When High Isn’t Enough
I never did any of the hardcore drugs out there. I was too scared from what I had seen growing up, so I guess that was sort of a good thing. I stayed clean for a good while even though most of the people I hung out with smoked weed, drank and used hardcore drugs. I would see the affects it had on them and didn’t want to be seen like that. Sometimes when they wanted more but didn’t have money, they would literally scrounge for items in their car or on their person to sell for more drugs. It was awful. I would step in and say something like, “That’s enough guys, let’s just call it a night”. But, they weren’t trying to listen, they wanted that feeling that you get when you take that first puff off a KJ joint , a sherm cig, cavie, the first line you snort, or when the needle breaks the skin and the heroin shoots through the vain. It’s that rush, the rush is what excited them. It was like, even though they were already high, it wasn’t enough, they wanted more. Although it wasn’t hard for me to be around them, you know, peer pressure, temptation and all. I always ended up being the sober driver, dropping everybody off at home safe and sound. After a while it got old and I was tired of being a damn taxi driver, the only way I would hang out with them is if I knew for sure that I wouldn’t have to drive any of them home. There were a few occasions where I chose to because I couldn’t have that on my conscience if something were to happen to them. Even though it was their choice to incapacitate themselves. I always felt like I was ahead of my time. Like I grew up to fast or something. Feeling all alone, lost, confused and unwanted. I pretty much raised myself and taught me right from wrong. Most of the time it was by experience, but I think that made me stronger and definitely gave me the knowledge to never do it again or just do it in a different manner, depending on the situation. I had a lot to learn, still do, even in my adult years. But back then, growing up in a catholic family, there were things you just couldn’t talk about with grandma, questions you shouldn’t ask and things you wouldn’t dare do. That’s why, I had to learn on my own and the hard way. Everything I was doing, had done, or will do was a sin. It was hard to be me when so many people would tell me how I should be or who I should be like. What was so wrong with me??