by Jeremy Roller

I’m Jeremy, I’m twenty-two years old now but the beginning of this story takes place when I was thirteen. It’s an arbitrary age really. I could’ve chosen any younger age to provide some insight into my childhood, even my infancy — but my transition into becoming a teenager is abundantly more noteworthy. It was 2009, the year I began taking drugs. I’d already been smoking cigarettes for some time, even weed, and drank sparingly before this cold night in mid-October.



My friends Jake and Shane had been taking Jake’s grandparent’s sleeping pills, primarily Valium, to induce a lucid trance enhanced by marijuana. At the time, they didn’t have the slightest clue what they were taking, but had the sense of mind to only snatch pill bottles with ‘Narcotic, Keep Out Of Reach’ stickers on them. They proposed that I join in and insisted that I feel what they were. I was always interested in using drugs. Maybe I should refer to my childhood, where I grew up idolizing classic rock musicians who engaged heavily in using drugs such as Lou Reed, Jimi Hendrix, Jim Morrison, and so on. Thus was my spark of curiosity.



It was a few weeks before my fourteenth birthday when I received a text from Jake. “Come to my house tonight after your parents are asleep, see if they have anything in their medicine cabinet first.” I never considered the value of what was hiding in my bathroom. I waited in my room until they said good night, then opened the bathroom’s closet door. Semi-transparent orange pill bottles glared at me and I returned this stare with vicious curiosity — I knew this was the start of something. I recalled the tidbit about the narcotic warning label and took those ones off the shelf. My father had back surgery earlier in the year so most of them were opiates. I poured the contents from two of them into my backpack. One type was a peanut sized oval white pill reading ‘Hydrocodone 15mg,’ another read ‘Oxycodone 5mg.’ I snuck out in the middle of the night and walked across town to Jake’s.



They were already high when I arrived. There was a popcorn bowl filled with a dozen or so colorful pills. I contributed to the mix and Shane tossed it around like a multi-colored drug salad. Jake and Shane took two each, washing them down with water. I followed suit, not knowing what I’d taken. I anxiously waited for some sort of effect, not knowing what to expect. Half an hour later, the anxiety subsided. A warmth washed over me, starting in my stomach and traveling to my fingertips. I laid back and laughed hysterically. They rolled around laughing too. None of us knew why. They passed the weed-packed bowl to me. “This is going to be intense,” Jake told me. I took a hit and threw up nearly immediately. I was still coming up from the pills and the smoke skyrocketed my high onto another plane. My eyelids grew heavy — each time I closed them I felt completely at ease. The sickness would diminish and a video of warm colors looped behind my eyelids. I drifted off into a dazed slumber. When I awoke, Jake and Shane were both asleep on the floor and I had to get home. I took a few pills out of the bowl and started walking across town. I reflected on the night under the pale yellow street lights and felt guilty about what I’d done. Some part of me knew hard drugs were wrong to do, but after trying them, I couldn’t figure out why. I felt peaceful. Inspired. Creative. Like the best version of myself.

