Drugs are Bad

Diary entry, again. This is me on the topic of drugs while I reminisce about my own past.

 

            Drugs are bad. Okay, I’m lying, that’s actually the opposite of my opinion, but that’s what I’ve been trained to say. If I were to be perfectly honest (which I will be, who’s to stop me?) the two years I spent in a drug-induced haze were the best years of my life.

            I was the girl who won the D.A.R.E. (Drug abuse resistance education) award back in the 5^th grade for my anti-drug essay. I have no idea what I wrote, but chances are there were 200 different ways to say “Drugs are for thugs” all over the confines of my pages. I was 11 at the time, and I fervently adhered to that essay. In my mind, I would NEVER do drugs, that was the equivalent of murdering someone. Little did I know that 3 years later, I’d be the proud owner of a homemade bong that I would use on a regular basis.

            Contrary to popular belief, drugs don’t necessarily signify the end of ones life. I viewed it as the beginning, which it was, for me. I wasn’t a cliché recreational user, only smoking in front of friends, but it did start out that way. Smoking was something I used to pass the time; the love fests after were an unforeseen benefit. I lived my first few high school months constantly with friends, but then I learned what it was like to smoke alone.

            Even in my group of friends, I was the odd one out. No matter what I did, this little brain of mine wouldn’t fry. As a result, not only was I a stoner, I was a smart stoner. At my school, this was the equivalent of me transforming into some Bionicle, or maybe a purple Pikachu. I began to romance my bong alone once I learned of my alien identity. It started off as a couple hits, but soon enough I was smoking bud after bud. What my friends would consider a hefty amount, I would smoke at one sitting.

            Due to my habit of smoking alone, I became the hard-core drug addict, as labeled by my friends. They’d often whisper about me when they’d think I wasn’t listening. I would retort with, “Honey, you’re just as fucked up as I am, open your eyes.” They didn’t like when I’d confront them about their hypocrisy, but that’s human nature. Besides, I didn’t care, I loved my hobby.

            To escape from the prying eyes of my friends, I would smoke more and more. The world was beautiful when my eyes became hazy. It was as if instead of becoming intoxicated, I was becoming de-toxicated. A world of possibilities would open before my eyes. I was so happy. Listening to the dreary voices of those I didn’t feel like listening to became suddenly easier; while they spoke without end, I was off in my own world. A beautiful world.

            Alas, I have aged, comrades. I’m not the person I used to be. In fact, I don’t think I’ve indulged in my need in at least a year, now. As a result, I’ve become a mind robot. Don’t get me wrong, for the most part I love the disguise I’ve invented for myself. At school and in the public, I’m so damn angelic, the perfect driven college student. No one knows about my seedy past, dotted with run ins with the law and run ins with a bunch of other things. They see me as a ‘good girl’, plus or minus the blue hair, of course.

            That opinion has dominated the realm of the public for a while now, and, for the most part, I’d say I’m okay with it. The only time I allow my mask to disassemble is in my rage, when I recall my fighting days and ghetto past. That’s when I transform, completely. A second ago, I may have been saying words such as ‘intriguing’ or ‘trepidation,’ but in anger, I say: “What the f**k did you just say to me? Come over here and say that to me face! What? Because I’m female you think I’m afraid of you? I don’t care if you have a penis!” Eyes will widen with shock, but I choose to ignore. I’ll continue with my fight, physical or verbal, and then reapply my mask. That’s when the public is notified of my disguise, hence the oncoming prying eyes.

            My sister is the age that I was when I denied drugs and asserted their evilness. I chuckle at this, these déjà vu moments. When her time comes to hear the truth, I’ll tell her. The fact of the matter is, I hope she smokes as much as she is capable of while she still can. However, I might as well throw a ‘drugs are bad’ in there, too, to satisfy society.

Author's Note

there's a lot more I plan on adding to this. Oh, my vices for steam releasing!

Reviews

[Cam]

Yay, can't wait for more :)

But I agree, no end at that time most likely, well, if it's Mary Jane