Call of the Monster This work is considered exceptional by our editorial staff.

By , Pueblo, CO
I hate being here. I keep muttering this mantra to myself, through my breathing respirator. You can’t hate being here. This stupid hospital is why you are still alive, and why you’re going through with drawls. It’s in your better interest. I’ve been having this evil battle with myself for the better half of three years. What started out as a nice way to unwind with my friends, became my downfall.

At the tender age of fourteen me and some friends discovered the wonders of marijuana. It began as something to experiment with. Walking around, stoned out of our minds, it was a great way to relieve some stress. It became something I needed to make it through the week. It became almost as bad as nicotine with drawls for me. Withdrawing from my friends seemed to be the best option to keep them off of my trail. My parents just thought I was depressed. Withdrawing from things you used to like is after all a flashing neon sign that someone is depressed.

My tolerance to the marijuana became way too high, and the money I was spending was no longer worth the high I was receiving. I wanted something stronger. I began speaking with my dealer, and with some other shady looking characters, which put me into contact with something stronger; acid, and cocaine.

Believe it or not, I never thought this was going to happen. I never planned on becoming a coke fiend. I never planned on needing something to feel like I was functioning throughout the day. I never planned on becoming the girl that people look at shake their heads, and move to the other side of the street to avoid. I never planned on selling my body, and selling anything that wasn’t nailed down to feed my monster.

One of the worst feelings in the world is waking up next to someone you hardly remember, naked, not knowing who he is, what his story is, but knowing why he calls you, and no matter how much you despise him for what he does, you know you need him. Talk is cheap, cocaine is not.

Three years after my down fall, I’ve finally began to recover. I didn’t wake up to my life, I didn’t magically decide I wanted to change my ways, and to this day, I still am not sure if I want to change. Or for that matter if I even can change.

Waking up in the hospital was a scary feeling. Not knowing why I woke up here hurt, and knowing how bad my with drawls have been hurts worse. I can honestly say that I don’t know what is going to happen to me, if I’m going to stay clean or not. All I can feel is my heart beating faintly, and the lull of my monster beating stronger.





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