The Story No one wants to Hear

The story no one wants to hear Chapter One1

When you think of a drug user you usually think of a kid with red eyes, messy and tangled hair and pale skin with a shitty outfit with holes in it thanks to their never ending need to run down to Elm Bov. just to get some coke all the way across town.2

That's bullshit.3

I hate hearing that-- I don't even fit those stereotypes. My parents don't even know that everytime I say I'm out studying I'm snorting coke. The funny thing is that I get good grades so I can do it anytime I want. There are times that I start crashing extremely hard because of the lack of the material I need. I start crying, I curl up in the corner and I blame the non existence of my love life and my mother simply blames it on my teenage adolescence. I hear her mumble something about how us teens feel as though we need someone to love but we always have someone out there. There are a lot of fish in the sea, we have time to grow- Shit like that. That's what she always says. She's oblivious to the world I hide from her everytime I leave this house. When I'm inside this house I go by Cathy, but when I'm outside this house, I'm a new person who doesn't care what anyone thinks about her. The only thing she cares about is getting another line in her system and dancing until her body decides it can't hold up anymore.4

Don't tell me about how my addiction is bad, I know. Eventually I'll go brain dead and I'll start acting like a dog with rabies-- Here's your note: Shut up. I know. If you try to preach on and on about addictions, I'll just roll my eyes at you and walk away. We learned about this in the 7th grade when society tried to stop us from becoming their worst nightmares. I guess even though officers came into class and preached it to us weekly, I fell between the cracks of the sidewalk and now I'm the one who climbed back up with the virus no one knows about.5

A bad habit. If that's what you wanna call my drug addiction, go ahead. I know I'm addicted but it's not a big deal to me. If I have to go a week or two without my lines then I feel horrible, but I can always claim that I'm sick and when I get it back, I'm usually on it harder than I was before.6

My brown hair is still as shiny as it was four months ago when I first started, my brown eyes aren't dull as if I've become a demon and died inside, & the only difference from my drug free self and myself now is that I lost the guy who made me start.7

He was pretty awesome. At first I was afraid but after two lines I completely forgot where I was. He was doing much more shit than I was but eventually I caught up and whenever we met up we would have stoned sex and listen to bands like System of a down and Shadows Fall. If we weren't doing that we were sober and trying to get high by snorting the coke he hid in his bedroom or smoking the weed I hid in mine.8

We broke up because of his undying need to steal the cash out of my purse and I needed it to buy my own junk. Our coke adventures ranged from dancing to sitting on his couch watching movies to doing other dangerous shit we could get arrested for. Never driving through, I always hide the car keys from the two of us so that neither of us can drive. I want my addiction, I don't want death. How can I have weed in my house? My mum isn't home a lot of the time and my dad is pretty much a deadbeat that we don't need.9

They call drugs demon that always have their price--At times your soul, your life & all your memories.10

I don't really care.11

in the end, I'm still Cathy Rosette Pirson.