A few weeks later i had a party at my gf’s. we invited lots of people (whom which had coke with them) and had a good time. Everyone pulled out there white bags nd sniffed my house down…as so did I. Free drugs at a party?! ”Why Not?” i said. That time i felt more high than the first time.

Months pass on and i got a really good job. Someone I knew asked me on the street if i was taking it. i replied, ”now n again”. He gave me a phone number and told me it was strong so i thought wow. So on my next payday i called him up and told him i wanted £20 worth. i got it and it lasted me all night! i played video games, had a few beers and went on a walk. it didnt feel heavy what-so-ever.

Nearly a year goes by, I am buying it every payday but sometimes its more than £20. I call my friends up on a friday and was exited about the weekend…..NOT COS ITS FRIDAY……Because i have money for cocine. There was one night i wont forget. No alcohol was consumed that night, just cocaine. Got the £40 worth and did it all in  hours. I had more money and said this was supposed to be my money for fags for the week? but everything else was paid so Fuck it! lets do it!! i got another £40 and spanked it in an hour. The night was dragging along so harshly, I felt like I was in a cage and I couldn’t move and the one thing i had in my head was more more MORE!! we could not gat anymore and went home thinking of alternatives of getting it. We failed, but we knew this wasn’t the end of the story….

3 years have passed and i have been off and on with cocaine. most months i say i was going to quit for good and i always had that scratch in the back of my mind when i got money. my gf just told me she was pregnant. No words could of described how i was feeling. I was Mad, Happy, Aggressive, Upset, Shocked and paranoid of my future. Cocaine was half of my life at this point and EVEN then…that very moment i said to myself in my head how was i going to afford coke and a baby? I am an arse-hole. I got to a point where none of my old friends wanted to hang around with me nor my family. After a few days, we decided to keep the baby and try to change our lives…..

My little Girl was born in Febuary and she is the greatest thing that has happened to me. I stopped taking coke for a while. Not because i had to…but because i didnt think of it. It was that simple….something greater came into my life and i forgot all about it.

My 20th birthday was a day i would not lke to remember but cut a long story short i got a gram cos i was drunk..then another one…then another. until i called up my dealer and said its my birthday and could he do me another gram until i get paid. He didnt mind…but that was a question i will live to regret.

4 years pass and i am in the worst state of my life! surprisingly i am still working and have a secure job with them. i still take coke because i think it is all of what i know. i dont drink i dont smoke weed all i do is cocaine…and lots. The same dealer from before will still let me run up a coke bill until i get paid. The worst i ever did was £500 in a month all on tick. I am a wild dog who needs a leash. I am not ashamed for asking directions, just ashamed of who i am.

Every cocaine user has an upsetting story but i believe we can delete them pages in our book of life and re-write the future ones. I know i can stop. I just dont know how….

What could I do – I was in love, and the thought of losing him to another woman, who might be happy to join in the plan – get him and all the money – just for helping out, I couldn’t bear to think of that. Not being a mule or anything risky like that, said Marcos, just tying up a few loose ends – like booking rooms in the hotels, hiring a car in my name. He said he wouldn’t force me into doing anything I didn’t want to do – he’d leave right there and then. If I never contacted him back – then he would understand – otherwise to call back within the week.

He was gone, and my emotions were all over the place. Of course I knew it was wrong, risky but after a sleepless night decided there was no other way to go and called up Marcos to say I’m in.

So I took a flight to where we were picking up the cocaine – booked the car, hotels. Marcos, his uncle and brother followed on the next plane and after I picked them up in the car, they dropped me back at my hotel. After the flights had gone that they were returning on, I was to pick up the car and take it back to the hire company – get myself on another plane, and get myself back home.

But it never happened like that in the end, because all three of them got arrested at the airport, each with a kilo strapped to them, and when I went to pick up the car in long term parking – a cop wandered over, put his head in the window and said I was arrested on suspicion of narcotics possession.

There was no bail, we had no money – I was surprised how quickly the prison regime completely takes over your life. My love for Marcos had evaporated, I just wanted to survive.

But I heard the stories – an air hostess in Canada jailed for 8 years for narcotics possession – they had four kilos – we had only three but still possession is possession. Other would-be cocaine smugglers had 500 kilos in a boat, worth over $16m and all charged with conspiracy. Then $8.4m of cocaine was seized in the Caribbean.

