One Thing (Part Two)

“I know!” I lied, again.



This is how my addiction started. One experiment, one mistake, one night. I didn't know what this was, sure I learned about it in fifth grade health class, but this is where stories told in informational videos, became my life. My reality. This was my one thing that led to another. For the next month of my senior year I started to party. Pot turned into a pill, which turned into more pills, which then turned into heroin. My addiction.

Heroin came into my life on my spring break vacation with the senior class to Panama Beach. Once again, I acted like I knew this drug, like I had all the facts on what it did or even what it was. Around a dozen of students gathered into room 1519 and sat upon both of the queen sized beds. Only this time I was alone, I was walking back to my room when someone opened the door to let someone in. My curious mind must of stopped me in my tracks because a blurred “you coming in?” was mumbled towards me.

I sat on the bed closest to the window out of everyone’s way. Once again, the teenagers sat knee to knee on the beds and passed around a needle. This was new; this was not pot, and this I did know. Pot was not passed around in a needle, nor was in injected into your forearm as if you were giving yourself a shot. Pot had a different smell; this was not a good smell. The needle was passed to me last, after this needle had been shoved in each of these student’s veins. At this time, I didn’t care if it was put into thirty more veins of student’s I have never met. I wanted a rush, a new rush.

This drug ran through my veins and gave me the rush I had been dreaming of. That rush of trouble, danger and no longer being the picture perfect little girl my parents thought I was. I would no longer feel the need to pay any attention or respect to my teachers. No longer would I fake facials and keep tight jumps at cheer. I wanted the high, I did not want school, good grades or to cheer.

Around the end of April everything was spiraling down, I was not in any condition to care. I only remember bits and pieces of the party I was at this night. I cannot recall whose it was, how I got there, or who I had even shared my needle with this night. My parents received a call this night, I do remember this. As a result my grades dropped drastically causing my academic scholarship chances go to waste. My coach had kicked me off of the cheer squad and would not agree to writing recommendation letters to colleges. My parents became disappointed with me for my lack of participation in school or sports. My high class appearance in designer clothes and bags became sweats and t-shirts. My eyes where outlined in dark circles and my skin was pale and dirty, I no longer cared about anything.

“Mr. and Mrs. Oliver, I need to talk to you.” this was all I remember hearing from the next room where the conversation took place. I woke up around three in the morning, my mothers head was on the foot of where I laid and her left had held onto my ankle. Iv's started at my forearm and worked their way down to a yellow plastic bracelet that read “Caitlyn R. Oliver”. I laid still and my eyes wondered around the room. My father’s head laid in the palm of his hands as he sat in the corner in a green padded chair. Nurses and doctors paced the halls, placing clipboards in the doors of rooms across the hall.

“Mom?” I whispered. I must of startled her because she sat up quick and gasped for a breath of air. I asked her what had happened and she explained the situation. I had been at a party earlier in the night and overdosed on heroin, when Keegan dropped me off at Lilly’s, her mother had called my mother. I could hear the disappointment in her voice. Was this really what I wanted, to loose everything I had worked so hard for; respect, good grades, and cheer? A week after hospital visits and over nights, I was placed in a drug and alcohol abuse rehab.

I had hit rock bottom and there was no where to go but up. Cheer leading for school was no longer an option, because of my grades I was not aloud to be on any school sport. I had barely a month left of school and outpatient rehab every night, so summer school was my only option. My parent’s trust was not coming my way anytime soon, I could only wait and take advantage of every opportunity I had to gain it back. My parents had taken away my keys, so my car was only on display for the next few months.


I graduated high school a year late with a 2.9 GPA. I then went on to attend college for four years with my major undecided for my first two years. I will admit, my life will never be the same as it was when I started my first year of my senior year. No longer would I be the preppy rich girl who had everything. I was now the preppy rich girl who had everything, and still wasn’t happy. My addiction made me who I was. Money and designer things do not make the person, it is the life they have lived and what they will make of their future. How people take their life and what they make of it is up to them, you do not need money or designer clothes to do so, and this is what my addiction taught me.



My mother was right the whole time. The five words I tuned out every time I heard her say them, were right the entire time. One thing leads to another, and I learned this the hard way.





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