Before I entered high school, I stayed far away from drugs and alcohol. When rumors swarmed around that my 8th grade boyfriend was smoking and selling weed to kids in my grade, I dumped him. I didn’t want to associate myself with a “druggie.”
When we entered our freshman year of high school, the boy I dumped was expelled within weeks. He was selling “Triple C’s” to other students and throwing up into empty, open lockers. The deans and teachers obviously realized something was wrong with him, emptied his pockets, and read his texts.
Before he was expelled I had gotten hold of 9 of those “triple C” pills. I had swallowed every single one at the water fountain before 3rd period class. On the bus ride home, I heard the news that the boy had been expelled. I told the kids that were talking about it that I had taken some and they all called me dumb. They didn’t know how dumb I felt. So numb. So sick. It was a nasty, dirty high. Extremely unejoyable. By the last class of that day I couldn’t even keep my head up but my teachers were already used to me falling asleep in class.
Not shortly after that, I decided I wanted to try alcohol and weed. I don’t know what triggered me. Maybe it was because I had recently grown infatuated with a bad boy in my third period class and I wanted to relate w/ him? Or that my parents were split and at war with each other? Or maybe because my sister, one of my very best friends at the time, had found a boyfriend and a lot of friends that kept her attention away from me?
There was a girl in my grade who was so cool that she hung out with all the older kids. She frequently posted pictures on social media with the older girls with little cartoons over their cups and bottles of alcohol. They always looked like they were having the times of their lives. Her sister was a few years older and was dating a boy that sold weed. This girl and I became pretty good friends after we shared a science class together. We got along very well and arranged a day to hang out outside of class. I invited her to my dad’s 2-bedroom apartment where I got to stay in the master bedroom. When we planned our day to hang out in text, I asked her if she could bring alcohol. She told me that she could… on the day she came over, she surprised me with a little, tiny bit of weed. She told me her sister’s boyfriend gave it to her for free. And since it was my first time that it would be enough for me. She also brought a whole, unopened bottle of UV Blue. I had never had a whole bottle for me. I’d only drank out of already open bottles that belonged to the parents’ of my friends before.
She asked me if we had cans of soda or anything in our fridge. My dad is a 2 liter bottle kind of guy, so, no cans in our fridge. We walked down the stairs to the main lobby where there was a soda can vending machine and we dispensed a can of Mountain Dew. We attempted to chug it all but we were so anxious we just dumped out all the liquid.
We brought it back to my enormous master bedroom and she taught me how to make a pipe out of a soda can and an earring. In that bedroom, I took my first hit of weed. We blew it out the window after pulling the screen out. My dad never knocked or said he smelled anything funny. I never felt anything funny, I felt normal. No high.
The second time I smoked weed, I felt nothing. I can’t remember how many times I tried before I got high. All I know is that I continued to try and try with a variety of people and in a variety of ways. Joints, aluminum foil pipe, glass pipe… everything! I think I finally got high when I smoked a bong, I would get so high that I wanted to stop being high… that never happens anymore, lol.
I really enjoyed pot and definitely still do. I continue to smoke on a daily basis. I barely consider weed a drug.
After that, every time I was invited to drink or smoke weed I didn’t hesitate, I was there. My parents never picked me up or dropped me off anywhere so I had to rely on my friends’ parents, older friends that drove (and always asked for gas money I didn’t have), my bike, and my two feet. It didn’t matter. I would still venture off. They never cared about my whereabouts as long as I didn’t bother them for a ride. Even when I did I often heard “too bad, stay there then!”
I got together with that bad boy I mentioned earlier and stayed with him throughout all of high school in probably the most unstable and unhealthy relationship imaginable.
We experimented with any and everything we could get our hands on.
Freshman year was countless drunken nights, numerous school work, projects and homework finished on non-prescribed adderall, trying to smoke weed in every possible way, and sneaking out at night to do all of these things. Freshman year my very best friend was there. We’ll call her *K in this post and all future posts. Before sophomore year started she moved to a whole other state and I was alone. My only “friend” was my bad boy boyfriend.
(Summer after freshman year, drunk and high off my ass, hahah)
Sophomore year I tried ecstasy, OxyContin, drank alcohol almost every day of every weekend, and smoked weed every chance I got. Even if it was during school hours.
Junior year, I got into trouble with police because I was smoking weed on the train tracks… which at the time I honestly didn’t know was trespassing despite all the signs that warn that it is. The police emptied my bag and found a small amount of weed, because at that age I couldn’t afford more than a small amount. They made me feel as though I was a felon and drove me home in the back of their car and since my ex’s parents didn’t answer (they never answered no matter who was calling…) he was free to walk where ever and go where ever he pleased, no consequences.
