Meth Stories and Letters

It was a cold November evening. I had stormed out after a rough argument with my mother. We seemed to fight a lot lately. As usual, I found solace in my friend Bobby. He always had something to say.

A way of making me feels better, think better. Tonight was no different, he handed me a cigarette, ‘it will help me calm down’, he had said. But tonight was different; I was agitated, and he felt the need to give me something stronger. I saw him roll up some white powder light it up and passed it.

One puff and I felt calmer after the joint nothing mattered. I was happy, calm relaxed and excited for the first time in eternity. My friendship with Crystal Meth was quickly sealed.

Before long it was a weekly thing, then it was harder and harder to stay away from it. Before I knew it, this was my savior, and I worshiped at its feet.

For that, I could do anything. I started taking money from my mother. When it was not enough, I sold little household items for the quick cash anything for a puff of my precious meth.

Eventually, I got kicked out from home, I dropped out of school, I lost my part time job, I lost all my friends, but it meant more for me to get a dose. Bobby, as usual, knew exactly how to help.

One night however things went very wrong. The lady, me and Bobby, went to for meth looked weak and vulnerable. Little did we know she set us up for robbery. She pulled a gun and demanded money; we asked if she was joking. She pulled the trigger and shot Bobby in the leg. Badly wounded and badly in need of help we ran.

We got to Bobby’s apartment I stayed outside to call 911. They said they were on their way.

I went inside, and I found Bobby; he was laying the floor of his messy apartment. His wound was throbbing, and I told him to hold on he just had to wait for the ambulance.

While I was calmer, I realized that could have been me. I will get shot, and no one will know, or wind up in a ditch somewhere. I thought back at all I had left behind me; my family, my education, my future. For the first time, the mirror reflected a sad, lonely person someone who needed help.

Calling the ambulance that evening was probably the first step in drug recovery; I enrolled to rehab. It was not easy. There were nights I wanted to run back to the life. There were days my inner demons tormented me so much I wished and prayed. Then there were days when the sun was shining brightly.

I got an assurance that things will get better. I’m glad those days happened for me; those are the days I held on to with all of my strength, and those are the days that I now have. I smile despite my teeth being chipped and stained. The ugly scars of my past help me remember why the future will be better.