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all seemed to have their heads on straighter than I did.
    We were allowed one phone call every two days and I used mine to talk to Brittany every time. She would tell me about the fun things she was doing or some party she’d just gone to. I wanted to be there with her. It seemed like all my friends were having fun without me, and knowing that made me cry.
    I needed to get out of there. I tried to prove to the counselor that I was better so I could leave, but she started being a bitch so I lost my cool and cursed at her.
    Mesa Vista was not helping me. I didn’t think I needed to be there, and they couldn’t help me—mainly because I wasn’t ready to be helped. All I wanted was one line of coke. I wasn’t addicted. I swear I wasn’t. I didn’t need coke, I just wanted it. I just wanted
anything
to make me better.
    I wanted to escape life. I wanted to just run as far as I could run. I would’ve run to China, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t go anywhere. I felt like I was in prison, like I was trapped—not only at Mesa Vista, but in a pool of my own problems.
    I heard somewhere that you could overdose on toothpaste, so one night I tried to eat an entire tube of toothpaste. It didn’t work.
    Nothing can describe my pain during that time more than the fact that I tried to overdose on toothpaste. That’s as low as it gets.
    Maybe I actually
was
an addict. Maybe I couldn’t control myself. I don’t know. Either way, I had a serious problem.

CHAPTER 7
 

    Hitting Bottom

    After two weeks of hell I left Mesa Vista and returned home pretty much the same as when I’d left. Being out in the real world was nice, though, and I started to feel a little better about myself and stopped having suicidal thoughts. I stopped cutting, too, which was good, but I was not ready to give up drugs.
    I could see that my mom was still very worried about me. She looked like she hadn’t slept in weeks. I felt terrible that I was putting her through so much, but that didn’t stop me.
    As soon as I got home I went right out to see my friends. Two weeks in Mesa Vista felt like a lifetime away from the apartment complex and all the parties. I missed being around my people and all the social aspects that go along with doing drugs—I needed to get right back into the swing of things. Almost everyone I hung out with was a druggie. Most of my friends didn’t go to school. A lot of them had jobs making more than minimum wage. They didn’t seem to have responsibilities or stress in their lives. Instead, every day was one big party.
    My mom saw that I wasn’t ready to grow up from that life just yet, so shortly after I returned from Mesa Vista she enrolled me in Sunset High School in Encinitas, which was a continuation school for kids who were on drugs or named Kendra. It had all the classes a regular school would have, but the day was also packed with hours of counseling.
    These types of schools are really only good for kids who want to be there. At the end of the day, someone has to make the decision to get better on his or her own. I wasn’t ready for that. Instead of taking it as an opportunity to get better I took it as a challenge to get more drugs. As it turned out, finding drugs wasn’t hard at all. I was surrounded by druggies. Pretty much everyone had something on him or her at all times, and if they were afraid of getting caught they hid the drugs in the ceiling at the school. When the teacher left the room, we’d pop out the tiles of the drop ceiling and smoke weed or do lines of coke. Sometimes during lunch we would sneak out through a window when the teachers turned their backs, or go upstairs to the bathrooms to get high.
    The whole day was dedicated to this game of seeing what we could get away with. Every conversation I had with the kids there was about drugs and how we were going to do them that day. There was a thrill to being bad and trying not to get caught.
    The downside was that we were doing coke almost every day, which