Diary 50

Dear Diary,

Sorry, diary, I was going to try not to do it tonight, but the little baggy

of white powder.is calling my name. As I chop up the white rock on my

special makeup mirror into very fine powder I start thinking about the past

week with Zlata and our infamous toast for change.

Zlata left today and I can’t help but feel guilty for what I have been

doing lately. We’re all about changing for the better and I am changing for

the worse. This whole week, people have been looking at us as model

teenagers who have changed their lives. The local newspapers have actually

done stories about us bringing Zlata here and how we’ve made monumental

changes in our lives. That part is true, but then there’s me. It does bother me

that I am being dishonest, especially to Zlata, but is it lying when I don’t

say anything?

Ms. Gruwell would be so disappointed if she found out. I definitely

can’t say anything now because it would really make things worse. I don’t

know what she would do, especially since Zlata was here. I might as well

keep it a secret at this point. I wish she wouldn’t trust me so much. I mean

how can she trust me if I can’t even trust myself? She shouldn’t trust

anyone who steals money from their family, begs friends for change, and

digs through her couch just to support her drug habit. In some sick way I

wish I could get caught so all this lying could be behind me. But then reality

kicks in when I see that line in front of me. When it comes down to it I’m

not ready to change. I know I should stop, but it would be wrong to stop for

someone else. When I hear cheesy cliches like “Hugs not drugs,” or “Be

smart, don’t start,” it makes me want to do it more. Yack, yack, yack. Come

on, get real, how boring! Quite honestly, I’m just not ready to quit yet.

I’m what you call a closet tweeker. To clear things up, a tweeker is

someone who smokes or snorts speed. Nobody knows my secret, especially

Zlata, and I’d like to keep it that way. It’s not something to brag about. I’m

getting to a point where I can hide it in plain sight. When Zlata was here,

she and Ms. Gruwell had no idea that I was high. I even got high before we

went to Universal Studios with her, but I played it off as much as I could.

Even though we were talking about our favorite bands between rides, I

don’t think she knew.

When I first started getting high, I would be strung out and I couldn’t

sit still. But now I’ve learned to control it and I can play it off. I guess that’s

what happens when you do it all the time. People never see what is right

under their noses and believe me I use it to my advantage.

The worst thing about it is that I’m already in out-patient rehab two

days a week, but I just have to make things worse by doing drugs more and

more, harder and harder. It’s so ironic how all this got started. I was put in

rehab after our toast for change for possession of marijuana, but now that

I’m in rehab, I’m addicted to speed. Where’s the change in that? When

everyone is changing their old habits I’m making new ones.

My worst fear is that I’m becoming an addict. I mean, can someone like

me have an addiction? When I think of an addict I think of someone

walking the streets, begging people for change, sucking dick for a score,

leaving their babies in the trash still alive. But when I think about it, I’m no

better. I’m what you call a model child. A good daughter, one of Ms.

Gruwell’s favorite students, and now I have an amazing new friend—but

I’m lying to my mom, Ms. G, and Zlata. Not exactly model child material.

Now I guess you can call me an addict. No more A’s on tests or

bringing teachers apples, (like I did that anyway). I’ll beg, steal, and cheat

just to get a quick line. Sure it has its pitfalls, but you know what they say:

“Curiosity killed the cat.” Well, not this cat.

For me, a quick line has turned into a fast hit from the glass pipe. The

higher the intensity, the better the high. That’s my preferred party favor, the

glass pipe. It kind of freaks me out because I never thought I would be at

this point. Is there time to turn back or am I going to get closer to a dark

tunnel with no light and no way out?

I’m actually relieved that this week with Zlata and all the attention is

over. Not that it was boring, it was really fun, but I didn’t deserve it. With

all that behind me, I whip out my straw, sit down on the toilet, making sure

the bathroom is locked; bring it to my nose and snort. The burn is a sure

sign that I’m on my way to my next high. Oh yeah, it’s going to be good.

No more headaches, body aches, or stomachaches until of course, the high

is over, but only until I reach for my best friend called crystal meth.

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