Cocaine Addiction

I’ve got to figure out a way to get out of here.   They may think they can keep me from leaving this house, even nailing shut my windows, but I will find a way out.  They can’t watch me all the time; after all, they do have to sleep.

At least I have the Internet and Facebook, even though they took my cell phone. I’m so angry that I want to scream.  I’ve got to get out of this prison they call home.

They are doing it for my own good.  How many times have I heard that?  Yeah right, all they are trying to do is control my life – keep me from having fun with my friends.   So what if I tend to miss curfew and so what that they found the little plastic bag hidden in the back of my sock drawer, its only cocaine.  My grades are decent, I don’t miss school, and so what’s the big deal?  It isn’t like I have a problem.

What were they doing snooping through my stuff anyway?  I’ll have to ask that the next time the prison warden allow me access to the rest of the prison – probably at dinnertime.

I’ve got to get out of this place, and when I do, I’m not coming back.  They are going too far with this madness.  I don’t have a problem; obviously they have the problem, locking me up like a common criminal, saying they are going to get me help.

I need a line and I need it NOW!! I’ve noticed my hands are shaking, and I’m starting to feel a little anxious.  This is what happens when you’re treated like a criminal by your parents, it makes you freak out.  A line would calm me down.  I know it would, it always does.  And they say it’s dangerous, addictive – HA!  If they only knew how much it had helped me through finals, preps for the SAT’s, and those endless college applications to get into one of the Ivy league schools that they were so intent on me going to, they would probably change their tune, but listening is something they won’t do.

I have an idea – I’ll message James, he’ll know what to do, how to break me out of these four walls that were once my bedroom, but have become my own personal prison.  He has the answer to everything, not to mention he’s always there when I need him.

Just as I knew he would, James comes through again.  He’s going to hide some coke beside the swing-set in the back yard, which means all I need to do is convince the prison guard that calls herself my mother that I need to get some fresh air.  Even if she sits beside me and observes every move I make, which I know she will, I know I can pick it up without her noticing.

I’ll message James and tell him to make sure he puts it in the grass at the base of the left swing leg, facing towards the back door, that way I won’t have to look for it, and I can drop something on the ground, and when I pick it up, grab the tiny bag to.  Mom will be none the wiser.

I’ll make sure he sends me enough to get me through this prison sentence, all while being the perfect son, and before you know it, I’ll be back in business.   I’m going to owe James big for this, but I don’t mind.

I feel better already, knowing that in less than an hour my little piece of heaven will be waiting below.   Now if I can get the parents to stop crying all the time and telling me that I have a problem, life will once again be good.

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