vee unwound

The first substance I ever used was weed. 

It was the summer between grade eight and grade nine, so I was however old. My friend Connor had a “cool” dad. He had a dresser in his bedroom dedicated only to porn magazines, he had a painting in the living room depicting slaves in the field, and he was quick to yell when we did something he thought was bad under his roof– even though it was actually his girlfriend's roof, I later found out.

I remember he showed us how to make a pipe out of tinfoil, and then showed us how to use it in the garage. His girlfriend's dingy garage that smelled like paint was the first place I ever got high, with my weird friend and his racist dad. It was so fucking good.

The next time I used it was a year later, the following summer. I was at a friend's apartment. She was my friend by extension. My rapist was her friend, and since my rapist was called my girlfriend at this time, she was my friend too. Her boyfriend was there, a boy (man?) who was certainly too old to be with her. He was smoking crack on her pink double bed. I didn’t know it was crack, I was young and uninformed so I actually thought it was weed, and since I hadn’t gotten high for about a year I was itching to do it again. 

This time was different. Life changing– literally. Thank god I didn’t get hooked on crack but I did get hooked on the feeling. I think I can trace the start of my addiction to this encounter. I’ve been chasing that feeling ever since.

The rest of my high school years were filled with emptied bottles, house parties, stolen bumps in strangers’ bathrooms, and binge-smoking weed before school so I could get through the day.