it felt different. If we didn’t use, it felt like we weren’t part of the group when everyone else was smoking.”
Arm confirmed that at first he didn’t feel addicted, so he was careless. But as use continued, he realized he couldn’t go without it. From marijuana, the door opened to other drugs. By age 20, Arm started using “heroin.” Though expensive, he would skip meals and pool money with friends to buy it. Over time, his dose increased because the same amount no longer produced the desired effect. At most, he used 3 grams a day—a dangerously high amount.
“At first, like everyone else, I thought trying a little wouldn’t lead to addiction. But once I tried it, I liked the feeling. Heroin hooked me. Without it, life was hard—I felt sick with a runny nose and body aches all the time.”
Knowing deep down his actions were wrong, Arm tried to hide his addiction from his parents. He worked hard to keep up with school and work, learning electrical skills from his father. After completing vocational training, he helped as an assistant but never used drugs in front of his younger brother, fearing the boy might follow his path. Yet, as a parent, Anan noticed suspicious behavior but never imagined it was this deep.
Anan admitted he wasn’t perfect and had tried drugs himself in his youth. He acknowledged drugs are much easier to access now, with media encouraging use. He knew Arm had tried marijuana and had honest talks with him, trusting his son’s denial of other substances.
Until Arm escalated from user to small-time dealer and was arrested at 21. The phone call from the police station that day confirmed his parents’ worst fears.
Sroitong (a pseudonym) Arm’s mother said her son was quiet and never argued or acted violently like many imagine addicts to be, so she never expected he’d fall so deep. When she learned of his arrest, she was shocked but composed herself to rush to the station with her husband to seek help. However, the case ended with Arm imprisoned.
“I’m not angry. I see it as experience. At least he didn’t die there. He’ll come back and learn that what he did was wrong.”
After eight months in prison, Arm left determined never to touch drugs again. But upon returning and seeing old acquaintances, he couldn’t resist falling back into the cycle, especially when drafted into the military. Away from his parents’ and trainers’ watchful eyes, with meals provided and no need to hustle, he grew lazy and sank deeper into drug use.
“In the army, I used the most drugs—when going home and at the camp. No parents or anyone to warn me. I lived in my own world. The sergeants didn’t warn me because I wasn’t family, and they didn’t know. I never used drugs in front of them. Before drug tests, a senior would warn me in advance.”
After completing military service, Arm returned to help his parents, who often asked if he was still using drugs, if he was physically okay, or if he wanted to go to the hospital. He denied it all, lying that he had quit on his own.
Anan and Sroitong chose to wait by his side, always telling him they weren’t angry and not forcing treatment immediately. Though each time they heard Arm start his motorcycle, they worried and lost sleep, or saw him suffer from withdrawal, they believed he would recover someday. But if he couldn’t, they kept the door open for help, waiting for him to come.
“During withdrawal, just closing my eyes, I saw what I wanted to smoke. Sometimes I even dreamt about it. I felt like I was sick—too hot under blankets but cold without, with aches all over.”
For Arm, quitting meant enduring these symptoms, but the suffering wasn’t worse than cutting ties with the social circle where he felt he belonged. It was a familiar space he couldn’t easily leave, despite wanting to dozens or hundreds of times.
“It’s hard in many ways. To quit the cycle, I have to stop hanging out with friends who use drugs. I’ve been with these friends all along. To quit, I must leave friends and find new ones, work alone without friends. I share everything with friends, not with my parents.”
The promise to quit for his parents felt increasingly hopeless. Moving forward meant facing the drugs that were deteriorating his body—from 80 kg down to just over 60, thin and struggling to breathe. Some days without drugs, he was confined to bed, unable to live normally.
It was not just physical health but mental health, facing suspicious looks from outsiders and feeling “alienated.” He couldn’t fit into society, was seen as bad or a thief wherever he went.
Worry consumed him. He couldn’t buy what he wanted or needed for fear of not having money for drugs. He thought only about how to survive tomorrow without drugs. Most importantly, seeing his younger brother growing up and becoming aware scared him that the boy might follow his path.
“One day my father said, ‘What will happen when I’m gone? Your brother is still young. I’m the only one earning for the family.’ His words hit me hard. I felt like a burden. As the eldest, if I keep going like this, I won’t be able to teach my brother anything. I fear he’ll end up like me.”
Meanwhile, friends and seniors began entering treatment and told Arm the process wasn’t as scary as he thought. Staff wouldn’t abandon him to suffer. When his fear lessened and he realized he couldn’t do this alone anymore, Arm chose to enter the door his parents had kept open for him.
“We kept checking on him: ‘Is the little brother okay?’ ‘Can you quit alone?’ He said he’d try. We waited until one day he messaged: ‘Dad, I can’t take it anymore.’”
Anan tearfully recalled the moment he saw the awaited message and immediately contacted Kavee, a close friend who had undergone treatment, to take his son to the hospital at once.
After entrusting their son to the staff, Anan and Sroitong waited 14 days with hope that he would return a better person.
“When he came back, he really improved. He kept his promise to us, helped with work, became cheerful, started talking and eating with us, joining family activities. He used to stay away and not share things. Now we want him to be stronger and happier.”
Arm underwent treatment and used “methadone” every morning, which acts as a “replacement drug,” suppressing cravings to prevent drugs from taking over his life.
With clearer mind, Arm’s life gradually returned. His emaciated body improved from 60 kg back up to 70 kg. On days off work, he found small joys like fishing, using money once saved for heroin to buy his first fishing rod. Neighbors and others noticed the change, asking about his well-being instead of gossiping as before.
“Of the 6-7 friends who used drugs with me, three have quit. Now, I hardly see friends. Sometimes we meet fishing but never hang out in bad places. If I do, I want to use again. I keep telling friends that treatment isn’t scary, there are medicines, and the hospital stay is just 14 days to a month.”
However, 14 days of treatment is not a magic cure like in dramas. Although he’s restarting his life, Arm must stay cautious, distance himself from old circles, and manage his thoughts daily to avoid relapse.
But in every step forward, he knows his family is beside him, methadone controls cravings, and he enjoys small daily happinesses that drugs once stole from him.
“At my lowest, my parents stayed by my side and never left like others. Friends leave when you have nothing. A girlfriend leaves for someone else. But my parents stay no matter how bad I am. They’re still my parents.”
