A student of mine asked me the other day how I was able to stop doing drugs. He was asking because he had just been caught that morning by his parents and was getting ready to go home and face the music (I'm his last class of the day). His question brought up another one, from another student. His question was how I started doing drugs in the first place. Now, some people with disagree with me about sharing my past with my students, but I believe in letting them know that I've fucked things up in the past before, too. One of the many reasons I became a teacher was because I remember what it was like to feel like the teachers I had were completely out of touch with the students, and I was right. A lot of teachers put on these facades of righteousness and perfection so that they can maintain control within their own classrooms. They are the absolute rulers of their domains and they want no trouble keeping it that way. That isn't me. My room is always a bit chaotic and that's the way I like it. I don't let the inmates run the asylum, but I also don't squash their personalities by making them sit perfectly still at their desks and work. Anyway, I digress. I believe in telling my students the truth about my past and my imperfections (of which there are many). So, when my student asked me how I got into drugs, I wasn't about to shut him down and tell him it's none of his business. So, I told them all the truth. Unfortunately, the truth isn't a terribly interesting story. I was hanging out with some friends one afternoon and they decided they wanted to smoke a bowl. Up until then, I had always told them no when they asked. They had stopped asking a while before, but I was bored. As they fired it up, I asked them if I could take a hit. They looked at me as if I had just admitted to having sex with midgets or something. My friend, Tyler, asked me if I was sure. I told him yeah and they handed over the bong. They helped me fire it up and I got high for the first time. It wasn't all that magnificent for me. I felt drunk without the sloshy feeling of all the alcohol in my stomach. I didn't get the munchies until the next day, when I had sobered up. Then, I wanted to eat anything and everything I could get my hands on. I don't know, it didn't hit me as something worth spending all my time and money doing. I would, however, get stoned with my friends whenever the mood struck after that. It wasn't long until I decided to try other things. The first time I did cocaine about blew my fucking mind. I thought my body was going to vibrate apart, literally. It scared the shit out of me because I immediately wanted to do it again. You see, I have an addictive personality, which means I like to do things to extremes. Cocaine was one of those extremes. Because of this, I made sure I only did it that one time. I knew that drug was the one that would kill me if I continued to partake in it. Besides, I'd tried meth and found it to be quite pleasing without the craziness. This lifestyle didn't get any better when I moved into a house with my cousin, James. Our other two roommates, Gary and Brian, were dealers, so I could get what I wanted from them at any time. I even gave them some money and the keys to my truck to go pick up a pound of weed for us to divide up and sell at a profit. That was my one trip into dealing. I found that I didn't like to be the one selling it. I just liked to use it.
Anyway, my student started out asking me how I quit. I told him that it was two parts. The first, and most important, was that I accepted Christ. Now, people can laugh at me and scoff at me when I say that, but it's true. I found God and He helped change me from the inside. This led to the second part of the equation. I believe God made me tired of waking up every day feeling like shit. Before, I would never pay any attention to the way I felt. I just smoked more and felt okay for a while. I finally got fed up with feeling like crap every day. I went to bed tired, slept for 12 or 13 hours, and I woke up tired.It was ridiculous. I got sick of it and decided to stop. This student told me that he just wanted to do this stuff while he was young, before he settled into a job and had to stop. I told him that sounded well and good, but he needed to remember that no addicts started out wanting to be addicted to drugs. They all wanted to do this stuff for fun while they were young. I had friends who got way more into it than I did. Their stories didn't all turn out wonderful. One of them even overdosed and died. That is not something anyone needs to deal with when they're 16, which is how old I was when it happened. He is the reason I never tried heroin. Well, I was also scared of dirty needles, but the main reason was this guy. His death left a lasting impression on me and I remember to this day what it felt like to be told, at my upper echelon high school, that my friend had died from a drug overdose. I think a big part of my shame for him was having to listen to these rich faggot motherfuckers at my high school talk shit about him when they didn't even know him. I was pissed off and unable to do much about it.
So, I told my students that one day I just stopped taking drugs. I walked away from it and never looked back. The closest I've come to doing them again was in the beginning of my teaching career. At the end of my first year of teaching, my cousin and best friend, Michael, died. He was only 32, a year older than me. Then, two years later, my mom suddenly dies from a brain tumor. It was a double-tap that I didn't need. I was so depressed for a while that I thought of getting high again just to make it stop for a little while. Thankfully, I didn't. I wouldn't have been able to forgive myself, let alone ask God to forgive me, if I had given in like that. So, I just manned up instead and got on with life. Nothing more to tell.
Anyway, my student started out asking me how I quit. I told him that it was two parts. The first, and most important, was that I accepted Christ. Now, people can laugh at me and scoff at me when I say that, but it's true. I found God and He helped change me from the inside. This led to the second part of the equation. I believe God made me tired of waking up every day feeling like shit. Before, I would never pay any attention to the way I felt. I just smoked more and felt okay for a while. I finally got fed up with feeling like crap every day. I went to bed tired, slept for 12 or 13 hours, and I woke up tired.It was ridiculous. I got sick of it and decided to stop. This student told me that he just wanted to do this stuff while he was young, before he settled into a job and had to stop. I told him that sounded well and good, but he needed to remember that no addicts started out wanting to be addicted to drugs. They all wanted to do this stuff for fun while they were young. I had friends who got way more into it than I did. Their stories didn't all turn out wonderful. One of them even overdosed and died. That is not something anyone needs to deal with when they're 16, which is how old I was when it happened. He is the reason I never tried heroin. Well, I was also scared of dirty needles, but the main reason was this guy. His death left a lasting impression on me and I remember to this day what it felt like to be told, at my upper echelon high school, that my friend had died from a drug overdose. I think a big part of my shame for him was having to listen to these rich faggot motherfuckers at my high school talk shit about him when they didn't even know him. I was pissed off and unable to do much about it.
So, I told my students that one day I just stopped taking drugs. I walked away from it and never looked back. The closest I've come to doing them again was in the beginning of my teaching career. At the end of my first year of teaching, my cousin and best friend, Michael, died. He was only 32, a year older than me. Then, two years later, my mom suddenly dies from a brain tumor. It was a double-tap that I didn't need. I was so depressed for a while that I thought of getting high again just to make it stop for a little while. Thankfully, I didn't. I wouldn't have been able to forgive myself, let alone ask God to forgive me, if I had given in like that. So, I just manned up instead and got on with life. Nothing more to tell.
