A journey out of the drug cycle reveals that overcoming addiction isn't simply a matter of willpower. Family understanding plays a crucial role in guiding one toward treatment and methadone therapy. It all begins "in the heart," but that path is far from easy.
"I can't take it anymore. Please take me to rehab."
This was the chat message Arm (a pseudonym), a 24-year-old man from Tak Province, sent to his father asking for help for the first time after being trapped in drug addiction for many years. Despite trying to quit dozens of times on his own, he failed. This brief message marked the start of his break from the cycle, distancing himself from drugs and growing closer to his family.
Looking back at Arm's childhood, his life was much like many poor rural children, raised by relatives in his hometown because his parents had to work in the big city and sent money back home. They saw each other only a few times a year.
Anan (a pseudonym), Arm's father, recounted that after Arm was born, they left him in his grandmother's care while he and his wife sought work in Bangkok. When Arm reached kindergarten age, his uncle took over caregiving, and later he lived with his aunt. He admits that not raising his son personally and the constant change of caregivers contributed to Arm's growing distance from the family.
"He had few people around him. His aunt was often away gathering vegetables and fishing, so he was almost alone and free. During the day, he'd hang out with friends and only come home in the evening. Back then, he didn't have a phone, so contacting him was impossible."
When Arm was about 13 or 14, his mother became pregnant with his younger brother, prompting both parents to return home to raise the two boys. Although reunited under one roof, the parents mostly worked outside, and as Arm entered adolescence, communication was rare and felt disconnected. This existing emotional distance widened, and Arm filled the gap with "friends."
In school, he joined a group of friends known as the "back-row kids." Their rebellious nature and curiosity led Arm and his friends to start smoking marijuana at age 15, without anyone stopping them or daring to be the odd one out.
"It felt different. All my friends were smoking, so if I didn't, I wouldn't really belong to the group,"
Arm confirmed that at first he didn't feel addicted, which made him complacent. But as time passed, he realized he couldn't do without it. Marijuana opened the door to other drugs. By age 20, Arm began using heroin, which, despite its high cost, he would endure hunger and pool money with friends to buy. Over time, he increased the dose because the same amount lost its effect. The highest he consumed was 3 grams in one day — a dangerously high amount.
"At first, like everyone else, I thought trying a little wouldn't lead to addiction. But after using it, I liked the feeling. When I got into heroin, I became addicted. Without it, life was hard—I felt sick with a runny nose, body aches, and constant pain."
Aware that his actions were wrong, Arm hid his drug use from his parents. He tried to maintain his responsibilities in school and work, learning electrical skills from his father. After completing vocational training, he helped with work and never used drugs in front of his younger brother, fearing he'd follow the same path. Yet his parents, especially his father, sensed suspicious behavior but never imagined it was so deep.
Anan admitted he was not perfect, having tried drugs himself as a youth. He acknowledged drugs are now far more accessible and media often encourages use. Previously, he knew Arm had tried marijuana and had heart-to-heart talks with him as a man, and Arm insisted he hadn’t used other drugs, so he trusted him.
But when Arm escalated from user to small-time dealer and was finally arrested at 21, the phone call from the police station confirmed the parents’ worst fears.
Soi Thong (a pseudonym), Arm’s mother, said her son was quiet, never argued, and showed no aggressive behavior typical of drug users in many people's eyes. She never thought he’d fall so deep. When she learned he was arrested, her heart sank, but she tried to stay calm and went to the police station with her husband to find help. However, the case ended with Arm imprisoned.
"I'm not angry. I see it as an experience. At least he didn’t die in there. He'll come back and learn that what he did was wrong."
After eight months in prison, Arm left determined not to touch drugs again. But seeing drugs and meeting old friends led him right back into the cycle. Particularly when he was drafted into the military, away from his parents’ eyes and beyond the instructors’ notice. The system’s loopholes and regular meals without effort made him lazy and deeper into drugs than ever.
"In the military, I used drugs the most. When I went home, I used at home; at camp, I used there too. No parents or anyone warned me. I was in my own world. The sergeants didn’t warn me because I wasn’t family and they didn’t know. I never used drugs openly. Before drug tests, someone would warn me in advance."
