People asked me to write more so here goes post 2 for today.
9th grade exposed me to sex, drugs and rock and roll. I had gained a friend that had a car. She was older than the rest of us and taught us all about sex. Of course we all thought we had to try it. My first time was with a guy who is now a very flamboyant gay man. We had our suspicions about him back then as I am sure he knew but sleeping with me must have driven him over the edge. This means one of two things...I am either really really good, or really really bad at it. My friends were known as sluts. At this point I was only a slut in training. I remember stealing a sign for my friend to hang on her door that said "Go home and practice." She needed it for all of the popular boys who would go to her house to get laid, suck at it, and then go to school the next day only to treat her like crap, deny anything ever happened and call her names. Since Karma is awesome, most of those assholes ended up knocking a girl up, drinking too much, staying in El Paso and doing nothing with their lives. It is truly sad when high school is the high point of peoples lives.
It wasn't until the summer of 9th grade that something change in my social situation. A long time "friend," who is now an overweight alcoholic with a cocaine problem (karma), accused me of stealing $100 from her brothers room during a back to school party. I didn't do it but my best friend believed that I did and stopped being my friend right before school started.
I was now entering Coronado High School alone. I still had my slutty mentor and a new badass Colombian girl with a passion for getting high and reaking havoc. That summer, before my 15th birthday, my old BFF had tried acid. I was so angry with her. I lectured her on the evils of drug use and explained how it destroyed me that she did it the day before my birthday. Soon enough, I wanted to try it. During my 1st period class a really fat young man had made a deal with me. If I were to take 2 hits of acid right at that moment I could have it for free. Me being the moron that I was, decided that would be a good idea. 2nd period was orchestra. All I remember is that there was a test. The notes on the sheet of music started falling to the ground. My teacher is one of the strictest people on the planet and she knew something was up and she sent me to the nurse once I bursted into tears. The nurses office was in completely green room. It was a very odd place to find myself the first time I did acid. I managed to make it through school by convincing the nurse I had taken diet pills, I am not sure how. I did this not only because I was curious but I really wanted to be cool. I just went about it in a really bad way.
Pot was easy to get in high school and another friend dared me to eat as much as I could out of a huge bag she had. We had a school assembly that day and I had a profound thought. "If an alien came down and sall this event, I wonder what they would think of us clapping." After school, I went to my friends house where she proceeded to find me in the fetal positon rocking back and forth licking a Butterfinger wrapper.
My girls and I shared a locker and hung our bras up in it. Yes, we were that cool. Mine was green, the Colombian had the black one and the slut had the red one. Homecoming was coming up and a nice young man asked me to go with him. We wore mums on our arms and his was the last mum I would ever get. One weekend I was grounded, I got a call from a friend who had told me, David had died by jumping off a bridge into the Rio Grande and breaking his neck. We weren't going out persay, but we were close and it was very sad when he died. I just remember not wanting to feel anything then more than ever. Instead of going to his funeral, I ditched school and went to the park to get high. I thought thats what he would have wanted. Delusional. I had made friends with a very nice girl who hung out with me and kindof took me under her wing until I slept with her boyfriend. Which I still hate myself for. I am very lucky that she is still in my life and has forgiven me my past.We did acid together a lot, the first time I took mushrooms was with her, all in all we had a blast..for awhile. A friend of mine had asked me If I wanted to "trip." I didnt know what was on the menu that night but it was something called Jimson Weed. Most people only do this drug once. Not me, I did it several times. It was a terrible drug. My Mother had to watch me hallucinate for days and wondered if I was going to ever come back. This particular drug killed a few people we knew. They suffocated from eating dirt thinking it was water. One night, I was going to walk home when I had drank a lot of the Jimson Juice and for some reason, my good friend noticed I was leaving and threw me in a car. If it wasn't for her that night, I don't think I would have made it home. Angels. I have many, Thank God.
I was still in orchestra and that year we were gearing up to compete in England. The thing about drugs that I love the most is that they were able to stop my never ending thought. To call my thoughts racing is not enough. Constantly I have been bombarded by thoughts, mostly negative, and as a selfish teenager that does not have a lot of knowledge, it can be a very scary, lonely place.
