Speak Up

As the person I had snitched on did all they could to me physically, I continued to knock on my dealer’s door. She did not hold back, knocking me down to the ground. I would not stop knocking. As long as I got my meth, nothing else mattered. This was the day I decided that I had truly had enough. I began using drugs at a young age, using cocaine and heroin on weekends by the 9th grade. Heroin was not used on a daily basis so dope sick was never a part of the picture. Due to the fact that I believed I didn’t have a problem with these two substances, I decided to try meth. At this point, I had started 10th grade. The first words that came out of my mouth: “How could something so amazing be so bad for you” “where can I get more” I didn’t know just how horrible my life would become, nor did I really even think meth would have any sort of negative impact on me. But the day I decided to look meth in the eyes, was the day I gave my soul to the devil. It didn’t take long to hollow out my body in order to make room for my best friend, crystal meth. A few months later, I found myself picking at the floor in my friends car, explaining to him that we often drop shards on the ground, knowing damn well I never let one out of my sight. “it’s not as bad as it looks. Plus, its actually pretty fun.” I soon learned that my idea of fun was very twisted. Having fun became getting high as a kite, and staring out the window all night. Occasionally looking around the room for cameras either my parents or someone involved in the DEA set up. “It’s okay, I’m sure it will be better tomorrow.” That became a daily saying. It was almost never better. Sure, I had a few days that were actually really fun, I’d be lying if I said otherwise. Turned into a fraction, 1 out of 10 times would be enjoyable. Most of the time I was either just ok, or hating every waking moment. I decided to quit for the first time, as well as forced. My parents found out, and I had upcoming major surgery. This kept me sober for a few months, the summer of my junior year. But I knew. I knew meth would be back in my life. Almost as if I never stopped, I was back in active use. This time around, things were going to be different, I’d be able to control it. I was mistaken, and it almost costed me my life. There was no maintenance of use this time around, I simply had no control. My, “one weekend of fun” quickly backfired once my weekend didn’t end for 8 months. The worst time of my life. This time around consisted strictly of: hiding from the undercover cops, watching my back, picking at my skin, and to sum it up creating paths of destruction, in both the lives of others as well as my own. I became a walking skeleton. Everyone knew I had a problem. On vacations, family would ask why I looked so deathly ill. Why was I so skinny? Why was my skin yellow? Who where they looking at? Because it wasn’t me anymore. It wasn’t anyone. My eyes were hollow, empty. There was no person inside. I became a slave. As the person I had snitched on did all they could to me physically, I continued to knock on my dealer’s door. She did not hold back, knocking me down to the ground. I would not stop knocking. The door opened. I was informed that I wasn’t welcome in the neighborhood anymore. That I was cut off. That day, I woke up. I took a step back and truly saw all that I was doing, what I had become. In my short couple years of using, I had caused so much destruction to my world, and to the world of those most close to me. I was meth’s puppet. I’m only 18, really I’ve only had a taste of what this life is all about. I could only imagine what a lifetime of use would bring. No-I couldn’t even imagine. Today I am 60 days sober. In these short two months, I have: graduated high school (where not too long ago I was failing every class with 20 percent or less), enrolled in college classes, gained back my family, and gained myself.