After military service, Arm returned to help his parents, who frequently asked if he was still using drugs, if his health was okay, or if he wanted to go to the hospital. He denied everything, lying that he’d quit and could do it on his own.
Anan and Soi Thong chose to wait and stay by his side, always telling him they weren’t angry about his drug use and didn’t force immediate rehab. Yet every time they heard Arm start his motorcycle or saw him suffer withdrawal, they worried deeply. They believed one day he would recover on his own, but if not, they would keep the door open for help, waiting for him to come.
"When withdrawing, even closing my eyes, I saw the things I wanted to smoke. Sometimes I even dreamed about it. I felt hot like a sick person, sweating under blankets but still cold, with aches all over my body."
For Arm, quitting meant enduring these symptoms, but the worst was cutting ties with a social circle where he felt he belonged—a familiar place hard to leave despite wanting to many times.
"It's hard in many ways. If I leave the cycle, I have to stop hanging out with friends involved in drugs. I’ve been with these friends forever. To quit means to leave them and find new friends, work alone without friends. I’ve shared everything with friends, not my parents."
The mission to quit drugs, promised to his parents, increasingly seemed without end. Moving forward meant the worsening effects of drugs on his body, dropping from 80 to just over 60 kilograms, becoming so thin he had breathing problems. On some days without drugs, he was bedridden, unable to live normally.
Not just physical health, but mental health suffered too, facing suspicious stares from outsiders and feeling "alienated," unable to fit in, seen as a bad person, feared as a thief.
Worries about money meant he couldn’t buy what he wanted because he feared not having enough for drugs. His biggest fear was seeing his younger brother growing up and learning more, worrying the boy might follow his path, which tormented Arm’s heart endlessly.
"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 touched me. I felt like a burden. As the oldest son, if I continue like this, I won’t be able to teach or guide my brother. I fear he’ll become like me."
Meanwhile, friends and older peers began entering treatment and shared with Arm that it wasn’t as scary as he thought, with staff supporting patients through the process. When his fear lessened and he realized he couldn't do this alone, Arm chose to enter the door his parents had kept open all along.
"They kept checking on him, asking ‘Are you okay?’ ‘Can you quit alone?’ He said he’d try, and we waited until one day he messaged, ‘Dad, I can’t do it anymore.’"
Anan tearfully recalled the moment he saw that message, a long-awaited sign, and immediately contacted Kawee, a close friend who had been through rehab, to take Arm to the hospital right away.
After handing Arm over to the authorities, Anan and Soi Thong waited anxiously for 14 days, hoping their son would return a better person.
"When he came back, he really improved. He kept his promises to us, helped with work, became cheerful, started chatting with us, came out to eat and do family activities. He used to avoid us and not share anything. From now on, we want him stronger and happier."
Arm underwent treatment and took methadone each morning, which acts as a replacement drug to suppress cravings and keep addiction from controlling his life.
As his mind cleared, Arm’s life gradually returned. His emaciated body improved—from 60 kilograms back up to around 70. On days off, he found small joys like fishing, using money once saved for heroin to buy his first fishing rod. Likewise, neighbors and others began to notice positive changes, asking about his wellbeing instead of gossiping as before.
"Of the 6-7 friends who used drugs with me, 3 have quit. Now I rarely see friends, maybe just when fishing, but I no longer hang out with them. Seeing them tempts me to use again. I keep encouraging friends that rehab isn’t scary, there are medicines, and hospital stays are just 14 days or up to a month."
However, a 14-day rehab isn't a magic cure that instantly wipes out addiction like on TV dramas. While starting to rebuild life, Arm must stay vigilant, detach from his old world, and manage daily thoughts to avoid relapse.
But with each step forward, he knows his family is by his side, methadone curbs his cravings, and he can enjoy small daily happinesses that drugs once stole from him.
"At my lowest, my parents were always there, unlike others. Friends leave when you have nothing, and girlfriends move on. But my parents, no matter how bad I was, stayed with me. We’re still family."
