starting starts somewhere

Sometimes shit just happens too fast for me to really understand how I got to where I ended up. Kind of like now. I don't know where the beginning is, so I'll rewind a bit to when I decided I was going to be sober, about two and a half weeks ago. It seemed the most rational thing for me to do, because I'm not old enough to live on my own yet and I kept getting into a lot of trouble for all the things I'd done.

Well, I stopped smoking pot and taking pills, but I couldn't just drop everything. I don't know. After a while of routinely doing something, it becomes second nature. I wouldn't say I'm addicted to anything, just accoustomed to it all and I didn't really want to stop anyways, which made it that much harder. (Well, I did want to stop, but there was a bigger part of me that wasn't commited, I guess.) And it seemed like everywhere I went, there was no getting rid of it. I surrounded myself with people who were in the same rut as myself but didn't think of it as a rut like I was starting to. They were my best friends. They are my best friends, actually.

...
I've had depression as long as I can remember really, which is grade school I think, and so any kind of drug wouldn't work towards me moreso than if I didn't have little mental shits. If I wasn't high off something, the lows were a lot worse than they were before, even if they were shitty then. I think that was probably the main force that was motivating me to just stop it all, but also the same reason I couldn't. I hate being sober. I hate being stuck with my stupid thoughts and I hate never feeling like I'm going to be happy about anything. And when I'm high, I feel dirty but better and then worse when it's over. Clearly conflicted.

Anyways, two weeks ago was the last bowl I smoked because a week before that, I'd gotten in trouble for probably the third time involving drugs or alcohol. I promised myself that after I finished the sac I had, then I would be done smoking weed (and that was the only thing I swore off at the time) until I could live on my own, away from my mother and her fiancee. Woops, I mean husband. (That's still weird for me to even type.) So, I made it public to my friends that I would revoke my blazing ...privaledges and it was alright for a while. My mom started to let me out again, no more fucking house arrest, and would feel better about it if I took my aunt with me who is visiting from Argentina. Of course, my mother had no idea and still has no idea that her sister is a fat pothead who was also an acid-seeking, occasional pill-popper that fit right in with my ganggg. And she would never be able to tell when we squished three eyedrops into each eye and sprayed cheap perfume all over to mask the smell of various smokes. We were always paranoid thinking she would smell us, but I'm sure we didn't smell like much most of the time anyways. Whatever, she never found out and that's the important part.

So, I finished my weed and my aunt was actually surprised I decided to follow through with not smoking. However I picked up cigarettes again and drinking more often, so it was a trade. But I told my mom I stopped blazing and I did. Only, I got drunk every day instead. (The last time I got drunk was last week and I was too fucked up. I blacked out a few times, something I haven't done in a year, and puked possibly more than three times. I started drinking at two and was finally only tipsy around one in the morning, when I took some mushrooms with my friend and never went to sleep.) Needless to say, still not really being too healthy. But after the last I was shitfaced, I couldn't down anything or even smell it without gagging. So, the past week I've been sober and two nights ago I was in a terrible mood. I don't even know why, it just happens to me sometimes. But this day that I was in a terrible mood was the very day I told my friends I wanted to be sober from everything. Drinking, smoking, pills, even cigarettes. They thought I was joking at first, but I told them I was serious. And I needed them to help me and they agreed. They said they would, and would stop joking around asking me to hit it if I didn't want to.

So, I come home, still pissed off, probably because everyone was fucked up aside from myself and my other friend, and I want to go to my room. I should've thought more about how this would've looked. Mother calls me into the living room, step-father watches closely without saying anything like he always does, and asks me where I've been. Then tells me I'm on drugs. Your eyes are glossy! You smell like smoke!

Funny thing is, fucker, I didn't even smoke a cigarette, I was on the beach, and they were all drinking, not smoking. So, I'm punished for her suspicions and sentenced to my room. I haven't left my room except to eat and piss since then. Stupid fucks, both of them. And now I'm getting sent to my Dad's house. But honestly, I'd rather be there than here. I packed all my shit and I'm not coming back to live here with her and him. I don't like them, not just because they always punish me, (with reason and without, which is fucking shit) but because we will never get along. We never have, with or without drugs.

I hate this house.