What's your story with chemicals?
youasked
Feb 12, 2009
*Asked by tornuplovenotes
Im interpreting this as drug use. If not drug use, then I have no story with chemicals other then nearly getting suspended for throwing a sealed bottle of weak acid at my friends head in science class.
To those that don't know, I live in Canada. Canada is practically the marijuanna capital of the freaking world. I smoked my first joint when I was 12. My sister, her boyfriend, and a few community kids that I'd grown up with. My sister is two years older then I am. She'd been smoking with her friends since the summer before seventh grade, so naturally I was dying to get high. I took my first hit hidden behind my elementary school, and nearly coighed up a lung. Everyone laughed as I scrambled for the water bottle that was offered to me. Slowly, I started to get used to it and took a few more hits. A few minutes later I was flying. Everything was 100 times funnier, nothing was stressful, life was beautiful. We giggled our way to the Tim Hortons that was a few blocks away. Once we arrived, I realized I was hungry. REALLY hungry. I ended up spending 15 dollars on doughnuts, and they're only about $1.32 each. Once I'd devoured those, I was definantly starting to lose my edge. My feet were drooping, and everyone was slowing down. To make a long story short, I ended up burning out and sleeping for thirteen hours.
Weed was where it started. Three years spent smoking up in basements, hotboxing igloos, camping trips that are all a haze. Then, one day, I called up my old dealer (A friend of my sister's who is currenty in lock up for shooting someone) to get a half O, (Which is half an ounce of ganja) to find that he didn't have anything on him. (High school dealers have limited resources.) But, he did have E. Ex. The love drug. Ecstacy. A lovelife in pill form. My sister had, surprise surprise, already popped E, so I decided to give it a go. The world was STUNNING. I remember it was the dead of summer, and I sat staring into a swimming pool for 4 hours straight. It was marvelous. Beautiful. Spectacular.
I could ramble on and on about trips, dangerous outings, shakedowns. And later on, I will. But currently theres 3 grams and a bottlebong waiting for me in my bedroom, and I have to get through Margaret Atwood's "The Handmaid's tale" by tomorrow morning. It's really good so far, by the way.
Not to mention I have to call Jewel (Not jhis real name, but hes my diamond in the rough) my INCREDIBLY sexy I-want-to-fuck-you-now dealer and friend, as I'm going to a party this weekend and need some LSD for the birthday boy. But thats another story.
Hey, you asked.
Im interpreting this as drug use. If not drug use, then I have no story with chemicals other then nearly getting suspended for throwing a sealed bottle of weak acid at my friends head in science class.
To those that don't know, I live in Canada. Canada is practically the marijuanna capital of the freaking world. I smoked my first joint when I was 12. My sister, her boyfriend, and a few community kids that I'd grown up with. My sister is two years older then I am. She'd been smoking with her friends since the summer before seventh grade, so naturally I was dying to get high. I took my first hit hidden behind my elementary school, and nearly coighed up a lung. Everyone laughed as I scrambled for the water bottle that was offered to me. Slowly, I started to get used to it and took a few more hits. A few minutes later I was flying. Everything was 100 times funnier, nothing was stressful, life was beautiful. We giggled our way to the Tim Hortons that was a few blocks away. Once we arrived, I realized I was hungry. REALLY hungry. I ended up spending 15 dollars on doughnuts, and they're only about $1.32 each. Once I'd devoured those, I was definantly starting to lose my edge. My feet were drooping, and everyone was slowing down. To make a long story short, I ended up burning out and sleeping for thirteen hours.
Weed was where it started. Three years spent smoking up in basements, hotboxing igloos, camping trips that are all a haze. Then, one day, I called up my old dealer (A friend of my sister's who is currenty in lock up for shooting someone) to get a half O, (Which is half an ounce of ganja) to find that he didn't have anything on him. (High school dealers have limited resources.) But, he did have E. Ex. The love drug. Ecstacy. A lovelife in pill form. My sister had, surprise surprise, already popped E, so I decided to give it a go. The world was STUNNING. I remember it was the dead of summer, and I sat staring into a swimming pool for 4 hours straight. It was marvelous. Beautiful. Spectacular.
I could ramble on and on about trips, dangerous outings, shakedowns. And later on, I will. But currently theres 3 grams and a bottlebong waiting for me in my bedroom, and I have to get through Margaret Atwood's "The Handmaid's tale" by tomorrow morning. It's really good so far, by the way.
Not to mention I have to call Jewel (Not jhis real name, but hes my diamond in the rough) my INCREDIBLY sexy I-want-to-fuck-you-now dealer and friend, as I'm going to a party this weekend and need some LSD for the birthday boy. But thats another story.
Hey, you asked.
