Posted by Anonymous.
By the night of my 8th grade dance at the end of the school year, which marked the elusive transition from middle to high school, I was already experimenting with drugs and alcohol.
Nothing major really, just drinking a few hard lemonades at a friend’s house while hoping I looked cool smoking that cigarette. My cousin and I had snuck out while we were camping with the family to sit by the river at night. We happened to encounter two gothic girls smoking pot out of a socket while listening to Marilyn Manson. We both smoked it, got a little buzzed and giggled in the dark as we walked back to our tents hoping we wouldn’t get caught stepping on stick or rustling some leaves.
Nothing major really. But the night of our dance I wanted to “have fun” and I thought all the older kids probably party on prom night and damn it, I wanted to party too. After all, I had always associated being “mature” with partying. So I ingested about 12 pills of a cough suppressant in hopes of “tripping” while at the dance. I soon found myself vomiting in the bathroom, covered in sweat and gaining attention from other girls in the bathroom. “Are you okay?” asked a blurry dark haired figure. “Must have ate some bad chicken” I told her the best I could in between heaves while I tried not to look at the little red dots floating in the toilet water and stomach bile. The assistant principle soon stood outside the door of the stall. She wanted to take me into the office where I could “lie down and sit in the A/C.” I couldn’t even walk to the office by myself and I don’t even know who helped me slump my way over there. They called my parents, (well .. my mom and step-father,) who soon picked me up. They told my parents they thought I was on ecstacy and that they might want to take me to the hospital to be sure. My step-dad slung me over his shoulder and carried me to the car. He fiercely interrogated me, asking me what I took, who gave it to me, saying he was going to kick their ass, etc. They didn’t take me to the hospital though. After being carried to my room, I laid down in my dress and asked him if I was going to die. He laughed a little and said no, I was probably just going to sleep for a while.
We talked about it the next day but I was never in trouble. They expressed their concerns, and admitted to some experimentation of their own. OK, not really experimentation. Usage. My own parents told me if there was a drug I wanted to try, to please let them know and they will get it for me. I mean, after all, they used to be big “rock stars” and all.
They didn’t want me to get hurt, or get ripped off, or buy something laced and be in a safe environment. I actually thought it was cool at the time. Can you really blame me? At 13 I was allowed to drink in my own house, as long as I didn’t leave and it was a widely known fact that I smoked pot in my room sometimes with friends. My stepdad and I even smoked together on occasion. That following Christmas I told them I wanted to try cocaine. I was 14 and it just so happened that they had some. I did one line and we laid on the bed and talked about the high and how “cocaine was an evil drug and isn’t really that much fun anymore…not like it used to be. But that the real high comes from ecstacy.” Naturally, I wanted to try it. We made plans and my younger siblings stayed at friend’s houses and me and my mom and my stepdad did ecsctacy together. I ate a bean and soon felt the “ecstacy” of ecstacy. We listened to music and sang and dance and snorted more beans throughout the night. We didn’t go to bed until daylight. I was barely 15. In total we did ecstacy together at least 6 or 7 times before I went back to live with my dad who has no idea anything like this ever went on. It just feels like such a weight now that I am older, a whole 21 years of age. It doesn’t seem cool anymore. It seems FUCKED UP. And I’m not saying that I had a bad time when we actually partied, it's just weird now. And I don’t think just on my end. Whenever I go home to visit there is always this weird awkward moment when I am introduced to one of their new friends in a party setting and they bust out a mound of cocaine or crushed up beans and snort a line right. In. Front. Of. Me.
And why shouldn’t they? I have done it with them. I just wish that I could have the balls to tell them that I feel ….not right ..about what happened. Part of me wants to forgive them and say it was a mistake and part of me wants to let myself sob and ask them how they could put me in harm’s way like that? How they could voluntarily retire from being a parent and try to become a cohort? I have been in denial about the fact that this is an unusual and somewhat sad situation of a parent/child relationship. When my friends would bring it up in conversation, I would defend and protect them because I didn’t want anyone to think badly of them. They were trying to be cool and understanding, but really it warped my outlook on life from a young age. So now here I sit at 21 years of age resenting the fact my parents tried to let me experiment while so many people resent their parents for the exact opposite.