Like suddenly, there was a reason to continue to breathe. At age 12, I was drinking before school, after school, and even during it. I became the coolest kid in class. Weed, on the other hand, for a sixth grader was harder to get. When middle school kicked it, I had no problem. I became known as the “stoner”.

Halfway through the year, I was dealing weed at school. I’m surprised I even passed 7th grade. I was suspended more often than not. To keep the story short, I hit a major bump in the road. I was kicked out. By age 14, I was jumping from house to house just to find a place to sleep. I met a guy. He was 18 and already an alcoholic. Somehow, I fell in love. I lost my virginity to him on drugs.

School was a drag. The subjects I normally found interesting just seemed to drag on. I felt weed didn’t do it anymore, and right then, I jumped to ecstasy. Now, I was a raver kid. I fell into the wrong crowd and ended up dating a 20 year old drug dealer a little before my 15th birthday. By age 15, I was into heroine, ecstasy, cocaine, shrooms, and acid. Meth even had a bit of a roll, but not as strong.

I loved needles, and I started loving pain. I would aggravate people to hit me. My mind had gone sick. I didn’t know if it was the same girl I knew years ago starring back at me in the mirror. I starting dealing and I don’t mean just weed. My college boyfriend and I would deal ecstasy, cocaine, and meth. We were making bank. I never found a reason to go home. I didn’t know all that would shortly end.

We broke up. There was a lot of emotional pain, and physical. I ended up trying to kill myself a few times. Drugs had become my only love, and when I, by some crazy chance, sobered up, I wanted to die. My “boyfriend” ended up getting busted and thrown into prison for 48 years only a month after we broke up and stopped dealing together. Life was on a downward spiral for the worst.

I pretended to pull myself together. I’m even living at home again, “pretending” to be sober. No one seems to notice a thing. The only difference is I don’t talk anymore. I used to be full of jokes and useful conversations. Now, I just sit there and don’t say a word. Reading and writing has become all I do, because I feel if I’m in someone else’s world, even through words, I won’t be trapped in mine.

I’m working on a novel. People think it’s great. But the sad truth is, I only write to escape myself. I feel as if I’m the one providing the words and what happens next, I can control the future. I won’t have it fall upon me without a warning like in real life. I’m turning 16 in February. I hope for a new start.