My parents decided to believe me when I said I will feel better moving back to our old town. I thought I would feel better and would not have to drink. Well, I was wrong because I liked those warm feelings a little too much.
In my freshman year, I had two sets of friends: my old, clean ones and a new group of stoner friends. Pot became my drug of choice when my mom began sniffing my breath daily for alcohol. I gained back some trust because my family only knew my good friends and never saw the dirt bag dealers, smelly hippie-wannabes, or just down-right shady looking people. I tried heroine twice that school year and fortunately never had access to it again. Strange and unknown pills became a fun thing to snort and pop amongst my friends. Anything that would produce a high was experimented with if it was accessible. I met a red headed boy named Mark who became what I call my first love. I calmed down with the drug using, only because I think I substituted that addiction for a Mark-obsession. But I don't think I could completely break away from pot when I was with Mark though, because the summer before sophomore year, I failed a surprise drug test and was sent to another social worker and a youth drug therapy-group.
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Mark soaked up most of my time the first half of sophomore year, along with swim team, and school. After the rehab scare of the summer, I decided to focus on school for a while. I had acquired some clean time, until Mark and I broke up. I thought I dealt with the 11 month relationship breakup find, until a month later I was "dating" a drug dealer and sleeping around. I remember drinking at 10 in the morning one day and puking at 12 in the afternoon. The end of my sophomore year consisted of smoking pot before, during, and after school and working two jobs to make more money to buy more pot. This was a time in my life when I would wear that black D.A.R.E. shirt as an ironic joke to fit with my stoner wardrobe. The summer after sophomore year was filled with reckless hookups and drunken stupidity.
School became very hard junior year, especially because I was slowly becoming more stupid with all the pot I was clouding my head with. I remember being always tired when I was sober. I would never be at home because I was always too high, drunk, or I was working, or hanging out with my second boyfriend (who, by the way, was a drug dealer). I ended up living over at a friends house for a couple of months because my family life got progressively worse after that.
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I thought I was safe from being caught doing drugs. I was doing vicodin, mushrooms, and ecstasy. My mom saw me on my birthday with dilated pupils and I tested positive once more from a drug screen. This time my mom saw hope in only a rehab recommended by my dean at school. January 20, 2007 I was admitted into a rehab. January 19 was my last day using any drugs or alcohol.
Growing up seems more of a possibility now that I am in rehab and getting help. I can now be a productive member of society, rather than a selfish drunk. However, becoming sober is not an easier way of life. It takes a lot of work on yourself, because you have to make a conscious effort to use Alcoholic's Anonomyous 12 step program's principles in all of our affairs. Addicts and alcoholics, because of their behavior patterns they fall into, tend to have more character defects to improve on than, lets say, the "normal" people. But, I'm not saying that working the 12-step program is too hard for most to attempt. My point is what quality work you put in to change is what benefits you get out. Having been sober for the past 6 months, my hard work earned enough trust back for my parents to buy me a car. Life has gotten much less chaotic and more manageable.
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