Ressurrection

My name is Natalie, I am seventeen years old, I have straight A's in a program called Running Start where I take college courses instead of high school, and I'm addicted to heroin. Nice words like 'beautiful,' 'intelligent,' and 'funny' have been used to describe me. However, why do the ones like 'ugly,' 'stupid,' and 'annoying' scar and repeat throughout my mind when the compliments disappear? This is because I am the epitome of self-loathing. They say constant heroin use depletes the bodies ability to produce dopamine ultimately destroying one's ability to be happy. Although I haven't been happy since I was little--whether I was happy at all then-- and even then, flashes of memories imply otherwise. Lets start over: my picture perfect life in my three story house in Lynnwood with my brother, mother, and father came tumbling down when I overheard my mom on the phone, "the divorce is finalized." I was oblivious that they would ever part, whether I heard the screams from both parents aimed at each other to burn every night. VERY shortly after I was moving to Maple Valley with my mom to go live with her "friend." However, this "friend" was really her soon to be abusive boyfriend. I didn't see my dad for a long time and never got the chance to say goodbye to the already previously absent man. My escape from my mothers boyfriends place landed me at my grandparents and after this I moved around a lot switching schools and creating the gateway to my currently unstable mindset. I have always been depressed; I don't know how long or when it started, but this deeper than bone pain has seemed to always consume my innermost thoughts. In sixth grade at my grandparents I caught my brother smoking marijuana... This led to him having me try it in seventh grade shortly after moving into a little one floor rental home that my mom's boyfriend paid the rent of. It was just the three of us and if anyone else in my family would've foreseen the result of this they would've yanked me out of that environment without hesitation. You see, my mom was and still is an alcoholic; beginning with her loneliness living with my dad, escalating to an escape when she was being abused, and resulting in a dreadful lifestyle by the time I was twelve (seventh grade). My mom let my brother have parties and the cops consistently were called, and in order to be cool I started attending them shortly after taking my first weed hit on my grandmas back porch with my brother. That year I lost my most prized possession and probably the last thing I had: My virginity. No, it wasn't lost, it was stolen; after returning home late my brothers friend was up and I ended having some beers with him. Next thing I know, I'm crying in the fetal position in my room and I hear my brother screaming at him. Luckily, another friend who had been crashing at the house had awoken from my cries, saw what was happening, and ran to get my brothers help. This resulted in my escape after what must have been approximately thirty minutes, but seemed like hours. This was my end. I began using whatever I could get my hands on to get me high and enable a mental escape. I felt that the thief wouldn't have hurt me in that way if I was better, this might be unreasonable but it was how my young mind functioned and I developed the need of male approval. Low cut shirts on my early developed body attracted the wrong kind of attention, but it was attention nonetheless, and I begun my delve into promiscuity, sleeping with men to attempt at gaining their respect. However; I know now that really it was the opposite, they thought of me as a toy when I gave it up. Over the next few years through freshmen and sophomore year multiple rapes occurred; but when the first one happened many didn't believe me, thought I made it up because I was ashamed. So no one knew when the same thing happened with other men. Junior year was my collapse. I was thoroughly addicted to Oxy Cotton, I would smoke it off of foil. Upon meeting my current boyfriend we started using it together; although, we no longer achieved the high we once had because of our increasing tolerance. Then we found a cheaper drug that made us way more high: heroin. This substance took me farther into hell than I have ever been before. I have been resurrected back to my sane self, strive to escape heroins grasp, and am ready for recovery. Without escape, surely, I will die; by my own hand or a needle.