It was reported in 2009 by the National Geographic that cocaine residues can be found on 90% of American and Canadian bills.

They even found cocaine floating in a lake after a small plane had crashed – and cocaine in the suitcase of a child travelling to Toronto. One Toronto man had to be operated on after he swallowed 45 ping pong ball sized packets of cocaine, the CBC News reports.

I had no idea before how big the cocaine problem is – and trembled with fear at the sentence I would get. Worst of all was how my parents were so cut up about it, sure, we were poor but they had done all that they could to give me honest values, they were distraught, and couldn’t understand why I’d let myself get involved.

Both Marcos and his uncle got given 5 years each, and the brother got 5 as well, I was expecting I would get five, but the judge took a different view – I ended up with three years on probation because of the undue influence that Marcos had over me. Of course it meant that I was made to sound like a fool – that didn’t go down too well with me at all.

I was in love, it was a crime of passion, meant to get us out of the deadly poverty trap we were in, get us up with those people who have personal millions that they never worked for, give us a happy life with all the money we needed.

Then I hear that a lot of rich people are users of cocaine. It doesn’t make sense to me – if I had their kind of money, I never would touch the stuff.

My ex was a very successful, handsome attorney. Graduated from college and law school with high honors. I was a young college student when I met him out on the town one night with my girlfriends. He was relentless at trying to get my phone number. I toyed with him all night waiting/hoping he would get tired of me and go away. I just wasn’t interested having just broken up with my boyfriend. He didn’t go away – instead he melted my heart with his sheepish grin and I gave him my number. There began a breathtaking romance that my roommate said made me “glow”. He drank moderately and smoked an occasional joint. He exercised and took great care of himself — gave me grief for smoking. Within a few months he talked marriage and babies. I was very happy with him but it was all happening so fast, i told him i wasn’t ready…he was sad, he was 9 yrs older and ready..took it as a rejection. He began pulling away..I tried to bring him back …had a revelation,told him i was ready for marriage now, babies..but he was no longer interested…thus began the torturous part of our story.

I tried like hell to get him back…we would have crazy coincidental meetings..a phone call here and there, maybe a dinner..but he was moving on. My sometimes desperate attempts to reach him were met with occasional cruelty. He would set up a date only to cancel or stand me up. He would dangle the carrot only to yank it away. Slowly eroding my self-esteem..my friends and family hated him and were disappointed in my apparent lack of pride. I knew he was playing me but I couldn’t let go.

Years went by and i slowly moved on..got involved in a church..still had crazy coincidental run-ins with him..always excited to see him but much less hopeful about any reconciliation. 7 yrs after we met, he invited me to a bbq..brought a friend with me..he acted like a jerk. Constantly running into the bathroom, wasted..not being a great host. I was stunned..who was this guy? His friends were different…not like his friends when we were dating years ago. They were kinda…trashy. didn’t really see him much after that…fast forward 1 yr..he saw me at a large party..came up to me upset saying “we had to talk”. I left with him…kinda excited..but cautious. Got in his car and he immediately wanted to do cocaine. AAArgh, told him to stop the car and let me out. Told me he was kidding and convinced me to stay.. he then began to pour his heart out..he said he was “messed up”. I stroked his hair and said “no sweetie, you’re ok”. Back at his townhouse, he threw up. Acted nonchalant about it. Showed me a gun he had purchased…poured out his heart some more, said he was a loner..but said he and i had a bond. thought we made a connection again that night but he was back to his old tricks…setting up dates and cancelling them. About a month later, he left an odd sounding voicemail for me..he had bought a house and wanted me to see it..said i would love it. Never followed through on it though. A few weeks later i took a job across the country. I never said good-bye or let him know i was leaving. I thought he didn’t care and I needed to finally close this chapter. On my last day as i was driving to the airport, I passed him coming towards me in the opposite direction. He was fidgeting in his seat like he couldn’t get comfortable. He didn’t see me and that was the last time i ever saw him. I erased him from my mind..made all new friends who never heard of this guy and all my heartache over him. It was so nice to start fresh.

Fast forward 13 yrs..got curious and googled him. Found out he died 6 months after I left town. Called the county morgue — acute cocaine toxicity. They said he had been “found”. I was an innocent…had no idea he was hooked on cocaine. Now I can’t believe I didn’t realize it. I’ve cried and cried over the news. I am heartbroken. So for all you addicts who see loved ones leave your side…they still love you. And they always will…they just have to protect themselves.