When I got home my dad slapped me across the face, hard. I said “you finally caught me” in the most smart-ass voice possible and he slapped me…again. I called the bad boy and asked him if he wanted to meet up. I was still high from the weed and biked all the way from the East Side of Saint Paul to a McDonald’s in Little Canada. It was a hell of a bike ride.
That night I didn’t go home. I stayed at his house without permission of his parents. Which I often did and we often got in trouble for.
Junior year was a blur. I barely went to school and often got that bright yellow letter in the mail informing my dad about all my truancies and warning that it would soon be taken to court. They sent this letter plenty of times but my dad ignored it and so did I. Some mornings I’d sleep through my alarm and close my eyes as tight as I could when I heard my dad calling down the stairs, cussing at me, telling me it was time to leave for school. My little brother always wanted to be on time and keep his perfect attendance record so they never waited or bothered me for too long. He pretty much gave up on me. So after I got driven home in the back of a police car, his suspicions of me doing drugs were proven fact. I gave him the silent treatment after he slapped me, as if he was the one in the wrong… but now that I’m an adult, I realize that if I were my daughter, I would do more than just slap me.
I called my best friend, *K, the one who moved out of state before sophomore year started. I still called her almost every night. I missed her so much. I wanted to move to Bothell, Washington where she was! We discussed this, jokingly. She knew everything that was going on in my life. I was telling her about my dad. I was telling her about the bad boy. The bad boy and I were always fighting. Things were just starting to get violent between us. He never hit me (yet) but he broke my phones, iPods, weed pipes, weed jars… all the things that were important to me. All. The. Time. Luckily, I was a kleptomaniac and often stole T-Mobile phones out of other students’ backpacks, off their desks, even out of their back pockets. (At that time, all you had to do was switch your SIM card from one phone to another and voila! New phone with your number and contacts!) the iPods were never really mine either.
This time… he had shoved me and snatched my glasses off my face, snapped them completely in half… left me blindly searching on the ground for them until I found both pieces. I didn’t know how I was going to get home on the East Side all the way from Little Canada. (approx. 6 miles) I didn’t have my bike. I called my best friend at the time from a Dollar Tree phone since my phone was now broken. This boy who was my neighbor, in my sister’s grade so he was also friends with her, and who often came to my rescue through high school for who knows what reason — he picked me up and brought me home.
(Me with my broken glasses at my going away bowling party with my family the day before I left for Washington)
My best friend, K, was getting serious about talking to her mom about letting me move out to Washington with them. Especially after hearing the story about my glasses.
Her mom agreed rather quickly. All we needed was my dad to sign some guardianship transfer papers. I honestly thought he wouldn’t do this but after talking on the phone with K’s mom for about 5 minutes, the process had started. Within weeks I was on the airplane to Washington.
In Washington, I was supposed to keep my grades up and stay out of trouble. K and I got caught smoking cigarettes outside of the gym locker rooms, had to attend a useless tobacco class. We snuck out every chance we could and K would take her parents’ car, we’d drive all over. She didn’t even have her license… we were invincible. We’d even smoke weed in the car. One time, her mom questioned us about the smell and we convinced it her it must’ve been the mechanics who fixed her car earlier that week. She believed us and was going to call the mechanics and cuss them out… K confessed that it was us and we got a stern talking to. We promised not to do it again. Another time, K’s other best friend was spending the day with us. K’s parents wanted to bring us to that huge music museum in Seattle. The three of us were outside smoking weed while her parents were getting ready to go. I was stupid and wanted to smoke a cigarette like I always did (and mostly still do) after smoking weed. When we piled in the car to go to the museum K’s parents smelled the cigarette smoke on my jacket. After we dropped K’s friend off at home, K’s mom started her interrogation. She came up with the conclusion that maybe K’s friend’s mom smoked cigarettes in the house. K and I agreed, though we didn’t even know for sure. We just knew it would get us off the hook. K once again felt guilty and threw me under the bus. She told her parents it was me. Her parents had recently quit smoking so it was hard for them to talk to me about them but they were actually super understanding. But of course, I was to quit. We got caught googling “how to make a homemade bong” by K’s Dad explaining to us that everything you searched in Google reappeared in the history! He told us that he wouldn’t tell her mom but we needed to behave and be careful.
