I first started to hear about Oregon’s meth problem a few years ago. My then-girlfriend The Marpet, a therapist for several school systems south of Eugene, used to tell me horror stories of visits to homes of students that were beaten or not fed (or sometimes both) by a parent whose key priority in life was scoring more meth.
Here in Portland we have the problem as well. The latest manifestation is the rash of eastside burglaries, the majority of which are staged by meth addicts looking for cash to feed their next fix.
I do think part of the problem is socioeconomic. The resources sector of our economy that has long sustained the rural and coastal areas of our region has been depleted. Many of those who excelled in these trades have moved to Portland in search of a job. But since the trades they worked in did not require all that much formal education, they have little to fall back on once they get here.
And if you are undereducated and new in town, you are in the line of fire for the economic trauma that has taken place in the service sector. So, if you are unlucky, you are underpaid, unpaid, and with the high cost of health insurance – ill.
Now comes a drug that gives you a false sense of self-worth. If you are down on your luck, you can’t find work, bill collectors are calling, your ex-wife is on your case, your kids are screaming – well, just do some crank and you’ll feel better.
But your own damn circumstances won’t change, not one iota. It’s just that they change in your head.
When the kick of chemical self-esteem wears off, you want more.
So what happens? Some get busted. Others die. A few are cured therapeutically. A few find religion, sometimes of the fundamental variety. And although fundamentalism can in itself be addicting, it doesn’t give you the need to bust into cars and steal in order to feed your habit.
Meth is a thin, but deceivingly powerful antidote for the feeling so many of our displaced have. A feeling that life sucks and it’s all “their” fault – your alcoholic father, the environmentalists who shut down your sawmill, the woman who done you dirty, the ethnic minority that came here and took jobs of people like you.
The root cause of meth addiction, then, is a lack of hope. Maybe that lottery ticket will give you the winning combo. Maybe you will get to Heaven. I’m not wise enough to know the answer.
