Drugs and Alcohol Abuse in Teens

Kevin Le

Somebody Help Me

I sit back
Look and wallow
In my own sorrow
Take the lighter
Like a trigger
And inhale the bullets into my burrows
I think to myself,
Mother doesn't need to leave
Dad won't need to cry
I take another hit
From the high-life world
As I see my friends all die
Overdose or getting high
We're all deprived
It's not our faults
It's how we thrive
Getting over depression
Or going with the system
It's how we live
It's our personal lives
Crying and dying
Hiding inside
Secretly exchange in middle school bathrooms
Secretly hit it up, with nothing to lose
Two pregnant girls socializing
Talking about what they have in common
In their own sorrows
One snorts the coke
The other dies tomorrow
Putting a new life at risk
What's wrong with this?
What's wrong with us?
Is this what we have to do?
Do we must?
It's the cruel world we live in
It's not who we are

Our little minds are gullible
Fooled by the powers of the world
Drugs and drinks in every corner
Our parents don't help us
No, they probably let us
Help Us

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My High Life

Tuesday, November 11, 2014.
It was a normal day, just like any other day. The kids were smoking cigars in the back of the school, others are banging it up in the restrooms with crack on the floor, while the teachers are too busy talking amongst each other.
Seriously, most schools are like this now, but none like mine. It's common to get along with a pregnant girl, especially if you are pregnant yourself. It's the usual for kids to be publicly selling drugs to each other, hitting it right then and there. Kids die everyday from either overdoses off drugs from their parents, beat to death, or take the easy way out. Drugs change you, man.
It's just the high life, man. It's not our faults though, our simple minds are easily fooled and we follow. Our parents don't stop us, no, they join us. The teachers don't try to help us, no, they judge us. The schools think they can stop all this, but they know they can't. We are in too deep and can't get out. Then, before you know it, we're dead or arrested. It's the high life.

Wednesday, November 12, 2014.
It all seemed fine today. I mean, everyone was doing the usual. But when I woke up, I just had this strange feeling in my gut, like something was going to happen. I don't know, it was just a feeling probably.
So I just shook it off and took some PCP and left the house. The sky was gray today, a gloomy moisture in the air that just made your stomach clench. I walk up to the school and take another hit when I heard it. The gunshots from cops, students running out with guns in their right hand, a pill bottle in the other. Of course.
But then I see something off about all this. I take a closer look and see my little sister, Julie Venegas. She was on the ground, blood coming out of her head and chest. The guy that shot her had a cigar hanging from his lip, a dazed look on his face. We didn't have the best relationship when I started to do drugs, when I turned to it from my depression and curious nature, she was a goodie of the house. That's what drugs do to you, they break the family bonds, so I wasn't too sad about her death. It's the high life, man.

Thursday, November 13, 2014.
My dad hit me when I got home with a blunt in my hand. He said it was my fault she died. I hit him back and ran down the street.
I couldn't take it, man, always getting blamed in the family. It was always my fault ever since Mother left. Now, Dad's getting prostitutes from the club and drinking all night, abusing and touching my sister, getting into all these stupid fights. I don't get it, how it's MY fault. He should be taking control, changing his ways. Although, I'm not one to talk, either. I sin too, but at least I see my wrongdoings. I see the light now, I know what I need to do. This isn't the life for me, for anyone for that matter. I can't take this.
So I take a hit from it and look at the sky, walking to the horizon. I never came back. I'm going to the high life.

Friday, November 14, 2014.
Gerado Venegas, 17, died by gunshot to chest 2 times. Victim had two blunts in his pocket, a small pistol, and a pack of cigars. A note in his pocket reads, "I've reached the high life." Suspected suicide. Further investigation needed? Most likely not. Conclusion reached: Victim committed suicide, depression taking over him. Family has been called and informed. Funeral will be held in two weeks.

Letters from an Addict

Dear Mom,
It's been a while, hasn't it? Well, sorry I haven't written to you in so long, you never visit us anymore. I know you and Dad aren't that fond of each other anymore, but at least visit your children! Anyways, Mom, please don't be mad at me. I've chosen the wrong path ever since you left, doing drugs and doing stuff I'm not supposed to do. Dad isn't helping either, he's always off doing something. Getting girls from the strip club every night, drinking until he's knocked out, and hitting the bong every five minutes. Emily is getting the worst of him too, him hitting her every time she messed up or just because he is mad. I can't take any of this and I can't find help in time. I just can't, Mom. My friends all tease me about it too, about my problems. Mom, I'm such a disappointment. When you are reading this, it means that I am in a better place, with the Lord trying to redeem myself to Him. I am so sorry to have to tell you this, but the depression of our family separating was too much for me, I'm only 14. But I hope that you will at least understand where I am coming from. Thanks, Mom, I love you.

Dear Dad,
Hey, Dad, weird getting a letter from someone living in the same house, right? I'm writing this to you to tell you that if you are reading this, it means that I've chosen the easy way out. I'm sorry, Dad, but I just couldn't take it any longer. The drugs got to me, the idea of never seeing Mom ever again got to me, seeing you go out to the club and bring a different girl home got to me, you hitting little Emily got to me, I just couldn't! You look at Emily right in the eyes, you tell her that you are sorry for everything you have done. If you can't do that, if she turns out like me, then I wish you the best of luck in Hell. You should know as well as I do that drugs affect a person more than the person thinks. I just wish you would turn your ways and be better. It's for the best, Dad, I'm sorry I can't help you any longer. It's time for me to go and seek out the Lord. I'm so sorry, Dad. I love you.Thank you for putting up with me, but please, put down the drugs. Don't tear this family even more apart than it already is. Emily is all you have now.

PS: I left you $500 for food, water, and clothes under my pillow. Use it wisely.

Dear Everyone Else,
Don't do what I have done. I've done bad things, not knowing what would happen in the end until it was too late. The sadness and loss that I felt when my mother left me was too much for me to bare, so I stole my father's cigar and took a hit for the first time. It was the most amazing thing I have ever felt. I couldn't stopped. So I asked my friends to let me try some of their's. I turned to the dark side in my time of need, but it wasn't the right thing to do. I wish, I wish with all my life, that I could turn things around, that way, I wouldn't be where I am today. Writing you this is taking every ounce of myself to and everything hurts. I'm probably already dead when you've read this. Don't do what I have done and seek help. There's always someone to help. "Even in the darkest of times, one must simply remember to turn on the lights." That was a quote from Harry Potter that I've loved, it's stupid, I know. But I hope that quote helps you through whatever it is you are going through. I also want you to know that I love you, even when no one else does, that I do. I love each and every single one of you. Thank you.