I was first introduced to drugs when I was a preteen, and s…

I was first introduced to drugs when I was a preteen, and somehow it became the start of a cycle I still can’t seem to fully escape. I’m not proud of it, and my words probably won’t sound perfect, but I need to say this somewhere.

I was just a kid when it began. I started with “soft” stuff over-the-counter medications, syrups, even paint. I was ten years old, lonely, bullied, and completely unaware of what I was doing to myself. People always called me weird, but no one ever stopped to ask why. I think a part of me just wanted to feel quiet for once, to stop the noise inside my head. Drugs gave me that silence. For a while, they made the world feel less cruel.

By the time I was thirteen, I was already smooking. It started with toobacco, just to deal with the stress of feeling invisible, then someone I thought was a friend introduced me to weed. I still remember the first time I smelled it I felt alive and calm in a way I had never felt before. That “love at first smoke” moment became my escape, my coping mechanism, and eventually, my downfall.

The years that followed were an endless loop of “recovery” and relapse. I’d stop for a few months, swear I was done, and then find myself crawling back when life got too heavy again. Every time I went back, I felt myself getting slower, duller, less capable of doing the simplest things. My memory got worse, my speech changed, my energy disappeared. I started to feel like a broken version of who I once was.

Therapy didn’t help much either. At one point they thought I had schizophrenia and put me on risperidone. It only made everything worse. I overdosed once took too many pills trying to quiet my mind and ended up in the hospital for two days. When I woke up, I felt ashamed, empty, and somehow still alive. That was when I decided maybe dying wasn’t the answer after all.

I eventually graduated, even though it was through special education because of my mental health. It wasn’t easy, but I did it. I got accepted into cosmetology school and for the first time, I thought maybe I could rebuild my life.

Then I met my boyfriend. He’s the kindest person I’ve ever known. He saw past all of it the mistakes, the scars, the self-sabotage and helped me believe I could still be someone worth loving. He made me want to be better. For a while, I actually was.

But lately, everything’s been piling up again. School stress, family problems, money worries all of it feels like too much sometimes. And today, I slipped. I bought weed again. I haven’t smoked it, but I’m sitting here staring at it, hating myself for even thinking about it.

My boyfriend hugged me and told me it was okay, but I could see the worry in his eyes. He cried, and that broke me more than anything else. I feel like I betrayed him, betrayed the version of myself I promised I’d become.

I don’t know what to do. I want to throw it away, but part of me can’t let go. Maybe it’s because weed feels like an old friend who ruined me but still whispers comfort when everything feels too hard.

I regret everything the choices, the moments I lost, the people I hurt. But more than anything, I regret not loving myself enough to stop when I still had the chance.

I just want peace. I want to feel clean again. I want to rest without needing something to numb me.

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