Get Back On My Feet! [BoyxBoy]

Ecstasy.

I adored the warmth that drug gave me, the sense of pleasure it made me feel. Every touch felt better, every human contact made sense and everything had an answer. Even though I had no control over anything when I was on ecstasy, I seemed to think I had. I had an idea of that the guys who sold it took advantage of me when I was high. But at that time it felt good, it was okay.

The morning after I realized, panicked and felt horrible.

I had no control over my life.

Either way it's the drugs that spoke for me or it was my parents. My parents didn't really care about me even though they said they did. When I was home I was supposed to help them to clean or cook. They nagged about my drug addicted friends and the drug addicted me. They complained about the way I looked or the way I acted. They were not proud of me. But I never did stuff to earn that though.

But let's face it, I was useless. I couldn't do anything, not even school seemed to make sense! I am dyslexic, a very bad case as well I might add. I ditched too much because the teachers tried to learn me how to read but I couldn't. I couldn't understand the symbols and it aften ended up with me getting aggressive. Aggression problems was though only normal for me when it came to reading. I seemed to get so frustrated that I'd hit someone or throw the book across the room and leave.

Also, all my friends were druggies. They were the only people that understood. They also felt useless and out of control, they also failed at stuff and had troubles in school or at work. We were the stains on the white shirt, pretty much. Everybody else could do stuff right, except us.

But I had one thing that I could control, my weight. Sure it's mostly common with girls, to stop eating and throw up. Sure. Though it made me feel like I had power over one thing in my life and it felt really good. I lost weight quickly, many drugs made it hard to feel hunger or made me feel satisfaction without food.

Some days I thought food was over rated, even. I felt like hunger was a lie.

Other days; I would just go crazy at the sight of food and eat too much. Then realized what I was doing and then try to throw it up. Those days, I just wanted to die.

But it wasn't ecstasy that got me in hospital because of overdose. It was cocaine. I had been taking too much. I knew it but was hoping that nobody else noticed. The guys I was doing it with, on some sort of party though it's all a blur when I try to remember why I was there or how I got there in the first place, they noticed pretty soon. They saw how much I was taking and decided that I had enough. If they hadn't taken me to a hospital I would be dead. They ruined my life, my death. If they had let me die I would be free.

On the hospital the doctors and my parents decided it was time to make me get back up on my feet. I had to get rid of my problems and start to live. They didn't get me at all. None of them ever thought about what I wanted, only what they thought was the best for me. The idea of a home full of kids with disorders and problems scared me. To live with them as my new home would be impossible. With most likely doctors here and physiologies there... really? Would that make anything better? I doubted it.

I arrived at the St. Paul's House at eight in the morning. My mom and dad said goodbye in the car, I had told them that I'd rather go in alone. My mom was worried and said that she “wished me the best”. Did I believe her? No. Why would I, ever.