Mason Sams slinks through the smoky, dark bar door. He is wearing his usual blue jeans and a black t-shirt representing his favorite music group, Korn. Mason's bloodshot eyes dance around the bar finally catching mine and he staggers towards me. He has lost weight since I last saw him. His face is gaunt, stretched tight across his cheek bones. His once clear blue eyes are sinking into the sockets. Mason agreed to this interview hoping to shed light on the darkness of his world. He orders a beer and tosses back two rectangle pills.

Mason's childhood contains happy memories of his parents, who are still together after 40 years, and his two younger brothers. He maintained good grades throughout school. "So what happened?" I query. His thin, beer-moistened lips in a grimace as he shuffles through his jumbled memories, he finally retorts, "I had nothing else to do, not much to do in a small town like this one." Mason was 14 years old when he smoked his first joint. He moved on to other things to experience a different high.

To someone who hasn't experienced withdrawals, the symptoms sound like the flu, but it is like having a red-hot, burning vice clamping down on your head. A fire burning in your stomach, which causes the craving, overrides all other thoughts.

"I was 22 years old when I first tried X and I loved who I was on ecstasy because I was transmuted into a social butterfly-- fluttering here and there with a sincere smile plastered on my face." He shakes his head as he laughs softly into his pissed-yellow beer.

I probe, "What are you laughing about?" Mason explains that after consistent use of "X" it depletes serotonin levels causing major depression. "Is that why you started taking pills?" I question him, knowing this was going to be tough for him.

Mason nods yes and notes that using "taking" was too light a word. He voice low, he adds, "I became addicted to a never-ending cycle of feel good and pain."

The National Institute on Drug Abuse released a report showing that the number of death's from prescription opioid pain relievers had a 1.9-fold increase from approximately 9,000 deaths in 2002 to a jaw dropping increase to 17,000 in 2011. Mason mentioned that he endured a never-ending cycle through his addiction to pain killers. The reason for this madness is the dependency on having this tiny pill to feel normal. Missing a dose causes a person to experience ghastly withdrawal symptoms: stomach cramps, headaches, sweats, chills, runny nose, and nervousness. To someone who hasn't experienced withdrawals, the symptoms sound like the flu, but it is like having a red hot burning vice clamping down on your head. A fire burning in your stomach, which causes the craving, overrides all other thoughts. Those that are addicted to pain pills are bound by heavy chains to a relentless monster's malicious attacks when it isn't fed.

Mason wipes a tear from his pale face as he describes the horrific symptoms which have caused him to steal, lie, and beg for money to get his next dose. He has burned every bridge. Mason is not permitted at his family's home because he has stolen from them on several occasions to have something to pawn for a little bit of cash. He has even stolen from friends in his endeavor to feed the raging monster.

He is sinking fast in a dark, lonely ocean without a life preserver or a raft. He is mixing Methadone and Xanax which is referred to as a suicide cocktail because the two can cause respiratory distress. "I take seven or eight Methadone and Xanax a day." Mason is working to maintain his expensive habit that runs about $300 a week. He looks sickened by the thought of his hard-earned money being pitched down a gorge. He is trying to mend those burnt bridges, trying to stay afloat.

"How long do you think you have at the rate you are going?" The question falls out before I can catch myself. He knows I don't mean anything by it, but with a blank stare at the crusty bar floor, he shrugs his shoulders and sighs.

I question why he doesn't get some type of help. He responds by laughing hysterically and exclaims that he doesn't have the financial means for a good rehabilitation center. "If you aren't Lindsay Lohan, you can't get that kind of help." A survey done by the Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration reported in 2009 that 23.5 million people need treatment for addiction with 5.9% of those people addicted to opiates being admitted into a rehab facility. Mason talks about being free of this monkey on his back. He dreams of the day that he will be free to travel, find a different job, and possibly move without worrying about getting his fix.

Mason looks weighted down by the load of his burden. He looks older than his 36 years as his flesh clings to his protruding bones. I don't think he will make it another two years. I feel like I am staring into the eyes of death; I am looking at the poster board for addiction.

This short story is dedicated to all the friends and family who have lost the battle with addiction. To anyone who needs help with addiction, please talk to someone. Call your local rehab facility, start slow. Don't become a statistic!