I wasn’t a daily drinker or drug user. Don’t get me wrong, there were binges. The intensity of a binge was dependent upon what my time-frame and where my mind-frame was.
There were the standard rights-of-passage binges that all upper-middle class white girls get to stumble through; spring break, Christmas break, made-up breaks, any and all holidays, the entirety of summer, etc etc etc. These passages, of course, being high school into college.
I guess if marijuana is considered a drug then I was a daily abuser from 16-20 years old. When I started skipping class it honestly was a relief from myself. This is who I am, see?! Failing tests and taking bong rips on the way to school was my security blanket for those tormented teen years.
When my group of friends and I made the transition from middle school to high school most of them started hanging out with the older kids; since I simply didn’t have the confidence, I fell behind. The pot heads picked me up.
Sitting in the back of class stoned out of my gourde, being told that I was fucking up (not in those words) was exactly what I wanted. Finally my insides could match my outside, as though I was saying, “I’m a mess, dammit, and I’m going to show it.” The good news was that my bad behavior on the outside was laughable. Haha, silly me, my GPA is 0.4. Seriously, that was my GPA at one point, and I laughed all the way to graduation. Then again, a lot was laughable in those days.
My girlfriends and I would cram six or more of us in a car, roll two blunts, then drive around town with all the windows up, to get as high as possible and see who pussied out first by gasping for air. How could I take anything seriously with such a ridiculous regimen?
Life went on like that for a while. Party party party. Invincible. The pothead crew and the old crew had combined and it was beautiful display of debauchery; wake up late, go to bed late, bomb around shit-faced from house to house and wonder the next morning how we got home.
At a certain point I started to notice my friends growing up. They put thoughts and efforts into internships, and into their futures. As a 26-year old I am just now coming to believe that I might “go” somewhere, but back then I hated myself to death and the hope for betterment was extinguished by an extreme lack of faith.
I can see now that my mentality was simple. My mind-frame was: If I wasn’t going to amount to anything, (this was a fact), then there was but one option: the party must go on.
So it did.
Ultimately, the parties stopped working. The periods between binges got shorter, everything in life became unbearably unmanageable. My blackouts were getting darker, my mistakes were getting bigger, and the thirst for cocaine was something I absolutely could not quench.
For the first time, I truly felt that life was spinning out of control. Eventually, inevitably, it brought me to my knees.