Then, out of nowhere, a brain-shuttering wail of sirens was more than audible. That was the last thing this closely knit fraternity would desire. The sound of heavy-engine vehicles could be heard approaching. Now the activities changed from putting off the fire to running for dear life. Law enforcers had been the fraternity’s dangerous enemy and even the little ones had been taught that. People were bumping on each other as they ran to find a safe hide out. Others were being trampled on after tripping on the clutter.

I could hear the sound of someone shouting instructions. I edged over and saw a huge, heavily dressed man dragging a heavy dark hose. The yellow flames were getting closer and closer and it was getting warmer and warmer. Then suddenly I realized that there was no more noise and everyone seemed to have disappeared. Then the hushed voices behind alerted me of the presence of intruders in my hideout. I quickly moved away from them and found myself another haven.

I saw it, neatly packaged in a clear plastic bag. I could hardly believe my luck. He must have dropped it accidentally while freeing. I carefully opened the wrapping and gave myself a generous helping. The feeling was comparable to no other. The heat was becoming more and more unbearable. I had to move. I tried to crawl but my foot was stuck. As I bent over to free it, something heavy knocked my head. Gradual darkness fell over me.

I woke up in a funny smelling brightly lit room. My head hurt so badly.  I could feel the ache in my whole body as my eyes followed the visible parts of my body, all covered in bandages. I could hear a concerned voice talking about me. I was only thirteen, having been hooked on cocaine for as long as I can remember.

I had not known of any other world other than my street family. The kind nurse offered to help me clean up, go to school and make something of myself. I now have an opportunity to dream, where do I start? How do I help my street family?

Snorting cocaine’s a bit like shooting yourself in the head, with a much smaller barrel and your own breath providing the momentum. The shot goes straight to the brain, literally, but unlike a bullet it makes you feel amazing.

My nose burns the way I like it. The three powder-lines left on the bathroom granite call my name but I know I’d better not. Keli snorts the next line and her head quivers the way it always does; a quick, almost imperceptible jolt that most people wouldn’t see, the bullet striking home.

Sandra takes the next one and her eyes glaze for a few seconds as she stares at her reflection in the mirror, her hand rubbing softly at her nose. “Just rub it in circles,” says Keli. She knows that a persons’ first time can be a bit uncomfortable. I’m surprised she remembers her first time with it being so long ago.

Keli and Sandra look at each other: “Fuck them all!” they shriek in unison. The three of us jauntily take our leave of the now stifling bathroom, each grinning like the village idiot. With cocaine playing its wonderful game on our dopamine receptors, it’s going to be very difficult to put us down tonight.

We head to the dance floor, and Keli has spotted something she likes. I lose sight of her roundabout approach towards mister whoever because I’ve seen something I like too. At the centre of the dance floor is a girl and we lock eyes. She’s blonde and very pretty and her smile is inviting. We do that awkward dance floor shuffle, maneuvering through the swaying crowd, tripping over feet and bumping into legs whilst trying to maintain an element of finesse. Next we’re dancing together, my hands on her hips and hers round my neck. It’s like living in TiVo, the same story again and again. I chase the same notion of love every night, almost always succeeding in finding someone to pretend to have something in common with and take home, to distract myself from the fact that my relationships are as emotional as the inside of an empty operating theatre, and that I chase after anything I can that’ll help me forget that fact.

I find out her name is Nicola, and the night continues with drinks at my place. A few covert trips to the bathroom to top up and we’re on our way – same old same old.

I know the morning’s going to be bad because of the light. It cuts into my psyche like a surgeons’ scalpel through flesh, and that’s just the light. The inside of my fragile mind feels broken, and the world looks terrifying threatening. I don’t know how I’m going to deal with Nicole.

Thankfully she’s one of those ones; pragmatic. She’s picked up her stuff and is nowhere to be seen. Probably woke up next to my scrawny frame and decided to scram. Fucking slut, but at least I don’t have to deal with her today.

And so it goes. I’ll have a few glasses of water and get through the day. At least I don’t have to chug three espressos and get to work, thank god for the holidays. Tonight will likely be the same as last, and tomorrow the same as today, just a little gloomier.

But for a few hours tonight it’ll all be great again, just wish someone would draw that fucking curtain closed.

