Speak Up

I came from a pretty dysfunctional home but we never suffered from severe poverty or anything of the sort. Somehow we were always taken care of. At the age of seven my father took an open position in Las Vegas, NV. Things were entirely different from southern California and more so there was this looming notion that the place of 'opportunity' was there. Four years later I had met my first friend. She was sixteen and into things I couldn't truly understand. We went to the pool one night and she had invited her dealers. The next thing I knew she was taken into one of the bathrooms and I watched as he got her on her knees. His friend closed the door shortly after. I wondered why it was she would do something so vulgar to a man who looked far beyond double our age. Later on that night I found out she was doing it for crystal meth. I swore it off and promised myself I wouldn't be like her. Fast forwarding another four years I had long since talked to her but I was deep into my drug use. Using anything to eliminate the memories of my parents who seemed both highly alcoholic and irrational. Come to find out the addiction of meth ran in my family before I was ever introduced to the idea. It took one slip up for 'dealing' when in all honesty I had just been caught red handed with my personal stash of pills. Granted, I was still a soft spoken fairly innocent childlike girl who used drugs merely for the fun of it or because they took me out of my mind which was a scary place to be in my eyes. I had been bullied for years, taunted by even my mother and eventually everything inside of me broke down. Once I was arrested I was told house rest for a month which wasn't all that big a deal but I had made friends who brought the substances to me. My father, deep in his own addiction, barely noted that I was getting worse even as I claimed to be sober. Then I was introduced to meth in a very ironic way. I was asked to sell it for a friend and in turn took it to my teacher who then begged for me to ditch the rest of the day just so we could smoke it. That first hit was enough to make up my mind. I liked it. For the first time I could shut everyone up, tell everybody to fuck off and not care. There was no more 'innocence of nice behavior' from then on in. The using got worse and I lost much sleep before I started to see shadows and hear things that were never actually there. I thought I was haunted or something so I began building a separate space in my closet. Refusing to come out. unless I had a clear path to the restroom, I stayed in that closet for months. People over dosed in my room, shot one another up and all I could do was just watch it all happen. Eventually I sought help, though. I hit my knees and begged for something to change because I was only seventeen. I had always thought I was going to go further in life than being a junkie. It took a lot of meetings and a lot of break downs but eventually the dreams subsided and the crave to use lessened. I know my story isn't nearly as bad or played out as long as others but I can relate to the state of mind and anyone having to go through that has my full attention and listening ear. Meth is no joke but thanks to it I now have 3 years clean and sober off all mind altering drugs.