It was another Tuesday afternoon. I'd bought some speed and I was finally taking it out of my backpack. I opened the small bag containing the pills, then I slowly started taking them. All of a sudden my roommate walked in and saw what I was doing, and before I knew it I was in the bathroom in a big tub of cold water. Then my roommate started scolding me and I started yelling back at him that it was my life and he should butt out and leave me alone!

Then he grabbed my shoulders and started shaking me. By this time I was freaking out because the speed had begun its work. Then my roommate stormed out and returned with a towel that he threw at me. I stepped out of the tub and used the towel to wipe off as much water as I could. When I looked up again he wasn't there, so I walked into my room. And there he was standing by the trash throwing away what was left of my speed. I told him, hey man, that's about fifty bucks right there, but he just looked at me and kept throwing the drug into the trash. Then I yelled again, "Hey man, that's fifty bucks right there!" But he frowned at me and shook his head and walked out of my room. After setting the trash in the kitchen he walked back to my room and stood at my door staring at me with really angry eyes. He said that I'd better clean up my act or he'd move out. I looked at him in amazement because we'd been friends since we first met at school and I didn't want to lose my best friend. So I told him that I would go to a recovery center.

A couple days later I was sitting in a room full of strangers that were talking about their addictions. I thought they were pathetic because they were talking about themselves and their problems. After going back to my assigned room I started to get shaky because I hadn't taken speed for a long time, and not having it really felt bad. I lay down and really felt sick through the whole night. I was shaking and sweating really hard. The next day I went back to the meetings and this time they chose me to speak. I looked around at everybody staring at me with zombie-like eyes and I got nervous and wanted to leave because it was hard to talk to them. But I just opened my mouth and started telling everybody what I had gone through. When I finished they came over and patted me on my back because I had made it this far and I was in recovery. They made me feel really good because I got it all out I felt these people were supporting me, and since then it's gotten easier to speak to them about my problems.

A couple months later the doctor told me I could go home but that I should stay away from all drugs. Then I called my roommate and told him to come and pick me up. After I hung up I found my new friends and said my goodbyes. I waved at them as I left the building, then I jumped into my roommate's car and we headed back to the apartment.

For a couple years now I haven't touched any drugs. My roommate just got married and he and his wife went off on their honeymoon. As I was walking back to my apartment from the wedding to change my clothes, I saw a person buying some drugs from a teenager. I felt really angry inside because I knew that used to be me. When I got back to my apartment I started to cook dinner. While I was cooking, though, I couldn't stop thinking about the kid who was selling drugs and how much it angered me. I wasn't paying attention and I burned myself on the pot I was handling. I dropped it and it splashed food all over the place. Ever since then, every time I cook I think of that stupid kid and about how stupid I was myself for even starting drugs!

By Robert Pitka