"Jimmy can I borrow a hundred dollars?" I asked my friend whom I had known since grade school. "I'll pay you back, I promise."

"What is it for, another one of your drug binges?" he asked, giving me a mean look and turning away to face the window. The silence between us was eerie. The room was dark and gloomy so I sat on the window seat to soak up some sunlight. Whatever I was going to say, he knew I was going to lie.

"NO! Actually it's not. I need to get a new coat. You know it's getting cold outside and all I have is this rag. Please!"

"This is the last time I'm going to lend you money! Next time save your pay check instead of blowing it all on crack." He was really mad by now as he dug in his wallet and threw a crispy hundred dollar bill at me.

My name is Char Kristi Alan, and my friend, Jimmy, says I have a drug problem.

I am 25 years old and have been on crack since I was 22 and a half. I told Jimmy I was depressed and needed something to pull me out of the hole. I kept believing I could quit anytime.

The alley was dark and I felt the cold rain soaking through my clothes and stinging my face as I walked in the blackness. Only little lights above the alley doors shined. I was trying to find the door with the number 187-666 on it. This man I was going to see was a drug dealer. Even though I'd been there a few times before I could feel my stomach twisting and turning as the door I was looking for came into sight.

"Hey it's the trash from the sidewalk," I recognized Antonio's voice as I shut the door and stepped in out of the rain. "Come, jump in the fire if you're cold. Nobody will even notice you're gone."

"Shut up, Antonio, you garbage eating skunk. Where's Marko? I need him right away. My trip is calling me," I said, stepping into the living room still dripping from the rain outside and playfully slapping Antonio on the head.

"Yeah, your trip to the dumpster outside. You've got to quit doing this stuff so much, Char. It'll put you in the hospital someday."

"Hey Marko! I'm down for a 20! Come on and give me some of that funky stuff. I don't feel normal without it," I said to Marko, ignoring Antonio's words of advice.

"Nobody cares about her," Marko said with a wide smile, only happy that I was a regular customer.

After I gave Marko a twenty dollar bill and did my "stuff" in the back room, I started out into the rainy night again. Only this time everything looked a lot darker than it did fifteen minutes ago. Even the lights above the doors seemed to be gray. All of a sudden the alleyway seemed to be swerving and I felt like I was walking up and down small hills. Geez, Christmas in September? I asked myself, as what looked like a Christmas tree with decoration lights came dancing down the street. As it got closer I unconsciously started to sing the song, "Oh Christmas Tree" and spun around and danced in the rain. The next thing I knew I was being handcuffed and thrown into the backseat of a car.

"For the last time, give me your name! Give me your goddamned name!" an officer was yelling in my face and I was too mellowed out to think straight. I felt a cold hand slapping me across my face, and my small body was about to fly over to the floor when another man grabbed me and sat me upright in the chair.

"Char!" I hollered in fright, "Char Kristi Alan!" I was scared out of my mind. I felt as if I had a gun to my head and a second away from being shot and left there to suffer. The room was spinning in small circles that grew larger and larger. Then it went black, everything, my whole world pitch black!

"I hate you Char. I hate you forever! I told you so many times to stop. You never listened, now I hate you," Jimmy's words seemed slow and his quiet sobs sounded like drums beating in my ears. That's when it hit me, like an anvil falling from a twenty story building, right on my heart. I had to quit. For Jimmy's sake and mine. I realized that he was the only one who cared about what happened to me, the only one in this world of hate. The only person who pushed me, urged and encouraged me to quit doing drugs.

That was the last time I did crack, two weeks ago. Two short weeks that seem like yesterday. Right now I'm in a rehab writing this report to remember how badly I was addicted then. When I think of it now, it is so disgusting and I can't believe that I let myself do something like that. But I'm glad it's over, all of it. I can almost live normally now, although I know nothing will ever be the same again. Jimmy and Gina Millie got engaged. I'm so happy for them. They are my best friends in the world and have been so kind to me ever since I stopped doing crack. They're having their engagement party tonight, and I'm invited. Gina said it's going to be a killer. I think I'll check it out.

Gina Millie's party was a killer. Char Kristi Alan was reported dead on September 28, 1996 at 10 a.m. from a drug overdose. Nobody knows why she did it. Her progress had been so good. The workers at the rehab have never experienced anything like this. We will just have to remember her for her motivation and determination to quit. She said she was going to quit for Jimmy, the only person who cared about her and loved her for what she was. I wish she had decided to quit for herself. Maybe if she'd done that, she would still be alive.