i am an addict. not a recovered or even recovering addict. a full blown, still using and abusing, stereotypical addict. i use the word addict because it took me a long time to realize and accept it to be true. i think about getting high every single day, almost every hour unless im distracted with something else. i crave constantly and often succumb to those cravings. this is because i am an addict. my personal drug of choice is cocaine. the first time i did it was while drunk with a friend who always seemed to find trouble for us to get in. the first time i did it i was so drunk i didn’t even think first. i didn’t acquire a taste for it until later when my best friend at the time and i decided to buy a gram for new years. the only problem was that the gram was gone before the party. after new years her and i began buying at least one or two grams a week and splitting them. this continued for months until we began drifting apart and i eventually began buying them for myself. i had gained many new “friends” who i would hang out and do drugs with. some of my best friends were my dealers. even now one of my close friends is my dealer. well he was until the cops raided him. anyway, over the course of a year i had escalated from enjoying occasionally doing it at parties, to buying grams daily. and when i couldn’t get any i became short tempered and insanely annoying with how hard i would fiend for it. it got to the point where i was doing it before school, at school, and if i had any left by the end off the school-day, i would take the rest to work with me. i became someone who i avoided looking at in the mirror because i didn’t recognize myself. not because i looked drastically different, but because i knew underneath the brittle shell i had built, was a person who had become their worst nightmare. ive watched drugs destroy friends and people i care about. ive watched those close to me lose loved ones to more overdoses than old age. and i had become what i feared most. a liar and a fake. i lied to my friends while using in their bathrooms secretly, i avoided my parents questions and deflected any worried comments i received. i refused to be exposed. i felt weak and ashamed that this new and productive version of myself was a complete sham. i truly believed i could not be productive or accomplish anything unless i was high. it made me feel smarter, more active, talkative, and even a little more confident in order to hide the constant crippling anxiety about being caught. to me, being caught was scarier than the possibility of death.