Reflection on Drug Use and Lessons Learned (Essay Sample)

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A Reflection on Drug Use and Lessons Learned
The maxim that a drug user's primary purpose is anaesthetization of the pain of leaving for easing the passage of a day with some purchased freedom aptly captures my story and the plight I faced when I was using illicit drugs. My first time using a drug was at ten years old. I used to sneak and smoke cigarettes with my older cousins despite being oblivious that cigarettes were not illegal and had numerous detrimental effects on health. At the age of 13, my smoking habit was slowly creeping into addiction influenced by my father's smoking habits, a chain smoker. The memory of waking up in freezing dawns to steal cigars is still lucid in my mind. My father had an ingrained tendency to leave a packet over the table. I would stealthily wake up, and pick three cigars and smoke them in my room to quench my insatiable appetite. The situation worsened when I moved when I was in senior high school, where I started sneaking cigarettes outside the school gates with my new found smoking group which were way older than me since I was desperate to impress.
By the age of sixteen, my addiction extended beyond cigarettes. I was smoking marijuana with other teens in the neighborhood at the graveyard while drinking alcohol. I enjoyed maximally the crave of engaging in the excitement of using the drug, the exhilarating impact driven by the adrenaline rush after sipping a glass of Russian Vodka is unfathomable. I had a deep feeling of despondency. The gyrating effects of using alcohol and marijuana were the remedy for finding a sense of fulfilment and purpose in life, arguably built on the foundation of the quicksand of misguidance and short term benefits. At this point in life, I was heading at the brink of precipice save for the need to a distant college away from the intoxicating chambers in the neighborhood. I secured a slot at one of the prestigious colleges serving as a chance to delink from my drinking group to which I was attached like as Siamese twins. I had made solemn creed that I would never use any form of drugs while in college. I was laser-focused to achieve my dreams and not fall on the allure of peer pressure.
Soon after joining college, I enrolled in a part-time job a food packaging and branding company outsourced by Amazon. I made a decent income and saved about $35,000 after two years of working with the firm. The savings were way a lot for the kid my age since I had not handled such kind of money before in my life. I decided to rent an apartment next to my college and bought a used deluxe Maserati Levante well known for their super-quick depreciation in the automobile industry. I secured one at a disposable price of $5000, a paltry amount compared to bulging greenbacks inundating my account. The newfound braggadocio and millionaire lifestyle soon worked like a magnet with several bevvies of college beauties longing for a piece of my magic. I booked my seat at the table of the opulent kids in college by default. If any reports by several college mates falling over themselves to be my acquaintances, the hushing tones over the lectures corridors opined that I was a son of a big tech multi-millionaire business mogul. I was at the top echelon in the college hierarchy, thanks to my pseudo-millionaire lifestyle that came with a troop of students with well-funded back accounts.
The thought of being one of the most after-sought students and the new niche I had carved as celebrity burned in my head like chagrin. I was overwhelmed by the number of invitations to attend weekend parties, with most college colleagues dreaming to have me embrace their parties, yet the pressure was beginning to take a toll on me. My savings were taking a nosedive, but I was a devout follower of living in the moment. I could not care less; in fact, I had inscribed the words "you only live once" in an amulet hanging in my chain necklace replicating the famous hardcore rap artists. After all, I said to myself, "I have to enjoy my youth while it last". I lived in a bubble of utopia and grandiosity, with being a party animal as my anthem.
Soon, William Johnson, a close acquaintance who was a tall character with chiseled shape jaws, walked as if his legs were quarrelling. Johnson had more pronounced eyelids you could always feel he was asking a rat when it was going to finish the cockroach when he was transfixed in gazing on the ground during discussions as was his habit. He offered me a white powder telling me it had a relaxation effect and will soon clear in my system. He was such a compelling character that it was almost irresistible to refuse an offer from him in the first place. The bulging eyelids had scintillating rays of light shining from amicable yet subtly commanding, one could almost feel threatened when he asked you to do something. He approached and scanned directly into my eyes and hissed "hey bruh, you gotcha, blow the nose candy n thank me later". Like a naïve sheep, I grudgingly took the snippet of what looked like a powder and sniffed in a whisker as he assured me that the feeling will only last for six hours before receding and that the drug was not addictive. I was swept by my feet after using the drug with hallucination and hysteria driving me into a world of I have never been before in life. I later learned that "nose candy" was a street name for cocaine.
Two months after having a taste of the magic powder, I could no longer function without it and become truant in my job and resulting in my sacking. The stress of losing my job and the allure of excitement I derived from using "nose candy" further compounded my woes. I needed something harder than cocaine. Luckily one of my female friends, Sherlyn Klein, had a birthday party over the weekend at their residence. Together with other partying crew joined Klein at her home. The party was over –attended, there were half as many people standing as those that were sited in their living room. We decided together with John, and some few friends to do some nose candy rolls on their courtyard while enjoying the warm summer night under the moonlight. One of the party maids brought us some chocolate chip cookies. The cookies had little brown specks and white coloring.
When I first used the chocolate chips, they were significantly powerful, giving a heavy feeling of dope before easing and allowing one to dance and have the time of life as I wanted. I recall one of the friend telling me that the specks were heroin spots which sound to me ass pretty cool though I was not aware of its impact. All of us enjoyed the rolls about thirty minutes later, my friend Stephen started complaining of stomach problem. Stephen had just devoured a gigantic platter of chocolate heroin cookies and washed it down with six glasses of hard Vodka; I was astonished why he was in such a hurry when everyone was preparing to begin the ecstasy. He started growing a little white and being a white guy; I noticed his skin looking grey-green. I do not remember if the inebriation took a toll on me or the stupor had elevated my visual acuity to the level I could decipher the level in which some white guys usually turn pale.
Stephen's hue was waning rapidly. He had an enlarged mouth which accentuated into a fake dimple on his cheeks that would make one feel that he was smiling or laughing all the time. His long grey stringy hair and now white turned paled skin made him look like a bullfrog on a hunting spree. Stephens demonour and changed color made it explicit that he was about to rapture in a prolonged vomiting venture. He quickly leaned forward on the chair and directed his head under the table. He then treated us with sounds of retching little smacks of undigested chocolate cookies and binge hitting hard the ground on the courtyard. However, we decided to stay to avoid arousing attention to the mess he was making around. Stephen was a good friend, and he was on temporary drawdown, he had his head under the table for several minutes, and the sound of emetic reflex receded.
The emetic sounds were swiftly replaced with even more disgusting moaning and groaning sound. The voices felt like he was muffling or talking with his hands over the mouth to be precise. I then interjected to break the long taciturn silence by asking if he was alright. He retorted back with mumbling sound "ahhhaaaahh" without uttering a word. He lifted his head with his mouth wide agape as if he was ready to be attended by a dentist. His mouth was double open, and we thought he was laughing. He could not talk. We then realized that while vomiting under the table things became too violent that his mouth was getting stuck while opening. The jaws were locked in and a wide-open position. Stephen's mouth was now open than in any way I ever thought mouths are supposed to be open. Besides, he seems to have been in excruciating pain and could only moan and no longer be able to utter words. Things were only getting started.
The disquieting sound Stephen made while trying to speak was terrifying and unpleasant. It attracted the attention of other people in the house who were now trooping dozens to catch a glimpse of the unfolding scenario. At this point, I started feeling the cookies, and so did everyone else. He sat on a chair, but his eyes were rolling as he tried to talk while sounding disgusting, which was a