Speak Up

The first time I smoked meth, I was 20 and didn't even know what it was until someone said "man I am fried". I had fallen in love with a meth addict, and justified my behavior, taking on his addiction to try and show him someone cares. At first, it was twice a month at parties, then once a week when with others, then it turned into every day, sometimes by myself. I was in denial, pushing away those who loved me in favor for meth heads who "understood me". I started to consider that I had a problem when I developed crack sores, holes in my teeth, acne, and when I looked in the mirror, my skin was dull and I had usually put so much effort into my appearance. Getting high made everything better though. I was stealing-from shops, family and friends. I was paranoid, depressed and had started to develop psychotic tendencies. I had no job, left university, and at 21 was living in a hell hole crack den, ignorant to the extend of my addiction. I would get high and burn myself, go manic and experience erratic behavior and had burnt a lot of my arms. Soon, the guy I loved got into trouble with gangs, and moved countries, I followed in hopes of a new existence, but it ended up being the same thing, different place. A year more moving around, battling the addiction, when, at 23, I wanted a better life for myself. I still love him, but I had to terminate the relationship with him and meth, I felt so lonely, my life was based around meth, but for once in a long time, I am content with my life. I am surrounding myself with the people who cared for me all along, am finishing my degree, getting a job and positive about life, and I've managed to do all of this in one month of not getting high. No matter how ignorant I was, meth controlled my life and I'm glad I got out before it was too late. Every time I smoked meth, I was killing myself,