Speak Up

I was 12 the first time i tried it. From then on i knew that was my life. I had prior knowledge/experience because my mom abandoned me and my sister. She would come home a few times a month and call just to ask my dad for money. I witnessed the outcome of her addiction which resulted in getting raided by the police for distributing. I vowed to myself that i would never touch it, but here i am now looking back to even the past year and see how much has changed, how many friends i have lost, how many people stop and stare at me in public. It truly makes a person feel low and depressed when people criticize. Everyone knows that i abuse and i know they do, but i still feel a twinge of pain every time i see someone my age successful or see my old friends that don't want anything to do with me. This one time me and a friend were going to the city to get some meth, we had six thousand dollars cash, three pistols, a shotgun, and a plastic grocery bag full of a variety of pills from Oxycontin to Suboxone. A conflict arose about some money before we arrived, which included us being accused of robbing sixty thousand dollars that was towards bond money. We were gagged and duct tapped then thrown in a room in some filthy run down trailer almost four hours away from home with no phone or way of communication. I had been up for sixteen days and my friend was around two weeks neither of us getting a wink of sleep prior to this. After listing to a very heated conversation in a foreign language a man came in the room and dragged me into the kitchen where i was hand cuffed to a chair and could feel the sharp cool barrel of a sawed off shot gun against my temple. After i was un-gagged they proceeded to interrogate me about the situation. I had no idea what had happened to the money and i was thinking to myself 'here it is, this is how i am dying' but the retched part of the thought is i was also including that it was a good thing i was going out high. Some how, some way, they let us go and apologized but didn't forget to mention it was all business. All business. that word comes along to much in my story. I lost basically all of my friends because of being a "tweaker" or "junkie" which caused me to doing more. More, more, more. That's all i want is more. We would push it and we did it hard, anything from a ten dollar bag up to a couple grand. Didn't matter what you had just as long as you bought it, i profited. The health issues involved are astonishing, i have been going strong for about a year. i don't think there has been a sober day since i got back on, hundreds and hundreds of dollars worth a day. Why? because i didn't have a care for anyone else besides myself and my dope. Plus i could afford it. Anyone quadruplicating their profit could. The nights are long and lonely, the shadows play tricks on your mind and make you think people are crawling up the streets and rats crawling all over the floor when there isn't a single mouse in the house, the constant popping zits and acne, cops watching every move you make because they know exactly who you are, fake friends who only come around when your bag is full, horrible breath from not having "enough time" to go home and shower and do other hygienic needs. Body shrinking more and more, cause we don't eat nor sleep. Not many people can stay awake longer than a day, but get some meth and a day will seem like a hour. My dad disowns me and my mom doesn't even look at me. i have nothing to do with my siblings or their children, my family doesn't exist to me, i always have money but i never have enough for what i need. People ignore their children's cry just so they don't get skipped in the rotation, and i mean hours of crying. Don't believe me? That's okay you probably wouldn't believe that the guy supplying them and the worthless junkie with no morals who doesn't think twice about anyone is the one who would go and feed that baby or change him. I was once that baby crying. So think twice. You may be me