Editors’ Note: Due to the personal nature of the contents, the following column has been published anonymously. 

“I’m not exactly sure what happened last night, but I have two bruises on my knees, a red mark on my wrist and my body is in so much pain.”

Drugs, alcohol and lapses in memory are how I spent most of my nights into days of my eighth grade year. Putting the pieces of the night back together the next morning was not enough of a wake up call at the time. Looking back, I wish I understood you can’t fix the biggest struggles in life with a cycle of doing things that will damage your relationships and health.

I tested out drugs for the first time the summer I was 12 years old. My best friend stole a THC vape and as we smoked it in my neighborhood park, we didn’t realize what the feeling of being high would mean to us.

Several months later, in February, I remember telling my friend, “Why don’t we do something we aren’t supposed to?”

For some reason, that night we chose to drink for the first time.

That decision was only the beginning of my soon to be addiction to drugs and alcohol.

From there, I decided to reach out to a friend asking if I could buy drugs from her boyfriend. There I was, two weeks later, with a cart in my hand and $45 less in my wallet not realizing what I was doing with my life. I started smoking and drinking everyday whether it was at school, in the classroom, in my room or at my friends house on the weekends. I was so addicted to the feeling weed gave me, that I would even find myself crying if I or my friend did not have access to the drug.

I did not realize how severe the addiction was until later on. It quickly became a coping mechanism in a way. I found myself thinking I needed to feel something I couldn’t while I was sober. Inebriation was how I felt I’d be able to get through life.

I started experimenting and taking other drugs to try and find a faster high. I started selling stolen drugs and alcohol to other kids at school to make money to keep funding my own addiction. My grades were slipping, and I was barely hanging on to a grade that wouldn’t make my parents suspect anything was wrong.

From going to the gym, hanging out with other friends, spending time with family and going to school, I lost the desire to keep up with my normal activities and routines. My mood negatively changed — I went from being bubbly and active to usually being upset or tired. I felt like I was not going to get anywhere in life and would barely see the start of high school.

Before eighth grade ended, my friend and I got so desperate for a new experiment that we hatched a plan to buy narcotics. The 20-something year old dealer scammed us out of the $150 we earned through an allowance from our parents. In the moment we were pissed, but looking back, that moment was a blessing in disguise.

I did not realize the effect that the drugs had on me until I tried doing the things I used to.

The summer I turned 13, I went on a trip to visit a relative, and when I thought I was having allergies, I was actually experiencing the impact of smoking at the time. I was coughing non stop to the point of thinking I was going to throw up because I could not catch my breath. Every time I smoked I would cry uncontrollably to the point where I would have severe panic attacks.

When my little sister was born I thought “I have to change something,” however, I did not know how to quit because I was too scared to tell someone I was doing something illegal.

Once I got to ninth grade, I took a deep dive into depression and anxiety. I ended up getting very sick and needed an inhaler, benzonatate and another antibiotic.

After getting in trouble at school for drug related issues, I was put into a therapy called Dialectical Behavioral Therapy (DBT) and went every week or every other day depending on how I was doing.

When people realized what happened, some asked me how I got the money for the drugs. I was called a thief and some people thought I sold my body to get the drugs. At the time, I never thought people would think any differently of me for what I did, because I did not think it defined me. I still loved my family and friends. I never forced anyone to do anything, but what I did do during that time seemed to make people think differently of who I was as a person.

When my best friend was assigned to Dillard, I felt terrible and thought it was my fault. Sometimes the anxiety I felt about the situation got so bad that I was worried about whether she would even come to school the next day.

I realized how much everything hurt mentally, and I decided to quit so I would never hurt the people I loved the most again.

When I quit, I noticed my view on life changed.

I decided to go into law enforcement and wanted to join the military after high school. I want to have more of a purpose and want people to realize that what I did does not define me as a person.

I worked hard to get back up on my feet and change what I broke before. Hurting myself to fix a feeling that was not going to last forever could have changed my life permanently. I could have died, gotten a felony or ended up in jail. I never truly realized this when I did the crime, but afterwards, I knew I never wanted to feel the repercussions.

Coming from someone that has committed the crime, there are better ways to heal yourself than taking the chance of destroying your life. It may not seem like a big deal now or that it “won’t happen to me,” but trust me, you are not that different than every other teen going through the same thing. No one is alone, and asking for help before it gets too dangerous is better than any potential consequence you are scared of getting for telling an adult you committed a crime.