The First Day
When I started high school I was full of anticipation, energy, and excitement. All that changed about that was everything. I found that freshmen were immature and dull and I unbelievably was one of them. My old friends would wave and beckon me over during lunch but I was to cool for them. I spent the next few weeks making it good with the upper classmen, smoking pot and drinking with them. Doing the very things that in eighth grade I thought were so stupid. That’s where it all started. I had smoked cigarettes since I was ten. Having a sister so much older than you had its advantages, free smokes and someone to teach you what to do with them. But after that stopped being so cool I moved on to other things.
The first time I smoked pot I was fourteen. All of my idiot senior friends hung out at a park right behind my house and I was not far from home when I did it. I spent the next two hours throwing up into the bushes. Even with all the dizziness I let them talk me into it again and again. Soon it became a daily habit. I would spend the next few months of my life tokeing it up with them.
But after a while smoking an entire joint didn’t get me high anymore. So just smoking regs wasn’t good enough. I had to smoke khronic buds just to get the same feeling. I must have built up immunity to that too, cause after smoking that twice a day for about three months, I only got a little buzz. This was the hard stuff, I thought. Little did I know that there was a whole smorgasbord of drugs out there for me to use and abuse at my discretion.
The first drug that I really tired was extacy. This was long before they started putting those autopsy commercials on T.V. about the girl dying from an OD while on extacy. Quickly and greedily I moved up the latter of hardcore drugs ranging from shrooms and runk, to cocaine and PCP. I tired crack, Ice (Crystal Meth), heroine even, all in the first few weeks. My parent always said they could tell if I came home high but they couldn’t because I was always high.
I never considered myself a junkie until I got clean. I guess none of us do really. It wouldn’t make sense. In school I would listen to the angry rock music blaring through my headphones, wait, I didn’t own any headphones. Maybe that was the first sign that I needed help. Hearing music that wasn’t being played.
After the first few months of this the point on the needle wore off, meaning that, it wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. I cleaned myself up long enough to see that I didn’t like being sober. I spent the next few days getting loaded again.
I am not a big girl. At the time I only stood five foot nothing and about 100lbs at fourteen. I thought it was the best thing in the world to have gotten invited to a party being held at my best friends house. When I got there I found that there were only five people and I was the only girl. This should have sent up a red flag but mine must have been stuck. The party started out ok. I was at the table with a bottle of Vodka watching the already drunk guys play hit for hit. Another clue to stop and go home should have been when one of the guys kept putting the bottle up to my face telling me to have some more, and some more, and some more.
At the time I didn’t really remember what had happened between when I passed out and when I fell out of his truck. I laid on the lawn for a long time, what made me get up I don’t know but when my parents got home I was in my room sound asleep. I knew I was still drunk so I tired to hide it as much as possible, but they made me face what I had done. They wanted to ground me so bad but when I limped down the stairs all that anger they had pent up for me melted away. I could tell by the way they looked at me that was looking pretty haggard. The thing they noticed first was the limp. My crotch hurt like hell and so did my behind. I guess the bite mark was next. It still had a little dried blood around it.
I couldn’t tell them what I knew had happened to me so I just looked at the floor as they stared at me...
The first time I smoked pot I was fourteen. All of my idiot senior friends hung out at a park right behind my house and I was not far from home when I did it. I spent the next two hours throwing up into the bushes. Even with all the dizziness I let them talk me into it again and again. Soon it became a daily habit. I would spend the next few months of my life tokeing it up with them.
But after a while smoking an entire joint didn’t get me high anymore. So just smoking regs wasn’t good enough. I had to smoke khronic buds just to get the same feeling. I must have built up immunity to that too, cause after smoking that twice a day for about three months, I only got a little buzz. This was the hard stuff, I thought. Little did I know that there was a whole smorgasbord of drugs out there for me to use and abuse at my discretion.
The first drug that I really tired was extacy. This was long before they started putting those autopsy commercials on T.V. about the girl dying from an OD while on extacy. Quickly and greedily I moved up the latter of hardcore drugs ranging from shrooms and runk, to cocaine and PCP. I tired crack, Ice (Crystal Meth), heroine even, all in the first few weeks. My parent always said they could tell if I came home high but they couldn’t because I was always high.
I never considered myself a junkie until I got clean. I guess none of us do really. It wouldn’t make sense. In school I would listen to the angry rock music blaring through my headphones, wait, I didn’t own any headphones. Maybe that was the first sign that I needed help. Hearing music that wasn’t being played.
After the first few months of this the point on the needle wore off, meaning that, it wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. I cleaned myself up long enough to see that I didn’t like being sober. I spent the next few days getting loaded again.
I am not a big girl. At the time I only stood five foot nothing and about 100lbs at fourteen. I thought it was the best thing in the world to have gotten invited to a party being held at my best friends house. When I got there I found that there were only five people and I was the only girl. This should have sent up a red flag but mine must have been stuck. The party started out ok. I was at the table with a bottle of Vodka watching the already drunk guys play hit for hit. Another clue to stop and go home should have been when one of the guys kept putting the bottle up to my face telling me to have some more, and some more, and some more.
At the time I didn’t really remember what had happened between when I passed out and when I fell out of his truck. I laid on the lawn for a long time, what made me get up I don’t know but when my parents got home I was in my room sound asleep. I knew I was still drunk so I tired to hide it as much as possible, but they made me face what I had done. They wanted to ground me so bad but when I limped down the stairs all that anger they had pent up for me melted away. I could tell by the way they looked at me that was looking pretty haggard. The thing they noticed first was the limp. My crotch hurt like hell and so did my behind. I guess the bite mark was next. It still had a little dried blood around it.
I couldn’t tell them what I knew had happened to me so I just looked at the floor as they stared at me...