The most unfortunate part of my early journey is my failure to maintain any morals and my ability to think only of myself and not care who I hurt in the process. It was as if I hurt badly inside and I was going to hurt as many people that cared about me so they would know how it feels. Since I have been passed this way of thinking for awhile, I cringe to think about all of the negative things I have done and I will spend the rest of my life trying to tip the scale of karma back in my favor.
In my sophomore year of high school, I was also introduced to something called speed, A friend of mine told me it was better for you than coke and that it is o.k. to do it. We went to a gross studio apartment and these two greasy, acne riddled mid 20's men pulled out some tin foil and introduced me to the drug that will steal your soul and leave you wondering if you ever had one to begin with. Crystal Meth, or Crank, as I knew it, made me feel 10 feet tall and bullet proof. I would sneak out at night to do it, I introduced several of my friends to it, and one of them ended up marrying the greasy older guy that introduced it to me. I will forever hate myself for that. BTW, I really don't hate myself, its just my way of saying I know how terrible I was, I can't even believe I was this person and I am very glad I killed that part of me.
By the time summer had come along, my life was in shambles. It doesn't take long with that crap. I no longer felt the need to attend classes, I was failing all of them anyway. My mom felt it was really important to join the orchestra in England. I had plans for England. I was going to party like a rock star. We went to a family reunion and I overheard my Mother explaining to her family how difficult I had become and him responding "Well, what do you expect from those adopted ones." Needless to say that really hurt my feeligs which I showed by getting extremely angry.
Finally the time for England had arrived. I smuggled marijuana there in my cello and my cigarette pack. My thoughts were that customs was unlikely to check us since we were all dorks. Successful in my endeavor we arrived in England. A friend and I managed to get seperated from the group and lost in London. It took $80 to get us back to where we were supposed to be. I got away from the group as often as possible and got high, met up with locals and smoked hash, tried ecstasy, made out with a young man from the Harvard choir at a wine tasting festival and spent way too much on a 6 pack of budweiser; which I did not realize was considered an import. I loved England, it was the first place I could real feel the History. One night, a few friends decided to get drunk with me, I was the one that went to get the whiskey. Teachers Whiskey to be precise. I don't know why I ended up in the hotel room of the Orchestra directors son but there I was. We drank almost the whole bottle to ourselves. When I got back to the hotel, the instructor was waiting for me. She said "stay away from my son," She just kept repeating that. At this point, I was probably suffering from alcohol poisoning and I tried to slosh myself up the stairs. On the way down the stairs at the same time was the assistant principal. A middle aged bitter woman that seemed to take pleasure in the suffering of troubled teens. (Or so I thought then) She knew I was drunk. I was then taken back to my room, where I started to vomit profusely all over myself and crying "I don't even know who gave birth to me." For some reason,, that fact was bothering me more than usual that night. The next day I had to got to Anne Hathaways house. Note to readers: Do not go there with a hangover, people were really short there and you will repeatedly hit your head. I had to spend the rest of the trip with the assistant principal. When I got home, my mother was devestated...again.
I was getting ready to enter my 2nd sophomore year and my final year in primary education. I had met a boy in England named Tony. He was a really nice guy. We walked on the beach together, he treated me really well and I treated him like crap in return. It didn't last. I often wonder how he is.
At this point I was partying all the time. Getting high was no longer the event. It was the thing I did before, during and after the event. I worked at a steakhouse as a hostess and I had money to go to Juarez on the weekend. By this time, I had found a love for cocaine and rophynol (date-rate drug) I would always score from the same guy on Friday nights. One night, a different guy was there. I followed him through the streets of Juarez until we got to a shack covered in white powder. I didn't realize I was in trouble until he threw me on the bed. I remember his hands around my throat and me pleading with him to let me go. He was ripping my shirt and prying my legs open on a dirty bed. I fought. I scratched, I did anything in my power to get the hell out of there. I couldn't understand what was happening to me. He was trying to kiss me as I struggled to get away from him when suddenly, for whatever reason, I broke away from him and hauled ass outside. I had no idea where I was so I started running as fast as I could. I am not sure how, but I found my way back to the club where my friends were and pretended like nothing had happen. It is a good thing my angels fly faster than I did when I wanted to score coke.
My memories of Mexico are reasonably blurry. I remember jumping out of the window of a moving vehicle, yelling about drug prices with a man who had a gun, getting arrested and having the cops steal our cocaine, and several other dangerous episodes from which I have no idea how I survived. That brings me up to the Spring of 1999. Things are about to get interesting.
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