My Story

Today I am 17, five foot nine, and I do not have the slightest clue of who I want to be in the future. I want to be successful, that I’m sure of, and I am certain that I want to be happy. But as far as professions go, I just simply do not know what I want to do. 2009 just came ringing in, and I have many goals that I want to accomplish. Unlike 2008, I am actually going to make a real effort to complete these goals. 2008, in my opinion, was a very complicated year for me. There were many good things that happened for me, and there were an equal number of bad things that happened.
I started off 2008 on a bad note. At that point in time I was just having fun, and had no clue of what consequences I was bringing onto myself. My friend (we’ll call him Dude) and I were just thinking it was just a little and we would be ok. Little did we now.. It was like that all semester long. My grades dropped, and what we called the fun, started happening almost every weekend.
Summer came along, and I went to China. I had ‘fun’ the entire time I was in China. I was there to study, and I did get some studying done- but in a perfect ratio, it was about two to one in the partying to studying. I would show up to class tired like no other and even a little hung over sometimes. I would sleep all day, and party all night. I met up with a girl (we’ll call her Model) in a bar (during my first week there) and we naturally hit it off. She would always come over to my dorm and we would sit in there, watch movies, eat popcorn, drink champagne, and have cigarettes. I thought that life just couldn’t get any better than the way it was; I had a hot model girlfriend, minimal school, cheap drinks, VIP in clubs, and rich friends that I could depend on. During my second week there I was drinking all the time. I would wake up with an Irish coffee, have my Bloody Mary during class, and then I’d go out to lunch and just get completely wasted. Model would come over after that, and we’d take a nap. Then night would come, and our devilish desires let loose, I walk into a club and go straight to the VIP tables. The waitress would come over and I would just order up about two bottles of champagne, three bottles of Skyy vodka, atleast 20 Sprites, and a couple dozen Tiger Beers. The owner of that club loved me! I would bring in all of my foreigner friends and get them completely trashed and then get them dancing; dancing foreign girls and guys equal more Chinese girls and guys. That’s just the way it works. This process went on for four weeks. It was four weeks of an inebriated two packs-a-day haze. Throw in some ecstasy on the nights and you had one vibrant partying machine disguised as me. The fun ended early August, and I had to go home and start school.
August was hell. I couldn’t drink and I had to sit through about nine hours of class a day. My attitude was “to hell with it.” I’d smoke some fun times before class, then after school I would go home and drink some. It was around the beginning of September that I found a good source for amphetamines, and I popped those like candy. I lost a lot of weight (which was good for the sport I was doing) and I also did not sleep for days. Dude and I stopped having our fun times together, mainly because we both got busted. But that still didn’t stop me, my parents never caught on to the pills; I was too smooth and intelligent to get caught (so I thought). September came and went, however, my desires did not. I was having sex during school, get loaded before and after school, and not doing a damn thing to stop it.
October was weird. I started to think that I had a problem, so I cut back. I was only taking the pills to study, and I tried not having sex with five different people. I cut it down to two. The frequency of everything became less and I was a little happier with myself. Two weeks after this I ended up throwing a small party, my sister was gone all day, and I took advantage of that. Day parties were strangely convenient, everyone’s parents would let them go out, and everyone could stay until twelve that night. My sister would get home at around one, and the house would be clean-ish. On Sunday was the same deal, but everyone went home at around five. A couple of my friends stayed back and chilled with me. I had a fun weekend. That week I went right on back to my old ways. I was a closet junkie, none of my friends knew of what I was doing. It was that very next weekend that my life took a turn. I woke before my friend did, took a sixty mg adderall, then jumped on my computer, my friend finally woke up and we went on my roof and smoked about three bowls each. My dad made us breakfast, then we went and tried to golf. It was a fun day so far… We got back at around five and my dad told me to start doing my homework, so I went upstairs, and on the wall where I put up one of my favorite quotes, was a mirror. A mirror! Where my favorite quote was! I was mad. But I didn’t confront my dad, in fear that he would get mad at me for being ungrateful. My friend and I got on my computer and started playing games, that’s when my dad walked in. Now what needs to be understood about my dad, is that he is easily pissed off. When he saw my friend and I playing games, he was pissed off. He called me outside my room and started yelling at me, then it escalated in blows and we went at it. Lets just say that it was a tie. No bruises, no cuts, no tears. But I was hurt, I hated what happened. I hated my dad for it. My friend was thinking, “awkward!” and left.
My dad and I sat down for dinner and he lectured me the entire time. I didn’t say a single word the entire time. I went up stairs, stopped by my dad’s medicine drawer, grabbed the full bottle of hydrocodone that he never took, and the bottle of valium. I went to my room, put on the song “Paradise Lost” by Hollywood Undead; I sat back and downed the 12 hydro, and the 20 valiums. I was killing myself right there. See, it hit me that I was pretty much addicted to pain killers, and that I was a “utter disappointment” to my dad. So, why live? I had that song and “Adam’s Song” by Blink-182 on loop. I sat back against my wall and cried. Before I knew it, I felt like I was starting to go, I looked at the other side of the room. I saw the mirror, and the last thing I remember… I was saying “Fucking mirror.” Then it all went dark and I slumped over on my side and went to sleep. I woke up in an ambulance being told that I almost died and that I was no on my way to a mental institution center (we’ll call it Hell). I spent six days in Hell, and I hated every single moment of it. It was Friday, Halloween, when my doctor asked me when I wanted to get out- I replied, “Well, now that I’m alive in all… I would love to get out today! So, I can go trick or treating with my friends, sir.” He did not like that. He kept me in there for that night, and let me out the next day, what an *****. For the sake of confidentiality I cannot talk of the patients in Hell, so I won’t. But what I can say is that time goes by slow when you’re in Hell. One day will feel like a week, and every minute feels like it will never end. My friend inside Hell always told be that time felt like it would never end because I was going through withdrawals. That little tid bit made Hell all the more hellish.
I got out and the two months after that were hard. I've tried stayed away from bad habits, and I've tried so hard to change, and I finally am starting to. Except for yesterday- when I relapsed. Everyday is a battle. I am going to Narcotics Anonymous. And it will be embarrising to say that I used again after being sober for two months and exactly two weeks. I am going to make it this time though, I know it. Unfortunately I cannot say the same for Dude. He isn’t talking to me right now, because I had to go tell his parents that he was addicted… he turned out worse than I did. As of right now he is "getting help" but all that means is that he is poppn' his pain killers as soon as he gets out of his out-patient therapy at Hell.