It started with the pot. In my freshman year, I began smoking with my friends and I gained a social life. In due time, my friends and dealers turned from potheads to cokeheads, leaving me on my own for a while as I was afraid of the pure white drug. Two years later, during the summer before

11th grade, I felt that itch. That

feeling, almost a voice that I began to know so well. I bought about a gram, $40 worth, nothing compared to what I would soon consume.

With a best friend who had picked up the habit on my idea but without my presence, I began a new hobby. I did coke to sleep, did coke to eat, did coke to have sex, to shower, to do homework. It was amazing, having so much energy and being able to do everything. I did all of my homework at night, could go to school and stay awake and went out with my friends all day after school. Eventually, I went to school all day and did coke with my friends in a little room with no sunlight all day, borrowed or stole as much as I could for the night and the next morning and took a bathroom break every 10 minutes. I stopped

doing

homework. I stopped

eating. I dropped over 30 pounds. I spat blood, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see, couldn’t sleep, didn’t care. I had lost all control. And one day, after a weekend’s binge, I had come to school planning on sobriety and bought $20 worth. Within 20 minutes and my third trip to the bathroom, I was caught by security, and it all went downhill from there. Almost leaving in handcuffs, I could have lost everything I had lived and worked for during my lifetime, for a drug—for death. It’s not worth it.