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Addiction

December 11, 2019

I was only ten when my drug use started. Both of my parents are active addicts, so it was my mom who got me into it. She’s always acted like a teenager, more like a friend than a mom, and she gave me pills for the first time. I was living with her back then and I started using consistently—taking a bunch of pills, smoking weed, and drinking a lot. The pills were my main thing: Percocet, Vicodin, a lot of downers. I struggled with depression and my parents’ physical and verbal abuse, so then I started abusing myself with the drugs, cutting, bulimia, anorexia, and the guys I kept bringing in and out of my life. I started acting out like your typical teenage drug addict, stealing and sneaking out at night, but it was all pointless because my mom was high all the time and didn’t even notice.

By age 13 I was living in a shelter with mom and my youngest sister. The cops found me there and took me back to my dad’s. He was very abusive and his own drug of choice was uppers, so I started doing a lot of coke, meth, and ecstasy those next three years. Those became my drugs of choice. In July of 2009 I ran away from where I was living with my dad in south Texas. I don’t remember all of it, just that I took Xanax, woke up in downtown Houston, and never went home again. At that point I didn’t have a “drug of choice” anymore—it was just whatever anybody had, whatever was in your hand.

In Houston I contacted an old using buddy and started staying with her and her mom. Her mom and my mom used to get high together, so when I was living with them we’d all get high together. A few weeks later my grandparents found me and got custody of me, so I moved in with them. The very next day I snuck out, bought a bunch of drugs and did them all: coke, pills, liquid codeine…all this crazy stuf

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