Because I wonder what people go through and how there lives are affected. Personally I think the stories are deep. Hard to finish reading and knowing what’s going to happen. But only way to know is to keep going. I do cocaine quit often and I’m always thinking of doing some drug or getting it. I’m a quite calm person but I’m not slopy. I can control myself easily. But except when I’m doing cocaine. Like once I do it I keep doing it. But when it’s all gone I start thinking. And I go into a mood where I’m saying I’m going to straightin up but I keep making the wrong decisions. Really hard to explain. But maybe someone will understand.

I made a bad decision letting my friend try it and he’s keep saying “Dude I’m think I’m going to do this every day now. I love it.” I’m just sitting there just thinking what a mess I am.

-jesse7832

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“Daddy, I’m hungry,” said my son softly. I could only imagine the smells my son was getting from the room, drugs, sex, and alcohol.  All night partying and snorting coke, drinking until my body said stop.  I can only hope the woman I brought home saw herself out that night, as I never noticed nor cared.  I managed to pull myself out of bed, but the aftermath of the party soon kicked in and I immediately felt sick and crawled to the bathroom.  Out of the corner of my eye I could see my son looking at me with such an innocent look, not really knowing what his daddy was doing.  It sometimes surprised me though that he never asked what was wrong, or maybe I was just ignorant enough to not pay any attention to it.  After throwing up the entire nights stomach contents, I pulled myself to look in the mirror.  An absolute monster is all I saw, my eyes were blood shot and face was swollen.  Around my nose was red and dry, with some crusty blood still hanging on.  I had not shaved in a few days, and really looked as if I had spent a month in a refugee camp.  Is this what my son saw; was this the image I was projecting to him?  I tried my best to clean myself up, but it seemed to be no use, this would have to do.

Walking down the stairs was a challenge, my son had went ahead of me; yet, my depth perception was completely off, what was actually one step seemed to be three.  When I came into the kitchen he was already sitting at the table.  I couldn’t quite make out what he was playing with, but when I got in for a closer look I knew exactly what it was.  When I had come in that night, I left my wallet, keys, and few grams of cocaine on the kitchen table.  I tried to focus and actually believe what I was seeing; my son had opened the cocaine and had spread it all over the table.  He was looking at me with a playful face, pure innocence, and had the empty bag in one hand and a straw in the other.  He looked right at me and said,

“Look, I’m just like daddy,” If I had a gun, I would have put it to my head and pulled the trigger to wake from this nightmare, but it wasn’t a nightmare.  Two nights before, I was having a poker night, and we were all doing lines while playing poker and my son had walked in as I was snorting a line.  I never saw him staring at me until I looked up and screamed at him to leave the room.

I now realized my son had seen a true cocaine monster and was no longer afraid.  He stared at me from that table with no fear, and without any words clearly told me I was a worthless cocaine addict and this was the son I was raising into a man.

I opened the door to the room and was pushed back by the smell of body odor, knowing that the room as not seen a thorough cleaning and was likely rented multiple times today.  The prostitute followed behind me keeping a safe distance, but she knew I had the cash and the drugs to get us through the weekend, so instinctively she would follow me in.  This girl was no different, she needed to support her drug habit and her regular ‘johns’ would be guys like me; family men with money and jobs, no longer caring what happens to me.  I hadn’t seen my wife and kids in over a week and I was barley running my business, or what was left of it.

There was nothing to the room, one twin bed up against the wall, a broken television, and one lamp on a small table with a chair next to it.  Fortunately in this room the air conditioner was working, but that wouldn’t take care of the smell lingering in the room.  Everything in the room was a dark brown color, mainly due from all the cigarette smoke, which masked a lot of the smells coming from the carpet and the bed. The hooker took a seat on the bed and started fiddling in her purse.  She made it look like she was looking for smokes, but was giving herself reassurance the mace was within reaching distance.

I made my way into the bathroom, there was no shower curtain, and that bathroom had not been cleaned since the last occupants, there were used condoms floating in the toilette, along with cigarette butts.  No syringes, tinfoil, brillo, or drug residues anywhere; the room was likely used by a man getting his lunchtime fix with one of the local hookers in the area.  These girls had their regulars and this would be the spot to meet, as it was temporary place to disappear that ironically enough everybody knew about.  I lit up my first hit of crack in the bathroom and I could hear the woman prepping lines on the table.  I got the rush I needed and then prepped my next hit and walked back into the other room.  The hooker was sucking back lines on the table, and I knew at this rate, I would be making another call to my dealer before the night was out.