Read Online A Teenager's Journey by Richard B. Pelzer - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Richard B. Pelzer
Tags: BIO000000
Ads: Link
the companionship of the other teens I was getting to know. None of them took any drugs or drank; they all lived clean lives. I was living a lie when I socialized with the kids from the local youth group at the Church and at the same time still sticking with my old way of life: staying out all night drinking and getting high, then desperately trying to stay awake during a Sunday service.
This time my life was really spinning out of control. The conflict became so overpowering that I was literally facing a breakdown. I just couldn’t discern who I was supposed to be at any given time, or what I was supposed to be doing.
Before long I didn’t know what day of the week it was, or even how to find out. As I progressed deeper and deeper into my feelings and emotions, I was also going further and further with the self-destruction. I embedded myself in drugs and alcohol to the point that my addict friends were now afraid to be around me. The friends from high school who I used to hang out with behind the gym—the ones that once thought of me as inexperienced—were now afraid of me. They knew just how far I was willing to go. Now they talked behind my back and called
me
a “junkie loser.” It was so odd having once been one of the crowd picking out those older teens and identifying
them
as junkies, and now being the one that the crowd called out to and hassled. Even those few friends that I once shared with stayed away from me.
I used to be considered green, wet behind the ears, the “newbie.” Now I was the one that they called “over the top.”
I was using twice as much cocaine, acid, pot, crystal methamphetamine, and crack as anyone else. I had even started to “chase the dragon”—of all the drugs I tried, heroin was the easiest to get and the cheapest.
And I was showing signs of becoming violent. My previous thoughts and fears of the bottom falling out of my life eventually came to pass. Without actually trying to, I nearly killed myself with an overdose.
After a petty and meaningless argument with Mom, I convinced myself that I had not yet reached the maximum drug dose that I could handle. I wanted more and more. I wanted to get farther and farther away from Mom, from my brothers, and from myself.
One night, I took off to the local elementary school yard. I had never tried to smoke cocaine, DXM (dextromethorphan), and heroin together before but had always heard that it was so much more intense. With no particular reason other than feeling even more exhausted by my family and my life than ever, I collected a few bags of partially used cocaine and heroin and mixed them with crushed DXM pills into one bag. I looked at the gun hidden away in the baseboard and left it where it lay. I didn’t have the guts for that at the moment.
Once I arrived at the school grounds, I stuffed as much as I could into the pipe I’d taken from where I kept it under my bed. Just over two ounces was more than I needed.
I knew I was in trouble when it became difficult to breathe and I felt nauseous. My stomach hurt to the point that I vomited. My heart was racing out of control, and my head began to pound; soon after, I couldn’t feel my fingers.
I remember waking in my bedroom, lying on my bed fully dressed and yet still freezing. Every bone in my upper body and legs was in pain. I had been there for well over a day. No one in the house cared—no one ever asked any questions.
I later found out that using that much cocaine when mixed with heroin was bad enough, but when DXM was added it could be lethal. I now had my answer—I didn’t need the gun anymore—I knew how to do it.
After dinner one night I found myself having a particularly acrimonious argument with Mom. I was being just as verbally abusive as she was and getting angrier and angrier with myself. After a while, Scott came upstairs to see what the commotion was about. Normally, Scott would cut himself off from the arguments and slip into his own room. When he heard
This time my life was really spinning out of control. The conflict became so overpowering that I was literally facing a breakdown. I just couldn’t discern who I was supposed to be at any given time, or what I was supposed to be doing.
Before long I didn’t know what day of the week it was, or even how to find out. As I progressed deeper and deeper into my feelings and emotions, I was also going further and further with the self-destruction. I embedded myself in drugs and alcohol to the point that my addict friends were now afraid to be around me. The friends from high school who I used to hang out with behind the gym—the ones that once thought of me as inexperienced—were now afraid of me. They knew just how far I was willing to go. Now they talked behind my back and called
me
a “junkie loser.” It was so odd having once been one of the crowd picking out those older teens and identifying
them
as junkies, and now being the one that the crowd called out to and hassled. Even those few friends that I once shared with stayed away from me.
I used to be considered green, wet behind the ears, the “newbie.” Now I was the one that they called “over the top.”
I was using twice as much cocaine, acid, pot, crystal methamphetamine, and crack as anyone else. I had even started to “chase the dragon”—of all the drugs I tried, heroin was the easiest to get and the cheapest.
And I was showing signs of becoming violent. My previous thoughts and fears of the bottom falling out of my life eventually came to pass. Without actually trying to, I nearly killed myself with an overdose.
After a petty and meaningless argument with Mom, I convinced myself that I had not yet reached the maximum drug dose that I could handle. I wanted more and more. I wanted to get farther and farther away from Mom, from my brothers, and from myself.
One night, I took off to the local elementary school yard. I had never tried to smoke cocaine, DXM (dextromethorphan), and heroin together before but had always heard that it was so much more intense. With no particular reason other than feeling even more exhausted by my family and my life than ever, I collected a few bags of partially used cocaine and heroin and mixed them with crushed DXM pills into one bag. I looked at the gun hidden away in the baseboard and left it where it lay. I didn’t have the guts for that at the moment.
Once I arrived at the school grounds, I stuffed as much as I could into the pipe I’d taken from where I kept it under my bed. Just over two ounces was more than I needed.
I knew I was in trouble when it became difficult to breathe and I felt nauseous. My stomach hurt to the point that I vomited. My heart was racing out of control, and my head began to pound; soon after, I couldn’t feel my fingers.
I remember waking in my bedroom, lying on my bed fully dressed and yet still freezing. Every bone in my upper body and legs was in pain. I had been there for well over a day. No one in the house cared—no one ever asked any questions.
I later found out that using that much cocaine when mixed with heroin was bad enough, but when DXM was added it could be lethal. I now had my answer—I didn’t need the gun anymore—I knew how to do it.
After dinner one night I found myself having a particularly acrimonious argument with Mom. I was being just as verbally abusive as she was and getting angrier and angrier with myself. After a while, Scott came upstairs to see what the commotion was about. Normally, Scott would cut himself off from the arguments and slip into his own room. When he heard
Similar Books