K and I tried every drug we could find and got drunk every chance we got. We always had a bag of weed to smoke. One of the girls that sat at our lunch table had a boyfriend who recently had gotten his wisdom teeth removed. He was selling OxyContin but he gave K a couple for free. Of course she gave me one. We snorted them in the bedroom we shared. They weren’t really that strong. We would steal cigarette shorts off one of our neighbors patio all the time. I mean, he would leave pretty much full length cigarettes out there! One time, I think he stuffed cigarette tubes with that “spice” stuff, (aka K2). K and I smoked it and were in space, completely paranoid for around 30 minutes. We knew we didn’t just smoke a cigarette. A couple days later, the neighbor caught us and told us we should pay him for all the cigarettes we had stolen from him. I didn’t understand why since he was throwing them out anyways… whatever. We continued to steal his shorts and often sent our friends to do so as well. No matter how many times we got caught we never thought “ok, we have to be good now” we always tried to come up with ways to continue to be bad. We tried “lean” for the first time with our neighbors. We partied in a children’s hair cutting shop where one of our friends worked. She knew the security code and had the key so we went late at night. We drank and smoked in there all night. K stole candy and even $20 out of the cash drawer. She would steal weed from kids that we were smoking with, while we were smoking with them. We stole clothes, makeup, school supplies, and even food from the mall and grocery stores. When ever her mom gave us lunch money to put in our accounts at school we’d keep the money for weed and cigarettes. We were just plain reckless. Her mom was fed up after catching us picking up trash by the smoking bench. The trash consisted of hookah tins, cigarette shorts, blunt shorts, you know, anything you don’t wanna get yourself caught with. Junior year wasn’t even over yet!
She decided to call my dad and send me home. He immediately bought me a plane ticket home for the end of that week. K went berserk, she threw everything around in the apartment and screamed at the top of her lungs about how it was unfair… especially since we were caught being great citizens and picking up trash!! Her mom and dad wanted to calm her down and decided that I didn’t have to go home, unless I wanted to. My dad had already been contacted and I already owed him money for the plane ticket he had already purchased. I was on my way home that weekend.
I finished junior year and hung out with senior friends, who had just graduated high school, all summer. We drank, smoked, did misc. pills, we had a wild summer.
(Summer after junior year… again drunk and high, lol)
When senior year started, I had no friends left at school. They all had graduated or were expelled. I barely went and almost didn’t graduate. I had the exact amount of credits needed at graduation.
Before senior year ended, I was over the weed and alcohol… I got into heroin and meth. I walked and accepted my diploma after being awake for more than 24 hours on meth.
(Top Photo: Me on heroin at my job, I was 17 years old.
Bottom Photo: Me on meth about to get ready for graduation)
I quit everything right after my 18th birthday. I was going to get this great job at a grocery store paying $13/hr. I couldn’t quit weed though so I ended up having to fake the drug test for it anyways. One of my best friends, on and off since 7th grade, came with me to the drug test and urinated in a small jar for me to bring in my underwear wrapped between those hot hands hand warmers.
She passed my drug test and I worked so hard. I didn’t have my license yet so on days I had to work at 6am and the city bus wasn’t even running yet, I’d walk nearly 2 miles to work even when it was snowing at negative 40 degrees Fahrenheit. I was serious about that job. It got me out of all the hard drugs, really.
Once I started my dancing career, I started drinking heavily again. I spent mostly all of my money on cocaine, booze, and weed. I tried shrooms and acid… I fell back into a dark hole. The DJ at the club I was working at sold the cocaine. I had only tried it once before and I didn’t really like it. Even though I didn’t like it the numerous times I snorted it throughout my first year of dancing, I continued to buy it when the DJ would call me to his booth and asked me if I needed more. I think the manager knew what was going on but we’d still pretend we were discussing what songs I’d be dancing to when I went on stage next.
(Top Photo: Right after I took my first hit of acid in the dressing room of the club I was working at at the time
Bottom Photo: at the same club, drunk off my ass)
I quit doing cocaine because it didn’t make me feel good. I quit drinking because I noticed I was gaining too much weight. That’s the only reason. Nothing about how I could barely function, was out of money, and couldn’t even make any more money at work was a problem to me. I noticed that I was making so much more money at work when I was sober even though I literally thought I couldn’t do my job without drugs or alcohol first. The manager said to me one night “wow, you’re the top earner tonight… see what happens when you’re not a drunk bitch?” Those people were toxic. I was getting fucked up to deal with them and all the horrible mean girls in the locker room. I wanted to switch clubs, I wanted to move out of state. So I did both.
Now I drink on occasion and I can’t really say that I don’t get out of hand sometimes still… but I do really try to keep it under control now. I still smoke weed daily. As for every other thing out there to use and abuse, I keep all that stuff OUT of my view.
Thank you for stopping by 💋