I realized I was an addict, when I started stealing Vicodin ES from my Daddy, who needed them more than anyone I know. He had surgery and had just come home with a script of 60. He asked me to get it filled, and I brought him home 20 and told him that's all they prescribed. He bought the story and then I proceeded to steal the rest from him over the next couple days. He was in so much pain and I felt like such a piece of ****. I was honestly hoping he would bust me on it, but he didn't.
I didn't do anything about it at that time, but I do remember it was the definitive moment when I realized it was a problem. It was also about then that I realized that it stopped making me feel good. I didn't "enjoy" the high anymore.