By the time I was 14 I was smoking pot daily, and drinking on the weekends. I skipped school, and made it a point to appear as a "rebel". I didn't really hide my use from peers.
This was also my freshman year in high school. The year my dad bought the funeral home and began running it essentially by himself with no help, other than another gentleman that didn't hold a license for embalming. One thing my dad told me before he bought the place was: "No matter how busy I am, I will always make time for you." Much to my dismay any time I wanted to talk to him about issues I was told: "I don't have time for this shit!" So that about broke my heart. We were always close, and I felt quite abandoned.
This began the teenage war with my parents. (With my mom the war had started 2 years earlier.) The more they tried to control, or punish, the more I pushed back. I truly was a rotten kid. But then again most of us are at that age.
I was even contemplating the geographical cure at this age. I wanted to move to Minnesota and stay with my grandma Mary. It was discussed briefly, but the red tape would've been a little too much. So I stayed put.
At this point in my using it was still fun, and exciting. Even though the consequences were already there. Poor peformance in school, failing family relations, and poor self-esteem.
I never had good self-esteem. I used drugs partly to cover the way I felt about myself, and to cover other emotions. I had no idea that this was just the tip of the iceberg.
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