I was 16

I was 16, I had a job, I was close to my family, I even went to church. I worked at a popular coffee shop in our small town. We had a lot of regulars including some street punk crack heads, that’s what I and many people in town thought of them, that always just hung out outside. The only time they came inside was to use our restrooms or when one of them managed to bum enough money for their alcohol and still have enough the next morning for a cup of coffee to get the sobered up. I tried not to pay much attention to them but in a way I found something alluring about them and their lifestyle. I slowly started talking to them more and more each time I saw them. One day one of them invited me to a party. I eagerly accepted. I later learned that the one who had invited me to the party was name Chris. Chris and I started to see each other regularly. We never did anything that cost money, unless it was drinking or smoking weed. I started to think I was in love with him. He introduced me to a world I had never known before, a world that would tear me apart and still have me loving it. I drank every night and smoked weed every day, I had tried other drugs like ecstacy and acid but I never really liked either of them. Someone offered me a hit of meth from their glass pipe. I was hesitant at first but I convinced myself to take the hit saying in my head “it’s okay one hit wont hurt.”. I didn’t feel anything. They offered me another and I took it. I discovered a new love, meth. I loved I couldn’t stop, I was smoking it, snorting it, I even found ways to swallow it. I loved the high I felt invincible, I could do anything as long as my best friend meth was with me. And that’s what it was, my best friend, I had left everything for it, my family, friends, the job at the coffee shop, even the faith I had been so committed to. The only thing I hadn’t left yet was Chris. I ran away from home and moved to another town with Chris. We had no money so we were forced to live on the streets. Sometimes he would break into an ATM and we would spend a few nights in a motel. The money disappeared to be replaced with the smoke that filled our lungs and ruined our lives. Two months after I ran away I found out I was pregnant. I didn’t care I just thought I would drink it to death or use enough drugs to make myself miscarry. When I was four months pregnant I realized this baby isn’t just gonna go away so I told Chris. He went crazy, calling me a slut and a whore saying it wasn’t his. He beat me until I was unconscious. I came to in a hospital. There was an officer there. I knew I was in trouble, any one could see I was clearly on drugs. I had two choices, “go to jail and lose my baby” or “get clean”.