Party’s Over
by Alexandria Wildgen
During my first year of high school a teacher of mine coached football in a neighboring district. He once asked his team what they thought of us and shared their conclusion with my class. Their response surprised me. Along with the rest of my classmates, I anticipated a response along the lines of rich, white or preppy; however, the answer was a much darker one. They had come to a consensus that the word “drugs” summed up my high school best. It wasn’t necessarily that we didn’t know drug abuse was happening at our school; it was that we didn’t realize it was a problem. A problem that got worse with time and affected more and more people as the years went on. It wasn’t until later, after going to parties sponsored by students from other high schools in the area, that I noticed the truth to our reputation. At other schools no one drank or used the way we did. Not even close. At parties they cracked open a few beers; at casual kick backs we double fisted forties. They occasionally smoked marijuana on Saturday nights; we cut lines of cocaine after school. They drank for entertainment; we drank to aid our sleep. I think this had a lot to do with the truth behind the more apparent stereotypes linked to our school. We had money, we had affluence, we had privileges and could afford “the better things in life” and we had a lot to learn.
In a school district where kids occasionally start smoking in elementary school, with alcohol closely preceding or following, it is somewhat surprising for an individual to make it to the tenth grade without using any substance. In spite of this, I was friends with one such student. He was untainted and wholesome, words that didn’t describe the majority of his peers. He had been friends with a pretty, popular blonde for several years and during the fall of sophomore year she was newly single and confided only in him. Maybe he mistook her trust for something more, he thought he loved her and couldn’t be without her. Long story short, she broke his heart. They were a mismatch couple and she knew it. Needless to say, he was crushed and was looking for something or someone to pick him up. It was December 2005 when he took his first shot of vodka. Whoever poured the clear liquor was oblivious to the addictive roller coaster they were helping initiate, one that would take him and those around him on unimaginable ups and downs throughout the next three years.
Drugs had an alluring image; the popular seniors, elite juniors and one select sophomore (my friend) all had dilated pupils and acted like they were having the time of their life. He wanted something to make him feel better, he wanted friends, and eventually drugs became his friends. In the span of six months my friend went from never tasting alcohol to a frequent drinker, constant smoker (marijuana and cigarettes), occasional ecstasy user and cocaine addict with a growing wrap sheet. During this time, the summer after sophomore year, my perception of him changed drastically; he seemed weak and pathetic. I didn’t want to be around him. I didn’t want to be there. I didn’t want to hold the mirror or CD case. I didn’t want to smoke or drink. I didn’t want to be the one he lied to, the one he made promises of quitting to.
The year when he was heavily involved in cocaine and ecstasy was a daunting one. He overdosed one night, throwing punches at best friends, his temperature skyrocketing. At a party he took five pills and after getting frustrated from his inability to get higher snorted six more. This trend continued when he passed out in his long country driveway after driving home following a night of binge drinking. He was out of control and he didn’t care about anyone or anything. During this stage of his life he met a cute underclassman with a wild streak. A girl interested in the same hobbies as him and the destructive behavior continued; shifting from coke and x use to weed and prescription drugs: vicodin, codeine, oxycontin and valium. Starting and stopping his illegal habits was a constant battle throughout the next three years. Often times, he was caught in a limbo between relapse and recovery. The situation was hard to resolve; his mom would lie in bed crying while his dad sat downstairs and waited for his drunk son to stumble in the front door. Discipline didn’t work, they grounded him on dozens of occasions. Every time he got out of trouble he fell right back in... at school and at home. His parents made a lot of threats but few were followed through with. However, in the spring of junior year he stopped going to my high school and instead took online classes while attending AA meetings and out patient rehab.
After a year-long relationship with a bad influence in the form of his younger girlfriend, he finally ended the destructive relationship. Separating himself from her eventually gave him the opportunity to quit smoking, end his addiction to prescription drugs, and lastly conquer his abuse of alcohol, his gateway drug. I don’t think that the situation was handled the best but I think that at 15, 16 and 17 we didn’t know to deal with it any better. It’s hard to admit that your friend is in trouble. It’s even harder to admit he’s in so deep you can’t personally help him. To this day I wish the problem could have been resolved sooner, so certain situations didn’t have to happen, so that we didn’t have to learn about the dark sides of life when we were just kids. But that’s what we did. We learned.