Untitled
by Anonymous
12 years old. Puberty hit hard and fast. Emotions everywhere, parents expecting more responsibilty. My father was abusive, to my stepmom and I. Not psysically, but emotionally. The name calling, the constant fighting... An ex herion/meth addict. My mom just got off the junk too. But not meth. She used cocaine and herion.
Since a child, i've always wanted to try "speed". I heard about it in a movie my father was watching one night. A girl told her dad that she did speed the night before, in order to stay up to pull an all-nighter study session. Since then i was curious. I didn't like sleep. I never slept much.
I moved to this new place at 9, left my few friends behind. Kids at school can be mean. A quiet one, I was. Clothes were rugged, and different. I never found the point of fitting into the latest trends, up to this day. A waste of money, i'd always say. I was different, which left me with no friends. The odd person would talk to me here and there, but they never stuck around.
I starting hanging out with my only friend, who lived a city away. All her friends smoked pot. They talked to me. They accepted me, did not judge. I started smoking pot also. Smoking cigarettes. I got arrested for assult. This girl called me ugly. F--k her, I said. She cannot say that to me. Nobody can tell me that anymore. F--k them.
The court suggested assessment. They thought I was f--ked up too. F--k them. I went to a youth treatment center. I got assessed. 8 months in there. Nobody talked to me either.
F--k them. They don't matter. I walk alone. I don't need anyone in my life. Angry, I was.
A girl in the treatment center was there for a meth problem. Everybody knew it, and nobody liked her either. I talked to her. Told her I did speed. That same day we smoked some together, behind the building. That day was the day my life changed.
I would be able to go home on weekends, and there was this friend i kind of had. I smoked weed with her, and she would always dress me up and take me uptown. Her name was Jessi, and she was a year older than me. She made me feel pretty. She accepted me. She too was different. I loved her.
At this time, I had just turned 13. She confessed to me that she had started doing speed. I confessed to her that I did too. On weekends i'd go to her house, which she lived with two girls, one had a 15 month old daughter. They smoked gib. Those f--kers used while that baby was in the other room sleeping. F--king bulls--t, if you ask me. But I didn't realise this at the time.
So, we used, and guys would come over with drugs. One time, this guy took Jessi out of the room, into the bathroom. Something about individual smoke sessions. I got my turn shortly after. He tried to kiss me. I left the bathroom, scared and uncomferble. Nobody asked me what was wrong. They all knew how it worked. I didn't.
I brought my best friend there one weekend, and pressured her into using too. She almost died from OD that night. All they said was: "If she starts doing the funky chicken we're leaving her in an alley somewhere" Those f--king basterds. She didn't die.
After 2 months of not sleeping, and losing weight, becoming irritable and bitchy, my youth worker took me out for a coffee. She told me she knew I was using, that they searched my room, and were now going to search me once i got back to the unit. I had nothing on me. I denied it all.
I finished my stay at the treatment, and left with an assessment, telling me i have psychosis and skitsophrenia. I was on pills. The pills made me tired and hungry, so I said f--k em. I started fighting with my dad even more, because I was never home. He was worried. I found a new "crack shack" and smoked there for a while. I learned how to cook crack, and I did coke. I never smoked rock though. I was 14 at this point.
They didn't like me anymore. I never had money, but i'd contribute to B&E's. F--k them. They just wanted to get laid, something I would never do. Never. So me and Jessi started going downtown Vancouver. Granville, hastings, New west.. You name it.
The street kids were friendly, but sketchy. I lived there for a while. I didn't want to go home. All my dad did was tell me all my flaws, and yell at me. I hated it. My stepmom would pretend to be my friend, then once i confided in her, she'd use it against me. She was a f--ked up b-tch. I hated her. I beat her every time she pi--ed me off. My dad would beat me for beating her.
One day, I decided to go home. It was my dad's birthday. I made him a card, and it said sorry in it. It had a list of all the things I ever did that I felt guilt about. Then another card said thank you. It thanked him for everything he did for me in my life. I was high when I wrote it.
I stayed home for a bit... Using ocassionally. Saving up money to use. Making plans for a binge... Tasting the stuff in my mouth. Wanting it. Needing it. I went to Edmonton to visit my mom for the summer. I went through mad withdrawls. I was a week clean when i left. A week I could stand... I went crazy. I got irritable, starting taking my meds again... My depression came back up, I started Self mutilating again...
I went downtown Edmonton, looking for a fix. I met some nice guys, who got me high... I used daily, and would go home at night. My mom never knew. My 15th birthday was approaching. I broke up with the addict i was dating downtown. He was abusive. I couldn't take it. I'm not for certain, but I was pretty positive that everyone downtown was out to get me for that. I still don't like going down there to this day.
I stopped using. I drank, smoked weed, and chilled like I used to. It was alright, the withdrawls weren't that bad... I just slept a lot, and ate. Gained a lot of weight. In September I started dating a guy, and he did not approve of me using. I stopped for him. Alcohol was my replacement. I made a bunch of friends. The basterd cheated on me. Me and her became friends. She was 6 months younger than me, and she had experimented in drugs a lot.
We became close. One day her friend invited us over to come smoke some gib. This was in November. We went there a few times, and got high. But not often. I didn't feel addicted anymore. I was in control of my meth usage. I did not suffer from withdrawls. We used again in Demcember. That was the last time I ever touched the stuff.
Why? Because it hasn't been put infront of me. I don't look for it anymore. It's been 10 months almost, and the withdrawls are still getting worse. They came up after 4 months. I want to use badly, yet have no connections. It's for the better though, I suppose.
Being overweight before, I was happy with my self image. Though I never noticed those black circles around my eyes, until I looked back at pictures, and didn't get speed bumps until I quit. My self confidnce has lowered since the quitting, and thoughts of using fill my mind day and night. I want to use. I need it. But it's nowhere to be found. F--k.
I'm now 16.
